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 don’t know anything about silent sages, buried knowledge, the eye of the mute poet, serene seers, yet how many talkative destroyers, prophets and ideologues, teachers and beautifiers there are on the other side.

Although personal calling I sense—who am I? even if I am, I don't know.
And what does infinity mean to you? Are you not infinity and yourself?
The farther away, the closer the home becomes.
I can see myself before myself—a being through dark scenery.
Into the day as by dream I swim to the music of nourished meaning.
The world contained in a seed is determined by its program.
There is a pledge of the big and of the small in the infinite.
There are no clear borders, only merging invisible to the sight.
Life into death— life’s other shape, no rupture, only crossing.
You are hurrying to the sweet place, to the nonsense chasing your spirit and in the nonsense you look for answers.
The world is always open, waiting to be discovered.
Will the day tell its secret before it disappears, becomes timeless night.
When the star dies, its eye closes; tired of watching, it flies back to its first bright dream.
In the end, the world returns to a grain.
He awaits himself while walking, out of the icy circle to escape.
He knows he will be born again, and start fresh anew.
When magic through nerves and reason passes, imagination, force, and passion will thunder. The portrait of the world is changed.
To jump over centuries in one step is impossible. Jump too high or far, you’ll be way too late.
A hidden spark of the dream sleeps in the forest and waits in the celestial spheres of the brain.
All dust is the same dust. Temporarily separated to go peacefully and enjoy the eternal nap.
To the knights of faith nobody believes.
New Rome will be destroyed by the attacks of new vandals. God always remains silent.
Vandals listen only when others are stronger. If vandals are equal or stronger, their word is the last word.
Deliver thunder, God, if you don’t choose to talk.
Neither alive nor dead; no one lets up, no one wins.
A word only writes its night and rides its dream.
To sense the peace of extinguished passion, happiness in not knowing the ultimate knowledge.
If emptiness is empty, how can something be borne or awaken from it?
If emptiness is endless, then everything rests in emptiness.
Nothing is part of everything.
Without nothing, everything would be nothing.
From everything, nothing looks to nothing.
When everything hurries everywhere, nothing goes anywhere.
When he is most powerful, nothing does he become.
To come to nothing through something is the way to outside from both sides.
Digressions are part of harmony, deviations too.
Earth is the source of light.
The world is a navy in an empty ocean.
Devil and God – two sides of the same face.
When within yourself you find the road, the right road will open.
In every sound, the hidden silence sleeps.
In an endless silence even screams sound silent.
While the world sleeps, darkness and silence are awake.
It is futile to spend time telling stories about the fleetness of each day.
It is vain futility to analyze the algebra of time.
Heavenly bodies are nests of invisible birds.
With your goal you make the one.
Color is the overpowering of black; white – the final victory over black.
From what you didn’t say, lies that you did say.
The eyesight for an eagle is what thought is to a man.
The world cannot be translated; it can only be dreamed of and touched.
Forget decorated generals, tell me about Private Ryan.
Tell me something only you know and make a new friend.
Without space, there is no time.

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