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Quote by Irène Némirovsky

“We're becoming slaves; the war scatters us in all directions, takes away everything we own, snatches the bread from out of our mouths; let me at least retain the right to decide my own destiny, to laugh at it, defy it, escape it if I can. A slave? Better to be a slave than a dog who thinks he's free as he trots along behind his master. She listened to the sound of men and horses passing by. They don't even realise they're slaves, she said to herself, and I, I would be just like them if a sense of pity, solidarity, the "spirit of the hive" forced me to refuse to be happy.”

Quote by Irène Némirovsky

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Irène Némirovsky

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“I looked at him. He sat in the darkness, with his brows knitted tightly together, as though trying to grasp something, to understand the inconceivable, to pinpoint the moment when everything suddenly got out of control and the point of no return was officially passed by both sides – the future murderers and their victims. The new Reich sorted us into two kinds and now he suddenly found himself among those who held an ax above our miserable heads.”

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Book:No Woman's Land
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“ورد في الاثار..أن الله تعالى يقول:إن من عبادي من لايصلح إيمانه إلا الغنى,ولو أفقرته لأفسده ذلك,وإن من عبادي من لايصلح إيمانه إلا الفقر,ولو أغنيته لأفسده ذلك,وإن من عبادي من لا يصلح إيمانه إلا الصحة, ولو أمرضته لأفسده ذلك, وإن من عبادي من لايصلح إيمانه إلا المرض ولو عافيته لأفسده ذلك,إني أدبر أمر عبادي بعلمي بما في قلوبهم,إني خبير بصير”

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“He would tell you to think, next time, before you blindly chase your ideology. He would ask you to think, not just to feel. To ask, always, if you could be wrong. To listen, always listen, to the other points of view. Because the moment we stop granting someone the right to disagree, Kraus, this is what happens. Do you understand me? This is what turns men into tyrants. This is what leads to fear and death (p. 265)”

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“This cramped little space that stank of earth and smoke and sweat, that dripped water during every hard rain, and whose floor was often a half-frozen soup of mud and sunflower seeds and straw, now seemed to him more comfortable than Ketterling’s HQ could ever be, and he knew why. Here, surrounded by the weapons hanging from nails by their straps, the boxes of hand grenades, the cut-down artillery shells filled with cigarette butts, the crumpled moisture-bloated magazines and greasy playing cards, one lived an honest life. You couldn’t get that back home anymore. The radio and the newspapers were full of lies that would have been insulting even if the streets hadn’t been full of rubble and the air with the shriek of air-raid sirens, and it wasn’t enough for the government that the people merely endure it all, bombs and lies, without objecting. They had to believe the lies, had to parrot them back with sickly smiles plastered on their faces, lest they be branded defeatists and be taken away. It wasn’t like that here. Nickolaus wanted it to be, but it wasn’t. Here, a man might be hungry, he might itch with lice, he might sting with pain from cuts that never healed, he might be empty-headed with fatigue and half-deafened from noise, but he always knew precisely where he stood—with his comrades and with the enemy. There were no intrigues, no politics, no flag-waving. A man never looked you in the eyes and told you black was white, or worse yet, demanded that you agree that black was white. There was no need because he had already asked you to die for him, and once you had agreed, what need was there for words?”

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“Munich is the most wonderful town, my favourite in all of Europe, and the National Socialists have brought peace to the streets. And yet . .  . and yet below the surface I sense a terrible undertow of violence. Do you not feel it?’ I won’t say a word against my city or my country, Mr Gainer.’ ‘No, of course you won’t. My country right or wrong, as an American once said. What I mean is, it’s all this pagan stuff. Munich has some of the most beautiful churches in the world and a fine history of Christendom, but the pagans are winning, and their ways are not ways of kindness and love. I sometimes fear that Germany is in the process of renouncing two thousand years of Christian civilisation. Am I alone in this? Do the ordinary German people not feel it?”

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“Anna gave Charles a shy kiss on the cheek and strolled out of the room without a backward glance. Until she reached the doorway, and then, in full view of the curious who'd had the courage or discourtesy to linger in the auditorium after he'd dismissed them, she kissed her palm and blew it to him. And despite... or because of their audience, he caught it in one hand, and pulled the hand to his heart. Her smile dropped away, and the expression in her eyes would feed him for a week. And the expressions on the faces of the wolves who knew Charles, or knew his reputation, would make him laugh as soon as no one was watching.”

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Book:Hunting Ground
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