Stuti Bhadauria > Stuti's Quotes

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  • #1
    W.B. Yeats
    “...I'm looking for the face I had, before the world was made...”
    W.B. Yeats

  • #2
    “The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.

    We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom. We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

    We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.

    We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.

    These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships.

    These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete...

    Remember, to spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever. Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.

    Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.

    Remember, to say, "I love you" to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.

    Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person might not be there again. Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.”
    Bob Moorehead, Words Aptly Spoken

  • #3
    Anne Frank
    “The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quite alone with the heavens, nature and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be and that God wishes to see people happy, amidst the simple beauty of nature. As longs as this exists, and it certainly always will, I know that then there will always be comfort for every sorrow, whatever the circumstances may be. And I firmly believe that nature brings solace in all troubles.”
    Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl

  • #4
    Charles Bukowski
    “I've never been lonely. I've been in a room -- I've felt suicidal. I've been depressed. I've felt awful -- awful beyond all -- but I never felt that one other person could enter that room and cure what was bothering me...or that any number of people could enter that room. In other words, loneliness is something I've never been bothered with because I've always had this terrible itch for solitude. It's being at a party, or at a stadium full of people cheering for something, that I might feel loneliness. I'll quote Ibsen, "The strongest men are the most alone." I've never thought, "Well, some beautiful blonde will come in here and give me a fuck-job, rub my balls, and I'll feel good." No, that won't help. You know the typical crowd, "Wow, it's Friday night, what are you going to do? Just sit there?" Well, yeah. Because there's nothing out there. It's stupidity. Stupid people mingling with stupid people. Let them stupidify themselves. I've never been bothered with the need to rush out into the night. I hid in bars, because I didn't want to hide in factories. That's all. Sorry for all the millions, but I've never been lonely. I like myself. I'm the best form of entertainment I have. Let's drink more wine!”
    Charles Bukowski

  • #5
    “You should date a girl who reads.
    Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

    Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a secondhand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn.

    She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

    Buy her another cup of coffee.

    Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

    It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

    She has to give it a shot somehow.

    Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

    Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

    Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

    If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

    You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

    You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

    Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

    Or better yet, date a girl who writes.”
    Rosemarie Urquico

  • #6
    Paulo Coelho
    “Love is like a narcotic. At first it brings the euphoria of complete surrender. The next day, you want more. You’re not addicted yet, but you like the sensation, and you think you can still control things. You think about the person you love for two minutes, and forget them for three hours. But then you get used to that person, and you begin to be completely dependent on them. Now you think about him for three hours and forget him for two minutes. If he’s not there, you feel like an addict who can’t get a fix. And just as addicts steal and humiliate themselves to get what they need, you’re willing to do anything for love.”
    Paulo Coelho, By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept

  • #7
    Oscar Wilde
    “Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.”
    Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

  • #8
    Edgar Allan Poe
    “Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
    Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
    As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
    Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door —
    Only this, and nothing more."

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
    And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore —
    For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
    Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
    Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
    Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door —
    Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; —
    This it is, and nothing more."

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
    Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
    That I scarce was sure I heard you"— here I opened wide the door; —
    Darkness there, and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
    Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
    This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" —
    Merely this, and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
    Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
    Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —
    Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; —
    'Tis the wind and nothing more."

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
    In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —
    Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —
    Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

    Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
    By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
    Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
    Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore —
    Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
    Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
    Though its answer little meaning— little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door —
    Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
    With such name as "Nevermore.”
    Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven

  • #9
    Chuck Palahniuk
    “What I want is to be needed. What I need is to be indispensable to somebody. Who I need is somebody that will eat up all my free time, my ego, my attention. Somebody addicted to me. A mutual addiction.”
    Chuck Palahniuk, Choke

  • #10
    Maya Angelou
    “I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
    Maya Angelou

  • #11
    James Howe
    “I am who I say I am,
    I'm not some fantasy
    of how you think you think you know
    or who I ought to be.
    I am a girl who is growing up
    in my own sweet time,
    I am a girl who knows enough
    to know this life is mine.
    I am this and I am that and
    I am everything in-between.
    I'm a dreamer, I'm a dancer,
    I'm a part-time drama queen.
    I'm a worrier, I'm a warrior,
    I'm a loner and a friend,
    I'm an outspoken defender
    of justice to the end.
    I'm the girl in the mirror
    who likes the girl she sees,
    I'm the girl in the gypsy shawl
    with music in her knees.
    I'm a singer and a scholar,
    I'm a girl who has been kissed.
    I'm a solver of equations
    wearing bangles on my wrist.
    I am bigger than i ever knew,
    I am stronger than before,
    I am every girl I have ever been,
    and all that are in store.
    I am who I say I am.
    I'm not some fantasy.
    I am the me I am inside.
    I am who
    I chose
    to be.”
    James Howe

  • #12
    Anne Frank
    “The weak fall, but the strong will remain and never go under!”
    Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl

  • #13
    Jalaluddin Rumi
    “I want to sing like the birds sing, not worrying about who hears or what they think.”
    Jalaluddin Rumi

  • #14
    Jalaluddin Rumi
    “People want you to be happy.
    Don't keep serving them your pain!

    If you could untie your wings
    and free your soul of jealousy,

    you and everyone around you
    would fly up like doves.”
    Jalaluddin Rumi

  • #15
    Audrey Niffenegger
    “But now, I know, how absence can be present, like a damaged nerve, like a dark bird.”
    Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveler's Wife

  • #16
    Oscar Wilde
    “There are moments when one has to choose between living one's own life, fully, entirely, completely-or dragging out some false, shallow, degrading existence that the world in its hypocrisy demands.”
    Oscar Wilde, Lady Windermere's Fan

  • #17
    Alan Moore
    “Stood in firelight, sweltering. Bloodstain on chest like map of violent new continent. Felt cleansed. Felt dark planet turn under my feet and knew what cats know that makes them scream like babies in night.

    Looked at sky through smoke heavy with human fat and God was not there. The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever and we are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later. Born from oblivion; bear children, hell-bound as ourselves, go into oblivion. There is nothing else.

    Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It’s us. Only us. Streets stank of fire. The void breathed hard on my heart, turning its illusions to ice, shattering them. Was reborn then, free to scrawl own design on this morally blank world.

    Was Rorschach.

    Does that answer your Questions, Doctor?”
    Alan Moore, Watchmen

  • #18
    Irvine Welsh
    “Choose a life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers... Choose DSY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit crushing game shows, stucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away in the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourself, choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that?”
    Irvine Welsh, Trainspotting

  • #19
    Charles Bukowski
    “So you want to be a writer


    if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
    in spite of everything,
    don’t do it.

    unless it comes unasked out of your
    heart and your mind and your mouth
    and your gut,
    don’t do it.

    if you have to sit for hours
    staring at your computer screen
    or hunched over your
    typewriter
    searching for words,
    don’t do it.

    if you’re doing it for money or
    fame,
    don’t do it.

    if you’re doing it because you want
    women in your bed,
    don’t do it.

    if you have to sit there and
    rewrite it again and again,
    don’t do it.

    if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,
    don’t do it.

    if you’re trying to write like somebody
    else,
    forget about it.

    if you have to wait for it to roar out of
    you,
    then wait patiently.
    if it never does roar out of you,
    do something else.

    if you first have to read it to your wife
    or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
    or your parents or to anybody at all,
    you’re not ready.

    don’t be like so many writers,
    don’t be like so many thousands of
    people who call themselves writers,
    don’t be dull and boring and
    pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-
    love.
    the libraries of the world have
    yawned themselves to
    sleep
    over your kind.
    don’t add to that.
    don’t do it.

    unless it comes out of
    your soul like a rocket,
    unless being still would
    drive you to madness or
    suicide or murder,
    don’t do it.

    unless the sun inside you is
    burning your gut,
    don’t do it.

    when it is truly time,
    and if you have been chosen,
    it will do it by
    itself and it will keep on doing it
    until you die or it dies in you.

    there is no other way.

    and there never was.”
    Charles Bukowski

  • #20
    Max Ehrmann
    “Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly, and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love – for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you from misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.”
    Max Ehrmann, Desiderata - A Poem for a Way of Life

  • #21
    Pablo Neruda
    “Love.

    Because of you, in gardens of blossoming
    Flowers I ache from the perfumes of spring.
    I have forgotten your face, I no longer
    Remember your hands; how did your lips
    Feel on mine?

    Because of you, I love the white statues
    Drowsing in the parks, the white statues that
    Have neither voice nor sight.

    I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice;
    I have forgotten your eyes.

    Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to
    My vague memory of you. I live with pain
    That is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
    Make to me an irreperable harm.

    Your caresses enfold me, like climbing
    Vines on melancholy walls.

    I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to
    Glimpse you in every window.

    Because of you, the heady perfumes of
    Summer pain me; because of you, I again
    Seek out the signs that precipitate desires:
    Shooting stars, falling objects.”
    Pablo Neruda

  • #22
    Jane Green
    “When I'm single, I'm this fabulous, independent, confident woman, and then I get involved with one disastrous man after another and I turn into this needy, insecure, fearful girl who becomes frightened of her own shadow.”
    Jane Green, Dune Road

  • #23
    Milan Kundera
    “The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man's body.The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life's most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become. Conversely, the absolute absence of burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant. What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?”
    Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

  • #24
    Jon Krakauer
    “We like companionship, see, but we can't stand to be around people for very long. So we go get ourselves lost, come back for a while, then get the hell out again.”
    Jon Krakauer, Into the Wild

  • #25
    Philip Pullman
    “She wondered whether there would ever come an hour in her life when she didn't think of him -- didn't speak to him in her head, didn't relive every moment they'd been together, didn't long for his voice and his hands and his love. She had never dreamed of what it would feel like to love someone so much; of all the things that had astonished her in her adventures, that was what astonished her the most. She thought the tenderness it left in her heart was like a bruise that would never go away, but she would cherish it forever.”
    Philip Pullman, His Dark Materials Trilogy: The Golden Compass / The Subtle Knife / The Amber Spyglass

  • #26
    W.B. Yeats
    “BELOVED, gaze in thine own heart,
    The holy tree is growing there;
    From joy the holy branches start,
    And all the trembling flowers they bear.
    The changing colours of its fruit
    Have dowered the stars with merry light;
    The surety of its hidden root
    Has planted quiet in the night;
    The shaking of its leafy head
    Has given the waves their melody,
    And made my lips and music wed,
    Murmuring a wizard song for thee.
    There the Loves a circle go,
    The flaming circle of our days,
    Gyring, spiring to and fro
    In those great ignorant leafy ways;
    Remembering all that shaken hair
    And how the wingèd sandals dart,
    Thine eyes grow full of tender care:
    Beloved, gaze in thine own heart.

    Gaze no more in the bitter glass
    The demons, with their subtle guile,
    Lift up before us when they pass,
    Or only gaze a little while;
    For there a fatal image grows
    That the stormy night receives,
    Roots half hidden under snows,
    Broken boughs and blackened leaves.
    For all things turn to barrenness
    In the dim glass the demons hold,
    The glass of outer weariness,
    Made when God slept in times of old.
    There, through the broken branches, go
    The ravens of unresting thought;
    Flying, crying, to and fro,
    Cruel claw and hungry throat,
    Or else they stand and sniff the wind,
    And shake their ragged wings; alas!
    Thy tender eyes grow all unkind:
    Gaze no more in the bitter glass.

    - The Two Trees”
    W.B. Yeats

  • #27
    C. JoyBell C.
    “A bitch always smokes." He looks back at Lucy. "A bitch is the opposite of a whore. A bitch doesn't need anybody. Or she wants people to think she doesn't need anybody. And she smokes to prove it.”
    C. JoyBell C., Saint Paul Trois Chateaux: 1948

  • #28
    J.R.R. Tolkien
    “I sit beside the fire and think
    Of all that I have seen
    Of meadow flowers and butterflies
    In summers that have been

    Of yellow leaves and gossamer
    In autumns that there were
    With morning mist and silver sun
    And wind upon my hair

    I sit beside the fire and think
    Of how the world will be
    When winter comes without a spring
    That I shall ever see

    For still there are so many things
    That I have never seen
    In every wood in every spring
    There is a different green

    I sit beside the fire and think
    Of people long ago
    And people that will see a world
    That I shall never know

    But all the while I sit and think
    Of times there were before
    I listen for returning feet
    And voices at the door”
    J.R.R. Tolkien

  • #29
    Paulo Coelho
    “If someone isn't what others want them to be, the others become angry. Everyone seems to have a clear idea of how other people should lead their lives, but none about his or her own.”
    Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

  • #30
    Pablo Neruda
    “Don't go far off, not even for a day,
    because I don't know how to say it - a day is long
    and I will be waiting for you, as in
    an empty station when the trains are
    parked off somewhere else, asleep.

    Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then
    the little drops of anguish will all run together,
    the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
    into me, choking my lost heart.

    Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve
    on the beach, may your eyelids never flutter
    into the empty distance. Don't LEAVE me for
    a second, my dearest, because in that moment you'll
    have gone so far I'll wander mazily
    over all the earth, asking, will you
    come back? Will you leave me here, dying?”
    Pablo Neruda



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