Designers

Veljko Petrović
[…] Great-grandfather [of Sava Tekelija, great Serbian founder] Jovan led in 1697 the army of  the Prince of Savoy through the Turkish-held valleys of the Moriš and the Tisa rivers and the Banat region, commanding one wing of the Serbian frontiersmen and volunteers, and contributed to the glorious victories of the Christian weaponry at Senta and Petrovaradin. For these merits, he was granted the rank of the colonel, noble title, and commanding post at the fortress of Arad and the whole of the Moriš District [...]

Ivo Andrić
At Petrovaradin Fortress, when the red sunset of the summer's sun fades out someplace far away, a grey twighlight is first there and it seems to be just about to turn into full dark. But all of a sudden, from an indefinite place, what begins to grow and spread all around is a glow, weak at first, then gaining in strength, like another yet more lustrous and longer-lasting sunset. Concurrently, in until then motionless air, some slight breeze occurs, a breath of air that grows together with the new reddishness as if tied to it.
It is a solemn moment, when the names of one's deceased friends are revoked, making one – unaccountably – utter them aloud.

Aleksandar Tišma
[…] The heat had eased, the siesta flying away like the veil of a fairy. Shadows began to move, then haste, horizontal on ther pathways. The sun pushed away its lid and let some breeze, light like a sleepy kiss, come out: it set out to work immediately, busy like a bee, to stir the sigh of awakening in everything around. The hills of the Srem started vibrating in restless light, thin ruddiness dripped onto the fortress, the old-silver grey ruffles dried out on the fur of sand, the poplars shook off their motionlessness and buzzed with a silent relief. The Danube stretched out its body, disentangled its hair and flied hundreds of snow-white gulls down its face. Everything came to life, easing, becoming loose [...]

Miloš Crnjanski
The journey to Novi Sad is calm and refreshing after the wearing and annoying capital. There is no boat to keep traffic along the Danube; otherwise, it could be a frequently practised and pleasant excursion for the people of Belgrade. Wheat, yellow and bent down due to rainfalls, yet dense and heavy, undulates along the rail tracks: the harvest will begin in a few days. Then come the blue and green hues of the forest-covered mountain, but there, too, you can hardly distinguish it from the lime and locust groves that veil whole villages and give out their scent all along. From Karlovci, the train accelerates, through the wood, along the flooding river, across the vineyards, through the courtyards in the town of Petrovaradin where soldiers grow vegetables, then cuts through the ramparts and walls of the old fortress and into a tunnel. Once you are out of it and on the iron bridge, the only one now connecting the Bačka to the Srem, a beautiful landscape of Mt. Fruška Gora opens wide before you enter Novi Sad. The train gets out of the hill whereon Petrovaradin is situated, from which a national flag flies and the windows of barracks and army headquarters cast light, the windows from which the Frontier generals used to look at the clock tower.


Jakov Ignjatović
Novi Sad – the Serbian Paris! There you have the vast Bačka that yields whatever you need to keep your living. Across the Danube is the beautiful Srem which supplies you with Schieler and nectar, malvoisie and slivovitz. You are facing Petrovaradin, the gate to Syrmia – Srem's Gibraltar. Attach the Kamenica Garden and the promenade to the Danube, and you have Bois de Boulogne. You will find there bishops, generals, citizens, burghers, merchants, priests, craftsmen, lawyers, farmers, clerks and melon-raisers [...]