What's the use of stories that aren't even true?
What can't be cured must be endured.
After a winter's gestation in its eggshell of ice, the valley had beaked its way out into the open, moist and yellow.
What you were is forever who you are.
And my grandfather... was forever knocked into that middle place, unable to worship a God in whose existence he could not wholly disbelieve. Permanent alteration: a hole.
What's real and what's true aren't necessarily the same.
Everything has shape, if you look for it. There is no escape from form.
Why, alone of all the more-than-five-hundred-million, should I have to bear the burden of history?
Family history, of course, has its proper dietary laws. One is supposed to swallow and digest only the permitted parts of it, the halal portions of the past, drained of their redness, their blood. Unfortunately, this makes the stories less juicy...
A figure of speech is a shifty thing; it can be twisted or it can be straight.
I admit it: above all things, I fear absurdity.
A little bit of one story joins onto an idea from another, and hey presto, . . . not old tales but new ones. Nothing comes from nothing.
I am the sum total of everything that went before me, of all I have been seen done, of everything done-to-me. I am everyone everything whose being-in-the-world affected was affected by mine. I am anything that happens after I'm gone which would not have happened if I had not come.
Believe in your own eyes and you'll get into a lot of trouble, hot water, a mess.
I fell victim to the temptation of every autobiographer, to the illusion that since the past exists only in one's memories and the words which strive vainly to encapsulate them, it is possible to create past events simply by saying they occurred.
He knew what he knew: that the real world was full of magic, so magical worls could easily be real.
I have been a swallower of lives; and to know me, just the one of me, you'll have to swallow the lot as well.
I have been so-many too-many persons; life, unlike syntax, allows one more than three.
It is all for love. Which is a wonderful and dashing matter. But which can also be a very foolish thing.
India, the new myth--a collective fiction in which anything was possible, a fable rivalled only by the two other mighty fantasies: money and God.
Nothing comes from nothing, Thieflet; no story comes from nowhere; new stories are born from old--it is the new combinations that make them new.
Memory has its own special kind. It selects, eliminates, alters, exaggerates, minimizes, glorifies, and vilifies also; but in the end it creates its own reality, its heterogeneous but usually coherent version of events; and no sane human being ever trusts someone else's version more than his own.
Straight answers were beyond the powers of Rashid Khalifa, who would never take a short cut if there was a longer, twistier road available.
Most of what matters in our lives takes place in our absence.
The black ice of that dark fortress received the sunlight like a mortal wound.
Religion was the glue of Pakistan, holding the halves together; just as consciousness, the awareness of oneself as a homogenous entity in time, a blend of past and present, is the glue of personality, holding together our then and our now.
The process of revision should be constant and endless
They drove past buses that dripped people the way a sponge drips water, and arrived at a thick forest of human beings, a crowd of people sprouting in all directions like leaves on jungle trees.
More Salman Rushdie Quotations (Based on Topics)
Books - World - People - Past - History - Literature - God - Liberty & Freedom - Idea - Reality - Place - Life - Morality - Violence - Politics - Water - Mind - Truth - Terrorism - View All Salman Rushdie Quotations
More Salman Rushdie Quotations (By Book Titles)
- Haroun And The Sea Of Stories
- Midnight's Children
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