Pamela Harju > Pamela's Quotes

“Our memory is a more perfect world than the universe: it gives back life to those who no longer exist.”
― Guy de Maupassant

“Unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don't to it.”
― Charles Bukowski

“The problem with the world is that the intelligent people are full of doubts, while the stupid ones are full of confidence.”
― Charles Bukowski

“He takes another bite of the hairy fruit and marvels how the bullet from his Winchester did to her head what his teeth did to her kiwi.”
― Laurence Beveridge, Militia of the Lost

“He had not been sleeping well over Christmas. Actually, he hadn’t been doing anything well over Christmas – eating, sleeping, exercising, talking, looking after himself, laughing, crying… No, he hadn’t really been crying despite all the pain he felt. It was just tearing him up inside, quietly. It was like his insides were being ripped up by an angered tiger.”
― Pamela Harju, The Truth about Tomorrow

“Mel eventually gave up trying to talk to him and just sat there looking at him. There was not likely to be much to look at, apart from the red, puffy eyes, runny nose and the rest of the mess that was Kyle French. Certainly not the once good-looking young student that Mel had developed a crush on.”
― Pamela Harju, The Truth about Tomorrow

“It made him sad, realising that their smell was going to be gone for good one day. Even if they kept all their clothes, the scent would vanish eventually and become only a memory, just like everything else about them. Sometimes he thought he couldn’t even remember their voices anymore. There were photos of course, but it wasn’t the same. Although he had not hugged either of his parents in years, the thought of not being able to do so was too painful to bear, especially when he felt like he needed it. Eventually he would forget what it had felt like to be near his mum or what kind of a presence his father had. They were just going to be names, mere mentions in conversation that were glazed over and didn’t mean much to anybody.”
― Pamela Harju, The Truth about Tomorrow

“I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King

“Käytävästä kuului liikettä, eikä aikaakaan ennen kuin Gary ilmestyi portaiden päähän. Hän näytti niin pirteältä ja hyväntuuliselta, että olisi voinut kuvitella olevan keskipäivä ennemmin kuin keskiyö. Hän oli pukeutunut lyhyeen, mustaan nahkatakkiin ja kapealahkeisiin, mustiin farkkuihin ja näytti juuri siltä mitä olikin – maailmanluokan rock-tähdeltä.
Kun hän kääntyi minua kohti, hänen kasvoilleen levisi ilkikurinen hymy.
”Hei, en tiennytkään, että pyjama voi olla noin seksikäs.”
― Pamela Harju, Etäisesti sinun

“Inhosin aamuja Garyn kanssa. Väistämätön ero oli aina nurkan takana, ja vaikka sillä ei tuntunut olevan hänelle mitään merkitystä, minut valtasi aina katkera pettymys ja itseinho. Olin lakannut toivomasta ja unelmoimasta. Gary ei kuulunut minun maailmaani. Hän oli laulaja valtavan suosion saavuttaneessa rock-bändissä eikä missään nimessä aikonut asettua aloilleen puhelinkaupan myyjän kanssa. Tunteiden myllerryksessä minun oli aina vaikea keksiä sanottavaa. Gary ei sitä tosin näyttänyt kaipaavankaan. Hän oli täysin uppoutunut seuraamaan tapahtumia kadulla.”
― Pamela Harju, Etäisesti sinun

“Pettymyksen julma koura kuristi kurkkuani. Tietenkään Gary ei ollut mustasukkainen. Miksi olisikaan ollut? Hänelle en sentään ollut ainoa nainen maailmassa. Häntä vain kiinnosti varmistaa, että kukaan ei saisi tietää minusta. Aivan kuin sillä olisi ollut jotakin merkitystä. Tietysti tapaus kiinnostaisi yleisöä jonkin aikaa, mutta se unohtuisi nopeasti.”
― Pamela Harju, Etäisesti sinun

“Gary ei koskaan lakannut olemasta rock-tähti, ei edes vapaapäivinään. Hän katosi pitkäksi aikaa vessaan, selvästi huolehtimaan tukastaan, ja pukeutui mustiin, kapealahkeisiin farkkuihin, joihin kuuluvasta punaisesta vyöstä roikkui kolme erilaista ketjua. Hänen t-paitansa oli täynnä vinoittaisia, punaisia ja mustia raitoja, ja hänen kenkänsä olivat suorastaan TV:stä tutut, punaiset tennarit. Oli vaikea sanoa, oliko Gary pukeutunut ja käyttäytynyt kuin rock-laulaja jo nuoresta pitäen, vai oliko hän vain omaksunut roolinsa niin hyvin, että ei osannut siitä luopua edes vapaa-aikanaan.”
― Pamela Harju, Etäisesti sinun

“You are a Vane, Lorens," Ruple growls. "You do not falter beneath the weight of the world. You fight until your last breath, no matter the cost.”
― Laurence Beveridge, Unbreakable Hearts

“The cruel hand of disappointment strangled my throat. Of course he wasn’t jealous. Why would he be? After all, to him, I wasn’t the only woman in the world. He just wanted to be sure that nobody knew about me. As if it would matter. The public would be interested for a while, yes, but they’d forget it quickly.”
― Pamela Harju, Yours Remotely

“Gary never stopped being a rock star, not even on his days off. He vanished into the bathroom for a long time to fix his hair and dressed in black skinny jeans accompanied by a red belt with three different chains hanging from it. His t-shirt had diagonal, red and black stripes on it, and his red canvas shoes were as seen on TV. It was hard to say whether Gary had dressed and behaved like a rock star from a young age or if he had assumed his role so well that he couldn’t even give it up in his spare time.”
― Pamela Harju, Yours Remotely

“The moment I opened my eyes on Suse and Jonah’s wedding day, there was only one thing on my mind – Gary. I knew he was in town, and his presence was everywhere. It was in the sheets on my bed, it wrapped itself around me in the shape of my bathrobe and stirred into my coffee with the sugar. The stupid thing was that I didn’t even know if he was in town yet. Maybe he was still on the way.”
― Pamela Harju, Yours Remotely

“Advice? I don’t have advice. Stop aspiring and start writing. If you’re writing, you’re a writer. Write like you’re a goddamn death row inmate and the governor is out of the country and there’s no chance for a pardon. Write like you’re clinging to the edge of a cliff, white knuckles, on your last breath, and you’ve got just one last thing to say, like you’re a bird flying over us and you can see everything, and please, for God’s sake, tell us something that will save us from ourselves. Take a deep breath and tell us your deepest, darkest secret, so we can wipe our brow and know that we’re not alone. Write like you have a message from the king. Or don’t. Who knows, maybe you’re one of the lucky ones who doesn’t have to.”
― Alan Wilson Watts

“Who did she expect to pick her up? A name had been on her lips. Someone she missed terribly, so much so that the physical longing stabbed at her chest and made her grab it, but there was no knife to pull out. It was invisible but real, and the blade was grinding deeper into her as she realised that she didn’t know who she was missing. There was no knight in shining armour to collect her, or if there was, she didn’t know who he was.”
― Pamela Harju, A World Other Than Her Own

“While she sat and relaxed in her comfortable surroundings, the rain outside got heavier. It beat against the tall windows like hundreds of tapping fingers while the wind sang its own operas outside. In a strange way, it added to her contentment. She was warm and dry inside while outside Mother Nature was throwing a tantrum.”
― Pamela Harju, A World Other Than Her Own

“It was raining outside. It wasn’t heavy, but it left droplets on the windows, making it look like the window was covered in glitter which gleamed and shone in the candlelight. There was something outlandish about the place. It wasn’t only the grand rooms and the exquisite décor and not even the sheer size of the building; there was more to it. It was a feeling. She felt enveloped in it day and night. It wasn’t unpleasant or choking, but it wasn’t cosy and welcoming either. It was just there, like a straitjacket. She hoped that there could have been a bit more glitter and glamour to her days. She wasn’t exactly a sparkly kind of girl, but she missed… something.”
― Pamela Harju, A World Other Than Her Own

“To her surprise, he took her hand and raised it to his lips. For a moment, Claire couldn’t see his face properly. When he let go of her hand and looked up at her again, there was a peculiar expression on his face. It was full of longing, and it went so deep that Claire’s heart shattered. She didn’t feel sympathy for him. It was more a case of feeling a similar yearning, and it seemed to push her heart all the way to the back of her ribcage where it was being strangled against her spine and was likely to be squeezed out of life.”
― Pamela Harju, A World Other Than Her Own

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
― Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

“Aye, well, he'll be wed a long time," he said callously. "Do him no harm to keep his breeches on for one night. And they do say that abstinence makes the heart grow firmer, no?"

"Absence," I said, dodging the spoon for a moment. "AND fonder. If anything's growing firmer from abstinence, it wouldn't be his heart.”
― Diana Gabaldon, Voyager

“Your grandmother always used to say that we’re all on the same dancefloor, but we all dance to different songs and some of us dance to shorter songs than others.”
Some of us don’t even stay for the duration of the song, Rowan thought bitterly. He did remember his granny saying that, that the world was a big dancefloor.
“Well, your song is a beautiful composition. Any woman with a bit of common sense will see that.” His grandfather squeezed Rowan’s arm again, took a sip of his whisky and moved to the safer topic of the following week’s football games. An interest in football was a trait Rowan had missed from both sides of his family.”
― Pamela Harju, Sympathetic Strings

“He was more relaxed this time, more confident. He kept one hand on her waist and the other on the side of her neck. She wanted him to envelop her, to engulf her. She wanted to feel his body all around her, all over her. She wanted to get inside his clothes, inside his body and inside his mind. She wanted him, there was no doubt about it. There was no doubt about him wanting her either. His kisses were passionate and hungry but still had that carefulness about them, as if he worried she might break under his touch or evaporate into thin air. She was more concerned that the lack of his touch might make her implode.”
― Pamela Harju, Sympathetic Strings

“She reached her hand behind her back and grabbed his. She could just as easily have gripped another part of him because she wasn’t looking. She was wearing gloves, the thin kind, but he wasn’t. He had forgotten to bring them, and it wasn’t cold. Even if it had been, he wouldn’t have noticed it. Inside him, it was like a sunny summer’s day on a Cornish beach – complete with a light breeze that ensured it wasn’t too lovely. He worried that she didn’t realise she was holding his hand. She probably didn’t want to hold anybody’s hand and particularly not his.”
― Pamela Harju, Sympathetic Strings

“One thing: you have to walk, and create the way by your walking; you will not find a ready-made path. It is not so cheap, to reach to the ultimate realization of truth. You will have to create the path by walking yourself; the path is not ready-made, lying there and waiting for you. It is just like the sky: the birds fly, but they don't leave any footprints. You cannot follow them; there are no footprints left behind.”
― Osho

“He was woken by music. It beckoned him, lilting and insistent; delicate music, played by delicate instruments that he could not identify, with one rippling, bell-like phrase running through it in a gold thread of delight. There was in this music so much of the deepest enchantment of all his dreams and imaginings that he woke smiling in pure happiness at the sound.”
― Susan Cooper, The Dark Is Rising

“... Sometimes you must seem to hurt something in order to do good for it.”
― Susan Cooper, The Grey King

“Consistency is the hallmark of the unimaginative.”
― Oscar Wilde