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Quote by Milan Kundera

“Man cannot do without feelings, but the moment they are considered values in themselves, criteria of truth, justifications for kinds of behavior, they become frightening. The noblest of national sentiments stand ready to justify the greatest of horrors, and man, his breast swelling with lyric fervor, commits atrocities in the sacred name of love.”

Quote by Milan Kundera

Book:Jacques and His Master: An Homage to Diderot in Three Acts
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Jacques and His Master: An Homage to Diderot in Three Acts

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Author

Milan Kundera
Milan Kundera

Milan Kundera is a renowned Czech-French writer known for his profound psychological insights and unique narrative techniques. His works often explore themes of personal freedom, love, morality, and existentialism, with notable titles including 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being' and 'The Joke'. more

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Book:The Humanitarian Dictator
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“Yes, of course," she said, the words rushing out. "You're defending your country." She opened her mouth again, then bit her lip. "Go on," he said. "Ask what you wanted to ask. I don't bite." "Well, I suppose I just wondered whether you had... whether you had actually ever killed anyone." He laughed. "You know, you do seem much younger than sixteen," he said. "But in answer to your question- yes, I have. More than one." He stopped. There was a new, dark look in his eyes when he continued. "You can't imagine what it's like. The Libyan heat sticking to you, day in, day out. Nothing but sand and rock for miles. Not a bit of green. All day, crawling in the dust, shooting and being shot at. Men dying around you. You realize, when you see a person die, that there's nothing special about humans. We're just flesh and blood and organs, no different to the pig that have us this bacon. "So, all day, dust, death, everywhere. I went to sleep each night with dust in my mouth and the smell of blood in my nose. Even here- I'm still finding dust on me. Under my nails, in my hair, caked into the soles of my shoes. And I can still smell the blood. All so that some English girl, sitting pretty in her father's manor house, can ask me if I ever killed anyone.”

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Book:Weyward
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