“-Back there our sun doesn’t speak.-Where’s “there,” Miss Marta?-Back there, in Europe. Here, it’s different. Here, the sun moans, whispers, shouts.-Surely-I commented delicately-the sun is always the same.- You’re wrong. There, the sun is a stone. Here it’s a fruit.”
— Mia Couto
“Listen, and you will realize that we are made not from cells or from atoms. We are made from stories.”
— Mia Couto
“After us, there was no more world to receive anyone.”
— Mia Couto