12 Quotes by Stefan Hertmans

I take another look at the stone, run my fingertip over the meticulous brushstrokes, and realize that nothing ever returns to time unless it is stored in mute, voiceless objects; rocks do tell tales after all.

To me, he was still a hero; he gave me fencing lessons, sharpened my pocketknife, taught me how to draw clouds by rubbing an eraser over shapes sketched with a piece of charred wood from the fireplace, and how to render the myriad leaves of a tree without drawing each one separately—the true secret of art, as he called it.

Wind koelt de kleuren van de nacht.