Indian Authors Quotes - Page 2

..now, seated hunched over paper in a pool of Anglepoised light, I no longer want to be anything except what who I am. Who what am I? My answer: I am the sum total of everything that went before me, of all I have seen done, of everything done-to-me. I am everyone everything whose being-in-the-world affected was affected by mine. I am anything that happens after I've gone which would not have happened if I had not come. Nor am I particularly exceptional in this matter; each 'I', every one of the now-six-hundred-million-plus of us, contains a similar multitude. I repeat for the last time: to understand me, you'll have to swallow a world.

Ebb and flow, ebb and flow, our lives. Is that why we're fascinated by the steadfastness of stars? The water reaches my calves. I begin the story of the Pleiades, women transformed into birds so Swift and bright that no man could snare them.

Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

Would you like to come in?" I said. My hands were sweaty. Inside my chest an ocean heaved and crashed and heaved again."I would," he said. I saw his Adam's apple jerk as he swallowed. "Thank you."I was distracted by that thank you. We had moved past the language of formality long ago. It was strange to relearn it with each other.

Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

What you are trying to let go of...is already gone.

Push away the past, that vessel in which all emotions curdle to regret.

Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

all my lifei have looked for poemsto elope with.

i am infinitely yearningbrimmingand overflowingin wordsi discoverit’s another wayfor meto be in tears.

all the wordsall the poems know my warm, soft spots.

You askif I will write a poemI could,I supposewrite the mostsplendiferousone of allbut notrightnownot whenyour handsare brewingwarmcinnamon teaacross my skinnot when I’mtrying to imaginewhat might happenif you beganfloweringkissesuponmeMy dear,how canI writea poemwhen I’m alreadyinside one?

May youalways haveopenbreezy spacesin your mind.

kisses explode when... someone believes in me when my heart cries out a song of thanks to yours.

this heart yearns...for the salt of unsmelt airunswept thunderstorms...unknown adventures.

I wish to stay drenchedforeverin those rain-blue eyesin those...soul-reaching crystalsnot moving a musclenor breathingjustsavoringthis turquoise acheagainst my heart.

I breathe in...the silenceof my own heartaching with tendernesswith memories..Of home.

leave me some musicthat’s chocolate for the heart.

And stay, my dearstay...forever, as my quiet song,in my lilac dawn.

Marriage is not kick-boxing, it's salsa dancing.

Dear Fellow Human Being,You are born wild, You do not deserve to be tamed!Tell yourself,You do not deserve this!All those toxic words you have to listen from people,All those fears they try to pin on your mind,All those giggles they aim at your dreams,All those judgmental stares inspecting your individuality,All those fingers pointing towards your crude character,All those shackles that tie your feet to social expectations,All those cages that do not let your imagination fly free,Listen deeply, you do not deserve any of it.My dear fellow human, you do not deserve this hostility.You are born wild, You do not deserve to be tamed!― Jasz Gill

Jasz Gill

Watch, how the sunslowly risesfrom behind my earnew lines, new countriesspring up in my palmsmy rough hairbecome swaying silkand all the leavesin my bodybecome lusher than fruits.

If I began to drawmyself away from youwe’d still be liketwo mixed colors of paintimpossible to separate.

a single poemthe thing that can keep melight on my feet,when my soul isheavy with sorrow.

Modernity is kind of a tradition and tradition itself is not a rulebook. It's a dialogue and a dialectical process— just as tradition affects us, we too affect tradition and culture, and we change it.

Sharanya Haridas

But, my dear friend Wildfire," said Carl Peterson laying his hand on the Indian's shoulder, "this is not a policy to live by." "Then let it be a policy to die by," defiantly spoke the Indian. "If we cannot be free, let us die. What is life to a caged bird, threatened with death on all sides?

S. Alice Callahan

Srinagar is a medieval city dying in a modern war. It is empty streets, locked shops, angry soldiers and boys with stones. It is several thousand military bunkers, four golf courses, and three book-shops. It is wily politicians repeating their lies about war and peace to television cameras and small crowds gathered by the promise of an elusive job or a daily fee of a few hundred rupees. It is stopping at sidewalks and traffic lights when the convoys of rulers and their patrons in armored cars, secured by machine guns, rumble on broken roads. It is staring back or looking away, resigned. Srinagar is never winning and never being defeated.

Farsi Couplet:Mun tu shudam tu mun shudi,mun tun shudam tu jaan shudiTaakas na guyad baad azeen, mun deegaram tu deegariEnglish Translation:I have become you, and you me,I am the body, you soul;So that no one can say hereafter,That you are someone, and me someone else.

When it comes to lovedo not eversettle for anythingless than magical.

We are the children of a womb.Yet we differentiate each other,On color, creed and the sizes of our tombs!!

Shillpi S Banerrji

In the West, people learn through the Socratic tradition. The education system was influenced by Western philosophy and is based on constantly questioning the knowledge that’s handed to you and arriving at the truth through that process of questioning. The Indian system took off from the Guru-Shishyha tradition in which your virtue as a student lay in taking tradition or parampara as it is given to you and passing it on to the next generation in the exact same way.

Sharanya Haridas

poetrymelts my bones.enters my blood.and changesits composition.

Tell me..how do you stand there?filling the doorway....of my life.

Live as many lives as you can.

i want to stay curled and cosiedand chocolated....foreverin my mother’s arms.

I breathe in...the fragranceof love, and moist sandthe onehis roses lefton both my handsI just keep on breathingevery momentas much as I canpreserving it, in my bodyfor the dayit can’t.

and the afterglow...of your gaze...is the onlysweater that I need.

a silent night. - the most eloquent poem i have ever read.

Poems can getsleepless tooand becomethe loneliest thingin the universe.

Once in a while i am struckall over again... by just how blue the sky appears .. on wind-played autumn mornings, blue enoughto bruise a heart.

love wounds me with soft pillows with tender lips and fingers

Whatever you get out of poetry - take it. take it. take it. Words are better off felt than understood.

You are that one breath. that puts all the remaining breaths. back into my body.

whatever you dobe gentle with yourself.you don’t just livein this worldor your homeor your skin.you also livein someone’s eyes.

Not words. nor laughter. but rather someonewho will fall in lovewith your silence.

because some thingssometimesaren't ours to hold,but just beautiful to listen to.

it was the kind of moonthat I would want to send back to my ancestorsand gift to my descendantsso they know that I too,have been bruised...by beauty.

there are some poemsthat we leave behindsome that leave us behindwhile some just livesilentlyin the heartcrumble, sometimesdwindledisappeardieand are rebornwhen you smile again.

the saddest thing is to bea minute to someone,when you've made them your eternity.

Civilians enjoy their time because soldiers sacrifice their time.

Uniform of a soldier and uniform of a student both are equally needed for the nation.

Change the world, I know I won’t,Enthralling as always I hope it remains,A kaleidoscope of joy, sorrow and pain.But my only wish as I take this jaunt,Is for my words on you to impress upon,A smile, a tear or even an angry frown.

i writebecauseit is the only wayi can reach you.

To fall in love with someone's thoughts - the most intimate, splendid romance.

your handtouching mine.this is howgalaxiescollide.

i have laughedmore than daffodilsand cried more than June.

When you have power and use it for destructive purpose: you don't deserve it.

When it's possible for you to dream, it's not impossible to achieve.

Wordsare powerfulforces of nature.they are destruction.they are nourishment. they are flesh. they are water.they are flowers and bone.they burn. they cleansethey erase. they etch. they can eitherleave youfeelinghomelessor brimmingwith home.