lit & life

Some of these things are true and some of them lies. But they are all good stories.

Limited minds can recognize limitations only in others.

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom: If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

You can't get away from yourself by moving from one place to another.

The debts we owe ourselves are the hardest to pay.

There are threads in our lives. You pull one, and everything else gets affected.

Aging isn’t just about our bodies decaying while we’re still inside them. It’s about living with the accumulation of experiences. The heavy burden of the ugly ones, the longing for the beautiful.

The forest was almost thunderous in its myriad sounds.

The pain will always be there. So will the fear. But the pain and fear are no longer my life. They’re only moments.

You always seek to control others when you are not in full ownership of yourself.

But it is worth noting that to be good at something is not quite the same as loving it.

All I ever think about is you.

It is always fatal to have music or poetry interrupted.

Has any psychological experiment yielded a more delightful suggestion than this one: that there is a part of the mind without ambition or information, which nonetheless is expert on what is beautiful?

Masterpieces are not single and solitary births; they are the outcome of many years of thinking in common, of thinking by the body of the people, so that the experience of the mass is behind the single voice.

If she could rewind the timeline, untwist it and roll it back the other way like a ball of wool, she’d see the knots in the yarn, the warning signs. Looking at it backward it was obvious all along.

What more can we want as writers than such immortality? Don't ghosts just want to be remembered?