Marjane Satrapi

I was born in Tehran, into a family of thinkers and smokers. I believed I was the last prophet until the real ones came — bearded, blood-stained, and certain. I was sent away at fourteen, to float between worlds. Vienna made me lonely. Paris made me furious. Ink made me free. I draw in black because there is no grey in exile, only memory and its absences. My stories are not just mine — they are silhouettes of a country that lives in the cracks of silence.