Kamand Quotes - Page 6

String theory makes sense to me because the universe is a symphony that creates harmony with the vibration of our strings.

Beauty is the manifestation of love.

In the very end, all we have left to atone for our faults are words.

Retrospect: the sweetener of life.

Love can bless you with a sense of purpose and direction when all else fails. Because to have faith in love is to be optimistic about life. Love is hopefulness.

A negative outlook is dangerous. When you say, “It can’t get any worse!” You're essentially challenging the universe to do exactly that.

We are told that in translation there is no such thing as equivalence. Many times the translator reaches a fork in the translating road where they must make a choice in the interpretation of a word. And each time they make one of these choices, they are taken further from the truth. But what we aren’t told is that this isn’t a shortcoming of translation; it’s a shortcoming of language itself. As soon as we try to put reality into words, we limit it. Words are not reality, they are the cause of reality, and thus reality is always more. Writers aren't alchemists who transmute words into the aurous essence of the human experience. No, they are glassmakers. They create a work of art that enables us to see inside to help us understand. And if they are really good, we can see our own reflections staring back at us.

Enjoy this moment. The ultimate fulfilment of the dream will not come close to the dream. Enjoy it

The way you dress is how you greet the sun and other stars.

Enlightenment lacks any form of judgment.

All you need to get by in this world is the memory of love

I remember our childhood dayswhen life was easyand math problems hard.Mom would help us with our homeworkand dad was not at home but at work.After our chores, we’d go to the old fort museum with clips in our hair and pure joy in our hearts.You, sister, wore the bangles thatyou, brother, got as a prize from the Dentist.“Why the bangles?” the Dentist asked, surprised, for boys picked the stickers of cars instead.“They’re for my sisters,” you said.Mom would treat us to a bottle of Coke,a few sips each. Then,we’d buy the sweet smelling bread from the same white vanand hand-in-hand,we’d walk to our small flat above the restaurant.I remember our childhood days.Do you remember them too?

Life is a concept, like the “universe", that expands as soon as we reach what we think is its edge.

They took my booksbecause my message was love.They took my penbecause my words were love.Then they took my voicebecause my song was love.Soon they’ll take myselfso nothing remains.But they don’t know that when I'm gonemy love will stay.

Let us remember to always rediscover one anotherbecause we are forever changing.

We are all born as storytellers. Our inner voice tells the first story we ever hear.

To understand and be understood is to be at peace

I am humbled by the grace of God.I am humbled by the beauty of this universe.Humbled by others' kindness.Humbled by life.I drop down to my knees and give thanks.

Whenever you are angry, take a beautiful object in your house and smash it to pieces. The pity you feel for what you have done is silly compared to what you are doing to your mind: taking a sacred moment to be alive and desecrating it by being angry.

They can award me with the greatest accolades and reward me with the finest diamonds. They can name days and streets after me, canonise and celebrate me. They can make me the queen of their kingdom, the president of their nation. They can carry my picture in their wallets and whisper my name in their prayers but, tell me, what is all this worth if your voice isn’t the one calling me home?

We exist only to exist.

They tell us the greatest love story is how water fell in love with fire. Or how satan fell in love with God. But the greatest love story to me is how I didn’t notice myself falling, when I fell in love with you

I have no use for these other loves.Seal them shut in jarsand place them in the pantry. A reserve of love.Thank them for their love.They are so kind.Perhaps store them in the fridgeFor others to take.They say love is a panacea. I know it is not.Flakes of snow,no two are alike.When I am down on my knees, hopeless and angry,for the world no longer makes sense,I won't look in the pantry or fridge.It is your hand pressing on my shoulderthat makes me whole,makes me forget.What trouble? What world?

Why are we afraid of the silence that ensues after our death? Wasn’t it the same silence we endured before birth? Isn’t it the same silence we revel in when we are completely immersed in the present moment? Let us not be afraid.

How is it that there was never youuntil there wasand then all was you?

What happens when I love, you ask, does the world start making sense? No, my dear, it does not. But it won’t matter to you then.

The only thing that prevents us from being happy is thinking.

The only path wide enough for us all is love.

All kinds of people read poetry: revolutionaries, scholars, sentimentalists etc. But above all else, lovers read poetry. Why? Because we fell in love. And then we fell in love with love.

Name and form are simply illusions of separation. Love doesn’t make us blind; rather, it erases the illusions so we can see clearly.

Art doesn’t give rise to anything in us that isn’t already there. It simply stirs our curious consciousness and sparks a fire that illuminates who we have always wanted to be.

Because at nightwhen others are sleeping, I drown myself in poetry.

You must be more alive than life.You must see darkness danceand hear silence sing.You must be more awake than lightfor we aren’t born sleepingand we shouldn’t live sleeping.Only then will death’s slumberbecome sweet.

I would rather lie facedown on the ground and use my body as a bridge, than stand proud and tall and use my body as a wall.

Grace is neither gentleness nor fragility. Grace is treating yourself, others, and even inanimate objects with respect.

I don’t mind losing in this game of love, if it means You will be the winner.

Close your eyes. Meditate on your love. This is God.

We all wear masksto veil the truth.Truth is nakedness.Truth is fear.Truth is the gardener making you sit on his lapasking you tolight his cigarette.Truth is father— with a limp cigarette on his lips —telling you to never use his matches to light it for him.Truth is father yelling:"It is not nice for little girls to do so”.Truth is a curious girlwanting to ignite a matchlike a woman.Truth is the maid watching from the kitchen,knowing.But knowing isn’t truth.Truth is the maid calling:Come. Come.Truth is the gardener understanding. But understanding isn’t truth.Truth is the maid saying,"Stay away!"Truth is a girl thinking she is in control.That nothing happened, nothing bad.But the truest truthis a girl knowing, a girl understanding thaton that daysomeone stole a little piece of her truth.

As long as you're not hurting anyone or anything, including your future self, do only that which makes you happy.

The greatest thing about me isn’t even a part of me. It’s you.

Make no mistake about it. We are born blind, deaf, and mute. It is neither these eyes that give us sight, nor these ears that give us sound. It is not even these lips that give us voice. It is only love. Love makes us seek beauty and truth. Love yearns to connect. To experience. To understand. So close your eyes at once. Don’t utter a word. Perk up your ears and listen to that silent sound inside you where all this is found.

My mind is being consumed by you.My body is longing for you. Just one touch or a kiss, And I shall be satiated for a thousand years.

Sit here, so I may writeyou into a poem and make you eternal.

Does God knowthe number of kissesbefore we fall in love?Yesterday, I was nobodyand I believed myself important.Today,I feel my worth in you.You, with your emerald eyes and ebony hair,even your heartbeat is beautiful.You, who is my greatest joy,all other concerns vanish in your presence.You swallow timeand consume space,inspiring all my passionwith a single embrace.I love your existence.

If I can’t be your love, then let me be a simple brooch so I may rest a while against your chest. If I can’t be your love, then let me be a forgotten coin so I may rest a while against your thigh. If I can’t be your love, then let me be an unlit cigarette so I may rest a while in between your lips. If I can’t be your love, then let me at least remain in these words so I may rest a while in your thoughts.

I think whenever there’s potential for beauty, beauty can be found. And everything has potential for beauty.

This is the only truth in the world that was necessary yesterday, is necessary today, and will continue to be necessary tomorrow: be conscious of now.

Last night, I spoke to God.I told Him my plans. He started to cry.I thought I was great to move The Greatest to tears.He said that He was crying only becausemy plans were very differentthan His plans for me.

You see herand ascend into love. You become enchanted, a found madman. In your love,you lose yourself and become her. You were once without her, now with her. You still feel her and descend into love. You become enraptured, a lost madman. In your love,you lost yourself and her. You were once with her, nowwithout her.