Quotes by Dejan Stojanovic

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Dejan Stojanoviæ was born in Pec, Kosovo (the former Yugoslavia), in 1959. Although a lawyer by education, he has never practiced law and instead became a journalist. He is a poet, essayist, philosopher, and businessman and published six critically acclaimed books of poetry in Serbia: "Circling," "The Sun Watches the Sun," "The Sign and Its Children," "The Shape," "The Creator," and "Dance of Time."

In 1986, as a young writer, he was recognized among 200 writers at the Bor (former Yugoslavia) Literary Festival. He also received the prestigious "Rastko Petrovic" Award from the Society of Serbian Writers for his book of interviews with major European and American artists and writers.

In addition to poetry and prose, he has worked as a correspondent for the Serbian weekly magazine "Pogledi" ("Views"). His book of interviews from 1990 to 1992 in Europe and America, entitled Conversations, included interviews with several major American writers, including Nobel Laureate Saul Bellow, Charles Simic, and Steve Tesic.

He has been living in Chicago since 1990.

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We need knew knights, but without swords.

Come out from within yourself, speak out.
Say No! Accept the burdens of revenge.
Wherever there is somebody else, a war is not far away.
Even if you are alone you wage war with yourself.
A breeze, a forgotten summer, a smile, all can fit into a storefront window.
We built tall buildings, but we have not become any taller.
Whatever others may say, they say it to deceive and comfort themselves, not help you.
His Highness was always confident in his statements, especially about what he viewed for the first time.
Now that we are all so smart, we don’t easily find resolutions.
He thought others were small; that was his greatness.
This dwarf still observes the world from his own self-imposed height.
If you could have walked on the planet before humans lived here, maybe the Ivory Coast would have seemed more beautiful than La Côte d'Azur.
We measure everything by ourselves with almost a necessary conceit.
There are no winners in real games.
The game itself is bigger than the winning.
You mark and celebrate errors, transforming failures into successes.
Statesmen are grocers, ambitious clowns.
For a game, you dont need a teacher.
Faith is a question of eyesight; even the blind can see that.
Holy books are an insult to a God with good intentions.
Christ did not ask or want to be what he was not.
Burning the witch Giordano Bruno is one more wound inflicted on Christs body.
Your head is a lit chamber.
The light teaches you to convert life into a festive promenade.
What we call life is only talk of nature.
Nothing is inanimate; what is the rest is our interpretation.
We like to admit to only that which already glows, although it is nobler to support brightness before it glows, not afterwards.
It is easy to see the glow but hard to recognize the awakening of silence.
Disease often comes with a smiling face.
Strangers are endearing because you dont know them yet.
He confided his deepest secret to you; be always wary of his secret.
Dont pay attention to those who offer too much.
Is it possible to write a poem or are these words just screams of outlaws exiled to the desert?
Its not easy to write a poem about a poem.
You dont know anything, but I know even less.
If you are good, they say you are weak.
If what we think of ourselves were true, the planet would overflow with geniuses. They blossomed; they did not talk about blossoming. They grew; they did not talk about growing.
Pose your questions to people and you will get countless useless answers.
From whichever side I start, I think I am in an old place where others have been before me.
Beyond all vanities, fights, and desires, omnipotent silence lies.
There are many secrets; don’t try to resolve them all.
They are both spectacular, life and death.
In greatness, life and death merge.
Nothing is made, nothing disappears. These are the old truths. The same changes, at the same places, never stopping.
He will understand when it is too late that it is easier to love.
Wherever I go, I run into myself.
One hand I extend into myself, the other toward others.
I recreate myself; that is my only power.
I enjoy it when the world smiles; the more smiles, the warmer I am.
And this that you call solitude is in fact a big crowd.
My mathematics is simple: one plus one = one.
With me: one minus one = one; with you: it’s zero. Here lies the only difference.
I lose faith in mathematics, logical and rigid. What with those that even zero doesn’t accept?
Mathematics doesn’t care about those beyond the numbers.
What you gain here, you lose on the other side.
Long ago we conquered our passions looking at ourselves in the mirror of eternity.
Long ago an uncalled rain fell and a called-upon God stayed equally distant.
While gazing at myself from yourself, I was beautiful.

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