Bosnia Quotes

“London. “Look Olivier. Quite a sight isn’t it?” Commandant Auguste Angers stood tall in his stirrups as he pointed out the far distant dome of St. Paul’s. The bronzed roof of the cathedral was glistening in the sun during a brief break in the clouds. The commandant and his colleague and deputy, Captain Olivier Rougemont, had enjoyed a morning’s exhilarating ride in Richmond Park. The commandant was riding his favourite grey, Chloe, and Rougemont was on his boss’s second string, a chestnut Annette.”
― Mark Ellis, The French Spy

“I understand your position, Dave.  It’s a big story, and you worked hard to get it.  But if you don’t drop me at the Europa, I’ll blow your head off.  Imagine how big that story would be.
There’s no need for these histrionics.  We’ll go to the Holiday Inn.  You can rest, shower, debrief.  You’ll be among friends.
Last chance, Dave.  You can be the hero or the headline.  Your call.
Let’s talk it out.
No.  You talk too much.
He started a new line of argument, but before the words passed his lips his brains passed them on the way out. A dirty reddish slime painted the windshield; it covered the dashboard and console. It poured and dripped from the ceiling to the seat.  The driver was covered on one side of his head and body.  The mess made the crowded taxi undrivable.
-Also, someone crapped their pants.”
― John Payton Foden, Magenta

“And now insane men adrift in a world without order formed a line at the door.  They rendered unto her every evil act brought into this world by God.  They fell upon her with brutality that none of them at any other time would have thought possible.  There was once no scenario that would lead them to behave this way.  At any other time in their life there were no words or arguments that could convince them to treat a woman with such wanton disregard.  No one now asked, “What brought me to this?” Not one of them asked, “Who are these men?  How did we end up here, doing these things? Who am I now?”
― John Payton Foden, Magenta

“Nothing remains.  The destruction is complete: love, lives, families, friends, cities, homes – all gone now.  All our efforts to be good, to do the right thing, to act well, to be just and generous are now for naught.  Because juxtaposed against any hope for fairness is wickedness, pure and simple.  In some abstract formulation these things may exist in equal measure, which is to say that the scales balance when taking all things into consideration. But that is fantasy, the stuff of religion, hope beyond all reason. Because for those caught in the whirlwind, in the chaos of manifest evil, despair is all there is. Civilization falls away: everything is pointless now.  Survival requires reciprocity. What then if there is none?”
― John Payton Foden, Magenta

“I realize that what happened in Bosnia could happen anywhere in the world, particularly in places that are diverse and have a history of conflict. It only takes bad leadership for a country to go up in flames, for people of different ethnicity, color, or religion to kill each other as if they had nothing in common whatsoever. Having a democratic constitution, laws that secure human rights, police that maintain order, a judicial system, and freedom of speech don't ultimately guarantee long lasting peace. If greedy or bloodthirsty leaders come to power, it can all go down. It happened to us. It can happen to you.”
― Savo Heleta, Not My Turn to Die: Memoirs of a Broken Childhood in Bosnia

“In Sarajevo in 1992, while being shown around the starved, bombarded city by the incomparable John Burns, I experienced four near misses in all, three of them in the course of one day. I certainly thought that the Bosnian cause was worth fighting for and worth defending, but I could not take myself seriously enough to imagine that my own demise would have forwarded the cause. (I also discovered that a famous jaunty Churchillism had its limits: the old war-lover wrote in one of his more youthful reminiscences that there is nothing so exhilarating as being shot at without result. In my case, the experience of a whirring, whizzing horror just missing my ear was indeed briefly exciting, but on reflection made me want above all to get to the airport. Catching the plane out with a whole skin is the best part by far.) Or suppose I had been hit by that mortar that burst with an awful shriek so near to me, and turned into a Catherine wheel of body-parts and (even worse) body-ingredients? Once again, I was moved above all not by the thought that my death would 'count,' but that it would not count in the least.”
― Christopher Hitchens, Hitch 22: A Memoir

“During the Bosnian war in the late 1990s, I spent several days traveling around the country with Susan Sontag and her son, my dear friend David Rieff. On one occasion, we made a special detour to the town of Zenica, where there was reported to be a serious infiltration of outside Muslim extremists: a charge that was often used to slander the Bosnian government of the time. We found very little evidence of that, but the community itself was much riven as between Muslim, Croat, and Serb. No faction was strong enough to predominate, each was strong enough to veto the other's candidate for the chairmanship of the city council. Eventually, and in a way that was characteristically Bosnian, all three parties called on one of the town's few Jews and asked him to assume the job. We called on him, and found that he was also the resident intellectual, with a natural gift for synthesizing matters. After we left him, Susan began to chortle in the car. 'What do you think?' she asked. 'Do you think that the only dentist and the only shrink in Zenica are Jewish also?' It would be dense to have pretended not to see her joke.”
― Christopher Hitchens, Hitch 22: A Memoir

“Grief produces an abundant energy that must find a way to burn itself up. And that is the fundamental problem, one that can take a lifetime to exhaust.”
― Bill Carter, Fools Rush In: A True Story of War and Redemption

“The debacle in Iraq has reinforced the realist dictum, disparaged by idealists in the 1990s, that the legacies of geography, history and culture really do set limits on what can be accomplished in any given place. But the experience in the Balkans reinforced an idealist dictum that is equally true: One should always work near the limits of what is possible rather than cynically give up on any place. In this decade idealists went too far; in the previous one, it was realists who did not go far enough.”
― Robert D. Kaplan

“The neo-cons, or some of them, decided that they would back Clinton when he belatedly decided for Bosnia and Kosovo against Milosevic, and this even though they loathed Clinton, because the battle against religious and ethnic dictatorship in the Balkans took precedence. This, by the way, was partly a battle to save Muslims from Catholic and Christian Orthodox killers. That impressed me. The neo-cons also took the view, quite early on, that coexistence with Saddam Hussein was impossible as well as undesirable. They were dead right about that. They had furthermore been thinking about the menace of jihadism when most people were half-asleep.

And then I have to say that I was rather struck by the way that the Weekly Standard and its associated voices took the decision to get rid of Trent Lott earlier this year, thus removing an embarrassment as well as a disgrace from the political scene. And their arguments were on points of principle, not 'perception.' I liked their ruthlessness here, and their seriousness, at a time when much of the liberal Left is not even seriously wrong, but frivolously wrong, and babbles without any sense of responsibility. (I mean, have you read their sub-Brechtian stuff on Halliburton....?) And revolution from above, in some states and cases, is—as I wrote in my book A Long Short War—often preferable to the status quo, or to no revolution at all.”
― Christopher Hitchens, Christopher Hitchens and His Critics: Terror, Iraq, and the Left

“Bosna je oduvijek prostor iz kojeg se odlazi, bježi, protjeruje, a svi sretnici koji odu, pobjegnu ili budu protjerani, i ako do tada nisu znali šta su, postanu Bosanci onog trenutka kad se smjeste negdje drugdje, u nekom svijetu sretnijem od Bosne.”
― Dževad Karahasan

“If the international community is not ready to defend the principles which it itself has proclaimed as its foundations, let it say so openly, both to the people of Bosnia and to the people of the world. Let it proclaim a new code of behavior in which force will be the first and the last argument.”
― Alija Izetbegović

“A refugee is someone who survived and who can create the future.”
― Amela Koluder

“Bana hiç acımayın… Biz, sıradan insanlar, yalnız bir sefer ölürüz. Ama büyük adamlar iki sefer ölürler. Birinci sefer bu dünyayı bırakıp göçtükleri, ikinci sefer de bıraktıkları eserler, yıkılıp kaybolduğu zaman.”
― Ivo Andrić, The Bridge on the Drina

“Dünya, Saraybosna'yı -her ne kadar direnişin sembolü olarak hatırlanmasını tercih etsem de- acının sembolü olarak hatırlayacak.”
― Alija Izetbegović, Konuşmalar

“....in Bosnia, mass rape was a policy of the war, systematically carried out, implicating neighbors, paramilitaries, soldiers.”
― Ausma Zehanat Khan, The Unquiet Dead

“Until the war had broken out, there had been some sort of order in the strange and complex mixture of the four disparate peoples crowded into the little valley, all calling themselves Bosnians. They celebrated separate holidays, ate different foods, feasted and fasted on different days, yet all depended on one another, but never admitted it. They had lived amidst an ever present, if dormant, mixture of hatred and love for each other. The Muslims with their Ramadan, the Jews with Passover, the Catholics with Christmas, and the Serbs with their Slavas- each of them tacitly tolerated and recognised the customs and existence of others. With suckling pigs turned on spits in Serbian houses, giving off a mouth-watering fragrance, kosher food would be eaten in Jewish homes, and in Muslim households, meals were cooked in suet. There was a certain harmony in all this, even if there was no actual mixing. The aromas had long ago adjusted to one another and had given the city its distinctive flavor. Everything was "as God willed it." But it was necessary to remove only one piece of that carefully balanced mosaic and that whole picture would fall into its component parts which would then, rejoined in an unthinkable manner, create hostile and incompatible entities. ‏Like a hammer, the war had knocked out one piece, disrupting the equilibrium.”
― Gordana Kuić, Miris kiše na Balkanu

“Ogni generazione ha le proprie illusioni riguardo alla civiltà; alcune credono di contribuire al suo progresso, altre di essere testimoni della sua decadenza. In realtà essa s'infiamma, cova e si spegne simultaneamente, a seconda del luogo o del punto di vista da cui la si osserva. La generazione che a quel tempo discuteva di questioni filosofiche, sociali e politiche sulla kapija, sotto le stelle e sopra l'acqua, era solo più ricca di illusioni; per il resto era del tutto simile alle altre. Anch'essa aveva la sensazione di accendere i primi fuochi di una civiltà nuova, e di spegnere le ultime fiamme di quella che si stava consumando. Quel che si può dire in particolare di quei giovani è che da molto tempo non ne esistono altri che con tanta audacia sognino e parlino dei grandi problemi dell'esistenza, del piacere e della libertà e che paghino tale libertà a caro prezzo: traendo poca gioia dalla loro vita, soffrendo amaramente, vedendo infrante le illusioni e cadendo in guerra.”
― Ivo Andrić, Il ponte sulla Drina. Racconti

“Meine Füße, tastend beim ersten Kontakt mit bosnischem Boden: Alles klar. Trägt.”
― Juli Zeh

“Unterschwellig wächst die Angst, irgendwann zu verstehen und nie wieder vergessen zu können, nicht mehr in der Lage zu sein, ins eigene Leben zurückzukehren.”
― Juli Zeh, De stilte is een geluid: Een reis door Bosnië

“Finché l’uomo vive nel suo ambiente e in condizioni normali, gli elementi del curriculum vitae rappresentano per lui periodi importanti e svolte significative della sua vita. Ma appena il caso o il lavoro o le malattie lo separano dagli altri e lo isolano, questi elementi di colpo cominciano a scolorirsi, si inaridiscono e si decompongono con incredibile rapidità, come una maschera di cartone o di lacca senza vita, usata una volta sola. Sotto questa maschera comincia a intravedersi un’altra vita, conosciuta solo a noi, ossia la “vera” storia del nostro spirito e del nostro corpo, che non è scritta da nessuna parte, di cui nessuno suppone l’esistenza, una storia che ha molto poco a che fare con i nostri successi in società, ma che è, per noi, per la nostra felicità o infelicità, l’unica valida e la sola davvero importante.
Sperduto in quel luogo selvaggio, durante le lunghe notti, quando tutti i rumori erano cessati, Daville pensava alla sua vita passata come a una lunga serie di progetti audaci e di scoraggiamenti noti a lui solo, di lotte, di atti eroici, di fortune, di successi e di crolli, di disgrazie, di contraddizioni, di sacrifici inutili e di vani compromessi. Nelle tenebre e nel silenzio di quella città che ancora non aveva visto ma in cui lo attendevano, senza dubbio, preoccupazioni o difficoltà, sembrava che nulla al mondo si potesse risolvere né conciliare. In certi momenti gli pareva che per vivere fossero necessari sforzi enormi e per ogni sforzo una sproporzionata dose di coraggio. E, visto nel buio di quelle notti, ogni sforzo gli sembrava infinito. Per non fermarsi e rinunciare, l’uomo inganna se stesso, sostituendo gli obiettivi che non è riuscito a raggiungere con altri, che ugualmente non raggiungerà; ma le nuove imprese e i nuovi tentativi lo obbligheranno a cercare dentro di sé altre energie e maggiore coraggio. Così l’uomo si autoinganna e col passare del tempo diviene sempre più e senza speranza debitore verso se stesso e verso tutto quello che lo circonda.”
― Ivo Andrić, Travnička Kronika

“The glow of the Mathnawî’s inspiration has never been extinguished in Bosnia, even as its people were forced to endure trying hardships, ranging from Austro-Hungarian occupation, the Serb- dominated Kingdom of Yugoslavia, the monstrous bloodletting of the Second World War, the communist’s hindrance of religion, and most recently the ferocious atrocities of the 1990s.”
― Emin Lelic, Reading Rumi in Sarajevo

“The truth was simple but politicians made it complicated.”
― Naveed Qazi, The Trader of War Stories

“When there was sunshine followed by calm winds in the summer, the water of these rivers reflected many shiny ripples, and in the sunset, transformed into quiet, silver coloured watercourses.”
― Naveed Qazi, The Trader of War Stories

“As hungry as he was, Marin was nonetheless transfixed by the scene in front of him. He’d seen pictures, of course, but no two-dimensional photograph could possibly convey the sense he had of having walked into the medieval past, into a still thriving corner of the Ottoman Empire. The fine, high arch of Stari Most, the Old Bridge, rose nearly thirty metres above the blue-green river, flanked by stone towers and minarets. The bridge, the towers and the surrounding buildings seemed to flow up organically from their footings in the raw, rocky banks of the river, all rendered from the same pale limestone. Behind his sunglasses, tears welled up as Marin was assailed by a wave of unexpected emotion.”
― Tony Jones, The Twentieth Man

“«¿Sabes por qué estoy en Medjugorje?». «Porque Nuestra Señora te hizo venir», le dije. Ella había dicho que nadie que sabe de la existencia de Medjugorje lo sabe por accidente.”
― Mirjana Soldo, My Heart Will Triumph

“Islam does not get its name from its laws, orders, or prohib­itions, nor from the efforts of the body and soul it claims, but from something that encompasses and surmounts all that: from a moment of cognition, from the strength of the soul to face the times, from the readiness to endure everything that an existence can offer, from the truth of submission to God. Submission to God, thy name is Islam!”
― Alija Izetbegović, الإسلام بين الشرق والغرب

“Znaš, u Bosni smo, pa bi moglo i to biti!”
― Petar Kočić, Sudanija

“Even though things were changing in post-World War II Yugoslavia, nothing much had changed in our little backward village. While women in the city had jobs and some freedom, here our brothers could come and go as they pleased, but we girls always missed out. To guarantee our chastity and keep our reputations safe Babo kept us close to home and our brothers never wanted to chaperone us, but now, thanks to Senada’s quick thinking, we were finally going to have a night out.” The Choice”
― Amra Pajalic, The Cuckoo's Song

“Braća su se zgledala, petnaest godina Babunići nisu zajedno zapjevali, živjelo se od zavisti, od sumnje, od malih potajnih namjera koje isušuju želju za pjevanjem, a sada je valjalo zinuti oglasiti se, jednim grlom, kao djeca kod ovaca, kao složene barabe, kao braća koja se vole bez ustezanja.
"E pa pošto je dan počeo neobično, dogodilo se svašta neobičnog,i pošto je varoš onako zanijemila pred snagom Babunića,
nas Babunića,
i kad je već tako,
de Hamza, pripomozi, u tebe je grlo krupno, a prsa ko tovarni sepet,
a ti Muhidine pridigni visoko ko zurna, vi pratite, a ja ću prvi..."
Drumom kojim je dan i noć, mjesec i godine, puzao muk, urijetko promicale grupice seljaka, obično samo petkom, u dva u tri dana samo poneki samac nesretnik... a dane i noći i mjesece i godine prazno vrijeme slágali debele tišine pustih predjela,
tim nemilim drumom između ružnog mesta i zaturenih sela, najednom se probi muško grlo -
Ooj Dunavooo,
kao zapovijest, ali tačno i snažno otpjevana. Brzim prelijetom ozbiljnih očiju, kao srdit hodža koji zove na molitvu, Agan upozori sve da mu se odmah i složno pridruže, pa pjevno, sjetno, izvi sam, siguran da će ga ostali pristići i podržati - jallah,
ooj Dunavooo,
jee l'ti na me žaooo...
Ohrabreni migovima starijih, priključiše se i dva momčića od tovarnih konja.
Tako se Babunići oglasiše muškom pjesmom koja se vrati da opomene varoš, da ne zaboravi ko je u njoj maločas bio, stiže u daleke zaseoke da javi ko prolazi,
izgubi se,
istopi u daljinama oranica i šuma kao svaka radost i svaki dobar znak života koga zemlja rodi, a nebeske daljine prime i zapamte.”
― Derviš Sušić, Nevakat