Milan Kundera: "The Unbearable Lightness of Being (*2)"




When the heart speaks, the mind finds it indecent to object. 





she loved to walk down the street with a book under her arm. It had the same significance for her as an elegant cane for the dandy a century ago. It differentiated her from others. 





loves are like empires: when the idea they are founded on crumbles, they, too, fade away. 






Chance and chance alone has a message for us. Everything that occurs out of necessity, everything expected, repeated day in and day out, is mute. Only chance can speak to us. We read its message much as gypsies read the images made by coffee grounds at the bottom of a cup. 





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