The Miniaturist Quotes

“The human artist must copy in miniature what the supreme artist [God] has created -- He is the first artist who revealed the power of light, adorned an album with leaves of the universe. Did He adorn the despots as well? The soldiers blinding their prisoners? Which colour and brush had He used to draw the executioners, the spies who lived simply to betray others, the men who stole children to sell as slaves? Bihzad held his hands before his eyes. From his childhood he had been told of the genius of these fingers. He examined them one by one. Of all the paintings they had touched, he couldn't think of one that was free of the lies he had learned as a child. 'He has drawn an imperfect universe,' he whispered to himself. 'Better never to draw than imitate His strange pleasure.”
― Kunal Basu, The Miniaturist

“Wherever he went, Bihzad saw the same men. Their faces, colours and names changed, but he recognised them instantly. Among the merchants and generals, beggars and saints, he saw the same urges. What would make a merchant different from another, when the same greed flowed in them all? How could one tell one thief from another? A murderous general from his rival? What was the use of drawing a face with minute care, when it was no different from another face? Finally, as his old teacher had taught, Bihzad saw their true selves.”
― Kunal Basu, The Miniaturist

“The singing bird lives in a cage. The owl roams free”
― Kunal Basu, The Miniaturist

“You must see what He sees. Not the view of the mortal, but a glorious world washed clean in magical light and dazzling with colour. You must copy in miniature the world He has drawn. One where everything is carefully chosen, the profusion of nature simplified, men and women incomparably beautiful, everything as precious and perfect as He willed them to be.... The artist is closest of all to the Creator.”
― Kunal Basu, The Miniaturist

“He had kept Bihzad illiterate, so that he would discover his own secrets before he discovered the secrets in books, before words and numbers spoilt his love for glowing images.”
― Kunal Basu, The Miniaturist

“Under the Mughals Agra became the world - its streets busting with men and women of all faiths, colours, ringing with the sound of many tongues. perhaps it's arrogance was its downfall”
― Kunal Basu, The Miniaturist

“How will I leave his realm, Bizhad wondered, clutching Akbar’s order. Had the emperor played a cruel joke on him, condemning him to roam the length and breadth of this world? He would lie awake at night worrying, confer with passing travelers during the day, starting to distrust his driver’s motives…”
― Kunal Basu, The Miniaturist

“Look!” The Khwaja nudged a sleepy Bizhad. What was white before sparkled with a fine glaze of crimson, smearing the ashen tents that housed soldiers and animals inside the fort’s walls, lighting up the city of palaces and mosques, casting a halo over the silent fountains and the imperial boat. One by one, the great doorways of the fort gleamed like mirrors, reflecting the sun, now a spear’s length over the horizon. Marble palaces breathed free of the crisscrossing beams, managing to stand aloof from common homes. The intruder, satisfied by the result, turned an effortless gold – a gold coin floating on the river, at its still centre.

A bird called, flew across, reflecting the world on its tiny wings – the lapis sky, the turquoise river, the crimson fort and the golden sun. “Look!” The Khwaja whispered into Bizhad’s ear, tracing its flight with his raised finger. “The finest artist in all Agra!”

And so on Saturday the twenty-seventh of Rabi, year 975 of the Hegira, 1568 of the Christian era, the sun lit imperial Agra, blessing every moment and delighting every one of its subjects. It rose for the ten thousandth time since that dawn when Babur, the Mughal invader, had woken after a restful night to find himself the conqueror of Hindustan. Under the western wall of the fort, his grandson, the emperor, was about to rise. Rise and begin his favorite sport – racing elephants when they are in their frightening best. In heat.”
― Kunal Basu, The Miniaturist