Kamand Quotes - Page 4

I began to write because of love. I wrote to understand what I felt and what I knew.

To begin to know ourselves we must have sincere conversations with ourselves as if with a good friend. We must answer without reserve, listen without judgement, and accept without condition. That is self-love.

Poetry is jealous of you tonight, for as soon as I come to pen a few words, your perfume attacks me in the most civilised manner and I forget myself. I forget the poem. I forget the ...

You think I'm giving up. I'm not. I'm giving in.

Think not of the fragility of life, but of the power of books, when mere words can change our lives simply by being next to each other.

Take me when I'm wild.Take me when I'm free.Take me for meand I will take you as you want to be.

If on any given day you don't cry from rejoicing in the beauty of the world, then you have not lived that day.

There is nothing I can do that won’t bring me back to you.

Embrace contradictions for they make upall of life:You will eternally be looking for yourself andseeking ways to lose yourself.

Believe me when I say: 'Out of all those around, she’s the best locksmith in town.' Her stethoscope ears know when the dials of your heart click into place.She’s been cutting keys for years.You don’t stand a chance with that flimsy case.Alas, no matter how you lock your heart— bolt, fixture, and key— she’s got nimble fingersthat pick locks for free.Padlocks and deadboltsare all in vain.Why do you even botherwith that chain?She’s way too smart. Along with ours, she’ll have your heart. And you will see that the best locksmith in town is she.

If you can love one person, you can love everyone.

Missing you,I missed a part of meI shared with you that’s now gone.Missing you, when really, it was the way you made me feeland the things you made us do.Missing you I shouldn’t be.But I can’t help missing who I was with you.Missing you,I missed and missed so much of the world and wasn’t even missed in return.

Speak to me: I will spend my lifetime trying to understand you.

Your love brought me closer to God.

Put down your glass, it is time to dance. If you want to get drunk all you need is to drink love. Put down your pipe and do away with these childish toys. If you want to get high all you need is to breathe love. Now, can I have this dance?

Don't let a cruel word escape your mouth. There's no greater sin than breaking a heart.

Prejudice is an act of violence.

Always ask yourself: "What will happen if I say nothing?

I left the bankbecause they wouldn’t deposit my cheque of poems.So I went to the store,but they didn’t acceptmy currency of words.So I boxed all my storiesand took them to charity.But they refused my donation and asked me to give blood instead.I opened the notebooks and made them look, 'What do you think I wrote these in?

To love is to finally live.

I never wanted to be a martyr—even for love. I don’t want to die for love. I want to live for it.

These poems are cupsthat I pour my life into.Here, Drink!

Gone are the summer daysand my mind along with them.No longer will I indulgein hopes of getting you back.It is hope that makes these chains heavierand autumnal nights longer.I will merely serve as a memory to you:the lover that recited love poems.I must go nowand I urge you not to look back.

Because even if you spend your life chasing the immaterial, listening to the most exquisite classical music and getting drunk off of stunning vistas of mountains and waterfalls, all of it isn't worth a dime if you aren’t sharing it with someone. Everything amounts to that. True, we must experience most things in solitude to grow, create, destroy and grow again, but our pleasure and joy reaches a threshold in isolation. It is the worst thing to become an island. One must become the whole world.

For me,you are fresh waterthat falls from treeswhen it has stopped raining. For me, you are cinnamon that lingers on the tongue and givesbitter wordssweetening.For me, you are the scent of violins and visionof valleys smiling.And still,for me, your loveliness never ends.It traverses the worldand finds its way back to me.Only me.

They want to knowwho I write these poems for.Tell them it's for all loversbecause I don’t see a differencebetween our loveand their love.

Beauty is dad kissing mom's hand when it cramps.Beauty is seeing a Persian woman dance.Ugly is not the absence of beauty.Uglyis the inability to identify it.The inability to be surprised by it.It is the persistent reluctance to be made a child by it.Beauty is simplythe manifestation oflove.

This is an ode to life.The anthem of the world.For as there are billionsof different stars thatmake up the skyso, too, are there billions of different humans thatmake up the Earth.Some shine brighter but all are made ofthe same cosmic dust.O the joy of beingin life with all these people!I speak of differencesbecause they are there.Like the different organsthat make up our bodies.Earth, itself, is one large body.Listen to how it howlswhen one human isin misery.When one kills another, the Earth feels the pang in itschest. When one orgasms, the Earth craves a cigarette.Look carefully,these animals are beauty spots that make the Earth’s face lovelier and more loveable.These oceans are the Earth’s limpid eyes. These trees, its hair.This is an ode to life.The anthem of the world.I will no longer speak of differences, for the similaritiesare larger. Look even closer. There may bedistances between our limbs butthere are no spaces betweenour hearts. We long to be one.We long to be in nature andto run wild with its wildlife.Let us celebrate life and living, for it is sacrilegious to be ungrateful.Let us play and be playful, for it is sacrilegiousto be serious.Let us celebrate imperfectionsand make existenceproud of us, for tomorrow isdeath, and this is an ode to life. The anthem of the world.

We all have the ability to make someone's life better with our love.

Now is not the time for bigots and racists. No time for sexists and homophobes. Now, more than ever, is the time for ARTISTS. It’s time for us to rise above and to create. To show humanity. To spread hope. We must prevent society from destroying itself, from losing its way. Now is the time for love.

Your attention is so sacred that if you truly look for beauty and grace, you will find it in everything.

Knowing you,I became mindless.Having wasted previous wishes,I'm riddled with regretsFeeling you,I became hopeless.Adrift in chasms,I surrender to a caress.Loving you,I became love.My universe became love.Planets rotate on love's axes andapples fall to be near their beloveds.No longer a rationalist, I assert my existence with love. I love, therefore I exist,therefore I love.

The only thing that comes close to defining me correctly is my love.

Why wait to forgive and let go only after you have sufficiently wallowed in your despair? Why not forgive and let go now?

The lover drinksand the cup-bearer pours.The lover thinksbut the cup-bearer knows:love begets love.Since this wine is love,then this cup is love,then this tavern is love,then this life is love.

Love is a snowflake for no two are ever the same.

I write our names on the page.What of it, if the paper will be burned?I write our names in the sand.What of it, if the shore will be washed by waves?I write our names on trees that will be cutand benches that will be painted,but what of it?I will keep on writing our namesbecause in this world of ephemera, You and I are the only constant.

Put down your stones. Why are you breaking the window when God has left the door wide open? If you are afraid, lover, follow me. I will guide the way.

This body is the house of God.

Do the lovers know that when they whisper these poems they are commemorating our love?Do they ever think of you and meor only of themselves?Do they know that I once found a strand of your hairand wore it around my necklike a necklace?That I kiss your handsmore than I kiss your lips?Do they realise that our love and their love are drops in the universe’s ocean of loveand that without any of these drops, the ocean would be less?

We seek the fire of the spark that is already within us.

She might not have read many books. But when she reads a book, she swallows the very words. If you open the books on her shelves, you will find that the front and back covers encase white pages.

Come, let us speak with our bodies.Teach me how to please you.I am here to learn.Let us not waste this time.It is the hour of union.ComeAnd after you do,Come again.

It is a dangerous thing to substitute reading or writing for living. Live first, then write.

It doesn’t matter whether you are looking for a reason to be happy or sad, you will always find it.

She placed her hand on her chest and thought, 'So this is what the poets write about'.

He tried to measure his day by tallying the hours on his wrist.I wiped it off and called him a prisoner.He placed the hours on a scalewith hours from former days to compare.I took a hammer and broke it all.He bent down and picked up the shards of minutes firstthen swept the seconds.I told him he’d missed a spot;there were some sparkling specks left.'What are they?' he asked.'Those are moments,' I said.'What are they made of?' he asked.They are times, I thought, when you win a raceor win a heart.They are times when you give birth or lay something, someone to rest.When you wake up in the morning with a smile because anything is possible.When someone compliments the thing you hate most about yourself.Times when you are embarrassed.Times when you are hurtful.Times when you relish in a hearty meal.Times when you service others and are content with a well-spent day.'What are they made of?' he asked again.'They are made up of times when we are fully present.'I picked up one of the specks with the tipof my finger.'Do you remember this?' I asked.'Of course,' he said, 'I was whistling in the kitchen that morning.''Why?' I asked.'Because of the knowledge that I was loved.

We live only for the hope of love.

Everywhere I go, your beauty spills into my day. The trees were never this verdant. The birdsong never this sweet.

Ask of your eyes to seeonly to seek love.Ask of your mouth to speakonly to utter words of love.Ask of your hands to feelif only to touch the lover.

Come to me.Why must you ruin this moment?You are burdened with thought.Burdened with the pastand expectations of the future.You are burdened with your self.Cast these aside by laughing at yourself.And love,for what more is there than to love me?Take me nowand let it be heaven for us.

Your omnipresence is marvellous!I breathe and you enter me.I exhale and enter into you.

I cannot imagine how much I must’ve suffered in my previous lives to be fortunate enough to have parents like you in this life.

I can sense your love,why leave me in darkness?Beguile me for your amusement,stealing my soul without kisses. You are the sun and I, the moon. Your beauty is reflected in my eyes.When we are apart, I am extinguishedin the blackness of these skies.

In the beginning was love, and love was with God, and love was God.

He knows all my thoughts. He knows all I’ve ever done and He loves me all the same. What is our purpose, you ask. It is to love like God.

People don’t remember lessons. They remember stories.

With you, I am. Without you, I am not.

Work. Good, honest work, whether it’s working with your hands to create an artwork, or manual labour, brings forth a sense of divinity at play. The only prerequisite is that whatever the work is, it is done sincerely and in congruence with the soul’s true origin and intent, then, without any effort, one experiences a flow, wherein one feels a part of the plan of the entire universe.

You have no choice. You must leave your ego on the doorstep before you enter love.