Because nothing makes me happier and nothing makes me sadder than you.

Nicole Krauss

Nicole Krauss

Profession: Author
Nationality: American

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We take comfort in the symmetries we find in life because they suggest a design where there is none.

The way Misha tells it, he drove like a blind man, giving the car almost full independence to feel its way along, bumping off things, only giving the wheel a spin with the tips of this fingers when the situation verged on life threatening.

I forced myself to picture the last moments. The penultimate breath. A final sigh. And yet. It was always followed by another.

He held my hand and told me a story about when he was six and threw a rock at a kid's head who was bullying his brother, and how after that no one had bothered either of them again. 'You have to stick up for yourself,' he told me. 'But it's bad to throw rocks,' I said. 'I know. You're smarter than me. You'll find something better than rocks.

Part of you thought: Please don't look at me. If you don't, I can still turn away. And part of you thought. Look at me.

If you don't know what it feels like to have someone you love put a hand below your bottom rib for the first time, what chance is there for love?

Aside from myself, there was no sign of me.

Doesn't part of the awe that fills us when we confront the unknown come from understanding that, should it at last flood into us and become known, we would be altered?

At times I believed that the last page of my book and the last page of my life were one and the same.

The third movement is one of the most moving passages ever written, and I've never listened to it without feeling as if I alone have been lifted up on the shoulders of some giant creature touring the charred landscape of all human feeling.

When you are young, you think it's going to be solved by love. But it never is. Being close -- as close as you can get -- to another person only makes clear that impassable distance between you.

The memories were too perfect: take one detail away and they collapsed into disorder.

In the beginning it was always the same. But. I kept trying. Then one day I accidentally moved as the shutter clicked. A shadow appeared. The next time I saw the outline of my face, and a few weeks later my face itself. It was the opposite of disappearing.

The little boy I watched throwing pebbles into the empty fountain, he wasn't too old to climb trees. You could tell he had too much wisdom for his age. Probably he believed that he wasn't made for this world. I wanted to say to him: If not you, who?