No iron can stab the heart with such force as a period put just at the right place. Isaac Babel More Quotes by Isaac Babel More Quotes From Isaac Babel No iron can pierce the human heart as chillingly as a full stop placed at the right time. Isaac Babel iron right-time heart A well-thought-out story doesn’t need to resemble real life. Life itself tries with all its might to resemble a well-crafted story. Isaac Babel real trying needs A phrase is born into the world both good and bad at the same time. The secret lies in a slight, an almost invisible twist. The lever should rest in your hand, getting warm, and you can only turn it once, not twice. Isaac Babel secret lying hands Even at the time—twenty years old—I said to myself: better to go hungry, to go to prison, to be a tramp, than to sit at an office desk ten hours a day. There is no particular daring in this vow, but I have not broken it and shall not do so. The wisdom of my grandfathers sat in my head: we are born for the pleasure of work, fighting, love, we are born for that and nothing else. (Guy de Maupassant) Isaac Babel fighting office years For me the whole world is like a gigantic theater in which I am the only spectator without opera glasses. The orchestra plays the prelude to the third act, the stage is far away as in a dream, my heart swells with delight—and you want to blind me with a pair of half-ruble spectacles? Isaac Babel dream play heart When a phrase is born, it is both good and bad at the same time. The secret of its success rests in a crux that is barely discernible. One's fingertips must grasp the key, gently warming it. And then the key must be turned once, not twice. Isaac Babel phrases keys secret No iron spike can pierce a human heart as icily as a period in the right place. Isaac Babel iron periods heart She would lift her peignoir above her knees and say to her husband: 'Give baby a kiss...' Isaac Babel kissing husband baby The orange sky is rolling across the sky like a severed head, gentle light glimmers in the ravines among the clouds, the banners of the sunset are fluttering above our heads. The stench of yesterday’s blood and slaughtered horses drips into the evening chill. Isaac Babel sunset horse yesterday If the world could write by itself, it would write like Tolstoy. Isaac Babel ifs writing world There is no iron that can enter the human heart with such stupefying effect, as a period placed at just the right moment. Isaac Babel iron crafts heart
