Tuesday, August 2, 2011


(cemetery, Reykjavík)

Cemeteries in Bohemia are like gardens. The graves are covered with grass and colourful flowers. Modest tombstones are lost in the greenery. *When the sun goes down, the cemetery sparkles with tiny candles. It is as though the dead are dancing at a children's ball. Yes, a children's ball, because the dead are as innocent as children. No matter how brutal life becomes, peace always reigns in the cemetery.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera, p. 104

(* but here the sun doesn't go down, for now)

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