Quotes Tagged "memory"

नाव बनाओ सवाल डूबा या तैर रहा है इससे कोई फर्क नहीं पड़ता - कुछ भी नहीं जाता। आजकल आप इसे सुन सकते हैं आप नाव कैसे बना रहे हैं? आप सड़कों पर कैसे घूम सकते हैं? और आप घटना से बाहर हर दिन सुन सकते हैं जो हथौड़े का इस्तेमाल कर रहा है लड़की धीरे से चली गई सब कुछ एक आवाज को साफ करने वाला है मुझे लगता है कि आदमी एक नाव बना रहा है वह छोड़ना चाहता है वह चाहता है कि सभी लोग सुरक्षित रहें क्योंकि जल स्तर बढ़ रहा है शायद वह घर में कुछ लाना चाहता है यही हमें चाहिए जो चीजें हम सोचते हैं और जिनकी हमें जरूरत है शायद जहाज के शिपमेंट में सर्दियों के कपड़े शायद एक या दो अच्छे राजनेता शायद यह सोने की बात है जिसके लिए लोग इतने दीवाने हैं शायद अन्य नारंगी या अन्य नारंगी नारंगी या अन्य नारंगी। और कई मौकों पर इस शख्स की मुस्कुराहट खत्म हो गई आप पक्षियों के बादलों को उठते हुए देख सकते हैं यह उनके गंदे घोंसले से बाहर निकल रहा है एक छोटी, अंधी आंख में जिस घर ने उन्हें अपने आसपास खाने-पीने की चेतावनी दी है वे तेजी से भूल जाएंगे, वे खुद को पसंद करते हैं, उन्हें जो भय हो रहा था कुछ सेकंड पहले क्योंकि वे आसानी से परेशान हो जाते हैं। कल की तरह ही मैं खरीदारी करने गया था मैंने बहुत सी चीजों पर ध्यान दिया है: सबसे पहले, दुकानदार कैसे अपनी आँखें उठाते हैं आओ उन्हें देखें, ताकि वे आपको जान सकें अंतिम भुजा आपके पास रखने की तुलना में अधिक है। दूसरा, कितनी महिलाएं आईं दुकान से दुकान पर जाएं दुकान की चौखट पर खड़े होकर पाउडर-माचे अस्पष्ट चेहरा तीसरा, सूरज की रोशनी में कैसे एक पोशाक पहनने के बारे में रंग बदलें और उन्हें खींचें कभी-कभी यह बहुत अनुकूल हो जाता है। कभी-कभी मैं आपका हाथ पकड़ता हूं मुझे लगता है, आप कैसे या कैसे बढ़ई के लिए व्यवस्था कर सकते हैं यह छोटा लगता है और काफी नहीं है त्वचा प्याज की तरह पतली होती है मुझे याद है कि यह काफी मजबूत और स्वस्थ था, माँ, मेरा आश्वस्त हाथ पकड़े हुए जब तक मुझे याद नहीं किया मैं नाव के बारे में कुछ नहीं जानता, मैं नाव बनाने के लिए कोई सुझाव नहीं दे सकता मैं केवल उससे पूछ सकता हूं हवा की गति के संबंध में, समुद्र के बीच में, तड़क-भड़क, तेज तीर यह देखने की आवश्यकता है कि जब आपकी शराब जंगल में भाग गई थी, कंक्रीट के घरों को देख रहे हैं और कोत के घरों को देख रहे हैं और कोकून में डूब रहे हैं और बादलों के बारे में कुछ कहो अगर आप उनसे प्यार करते हैं तो भी आप उन पर भरोसा क्यों नहीं करते। कम से कम वे हमेशा बादल छाए रहते हैं मैं भोजन और नाव के कठिन मार्गों के बारे में जानना चाहूंगा क्या यह अच्छे समुद्र के पानी का स्वाद ले सकता है? यहां घरों को खतरनाक तरीके से खड़ा करना पसंद है, कोई नदी के लिए नाव बना रहा है कोई समुद्र के लिए जहाज बना रहा है मैं केवल कई नीले पहाड़ियों को देखता हूं और देखता हूं सोना सड़क पर फैल रहा है महिलाएं सुंदर हैं और पुरुष मजबूत हैं मुझे यकीन है कि उनके बच्चे एक परी गीत गायक होंगे। बच्चे का प्रयास नाव में किया जाता है।

Naked. Fatigue of the body transparent as a glass-tree. Near yourself you hear the brutal rumor of inextricable desire. Night blindly mine. You're farther gone than me. Horror of checking for you in the screams of my poem. Your name is the disease of things at midnight. They had promised me one silence. Your face is closer to me than my own. Phantom memory. How I'd love to kill you —

I had someone once who made every day mean something. And now…. I am lost…. And nothing means anything anymore.

I miss that feeling of connection. Knowing he was out there somewhere thinking about me at the same time I was thinking about him.

He was both everything I could ever want… And nothing I could ever have…

The last time I felt alive – I was looking into your eyes. Breathing your air…. touching your skin… … Saying goodbye…. The last time I felt alive…. I was dying.

Ketika kamu mengatakan sudah bisa melupakannya, berarti kamu masih mengingatnya.

I see you everywhere In the scratched mirrors The dusty pages The empty chairs And in the sad songs that everyone else seems to avoid For you did have a habit of always Breaking the things that once were whole, Making hell out of homes, And leaving souls starving for the things you’ve been feeding your heart on all along …

Don't try online dating, it never works. You should always try many lines!

Because you have no memory for things that happened ten or twenty years ago, you're still mouthing the same nonsense as two thousand years ago. Worse, you cling with might and main to such absurdities as 'race,' 'class,' 'nation,' and the obligation to observe a religion and repress your love.

I have a shocking memory - I remember everything.

The desert still has a memory of water. And that memory is a living thing. It is infused into the sand. It is part of its essence.

We all have our youthful follies, embarassing to recall -- but people somehow find it hard to dismiss as a youthful folly anything that has happened to be a financial success.

It’s comforting to know that you don’t have to be excellent to not be completely forgotten.

I got an image in my head that never got out. We see a great many things and can remember a great many things, but that is different. We get very few of the true images in our heads of the kind I am talking about, the kind that become more and more vivid for us as if the passage of the years did not obscure their reality but, year by year, drew off another veil to expose a meaning which we had only dimly surmised at first. Very probably the last veil will not be removed, for there are not enough years, but the brightness of the image increases and our conviction increases that the brightness is meaning, or the legend of meaning, and without the image our lives would be nothing except an old piece of film rolled on a spool and thrown into a desk drawer among the unanswered letters.

The number of people we come close to during our lives is small, and we fail to realise how infinitely important each and every one of them is to us until we grow older and can see things from afar. When I was sixteen, I thought that life was without end, the number of people in it inexhaustible. This was by no means strange, since right from starting school at the age of seven I’d been surrounded by hundreds of children and adults; people were a renewable resource, found in abundance, but what I didn’t know, or rather had absolutely no conception of, was that every step I took was defining me, every person I encountered leaving their mark on me, and that the life I was living at that particular time, boundlessly arbitrary as it seemed, was in fact my life. That one day i would look back on my life and this would be what I looked back on. What then had been insignificant, as weightless as air, a series of events dissolving in exactly the same way as the darkness dissolved in the mornings, would twenty years on seem laden with destiny and fate.

I'm so sorry no one cared enough to tell you that you can never win against a ghost.

―The thing about memory is that you can feel it eroding slowly, being stolen away from you by time. It starts with the way you stop hearing his voice in your head. Then it's the color of the shirt he wore last Christmas. Before you know it, your memories have become fragmented, as if the small details were grains of sand blown away by the wind. I should be grateful that I'm starting to remember you less. Instead, I felt lonely. Pieces of you that I once held dear are being ripped apart into tiny shreds of information my brain thinks I can afford to forget. I can feel my heart fighting. It loves the feel of you though for the most part, you hurt. I looked for you in places where I knew I would never find you, in faces I knew I would never recognize. I looked for you hoping that through the sheer force of my will I would find your eyes staring back. But that's the thing about memory - you can feel it eroding slowly, being stolen away from you by time. I want to remember you. But I'm no longer entirely sure I really remember you. It kills me. Have you started remembering me less too?

Time's the thief of memory

We are living in a culture entirely hypnotized by the illusion of time, in which the so-called present moment is felt as nothing but an infintesimal hairline between an all-powerfully causative past and an absorbingly important future. We have no present. Our consciousness is almost completely preoccupied with memory and expectation. We do not realize that there never was, is, nor will be any other experience than present experience. We are therefore out of touch with reality. We confuse the world as talked about, described, and measured with the world which actually is. We are sick with a fascination for the useful tools of names and numbers, of symbols, signs, conceptions and ideas.