With greater feelings come greater danger.
Tears collected in my eyes as I walked up the hill. I wasn't crying for my mother-or myself-or even that poor homeless man. I was crying for all of us. There's so much pain everywhere, and we just close our eyes to it. The truth is we're all scared. We're terrified of each other. I'm terrified of myself and of my mother in me. Is her madness in my blood? Is it?
-Alicia Brenson
Unexpressed emotions will never die. They are buried alive and will come forth later, in uglier ways.
-Sigmund Freud
It's hard to imagine two women more different than Kathy and Alicia. Kathy makes me think of light, warmth, color, and laughter. When I think of Alicia, I think only of depth, of darkness, of sadness.
Of silence.
-Theo
If people don't reply when you speak to them and never initiate conversation, you soon forget they are there.
I don't know why I'm writing this.
That's not true. Maybe I do know and just don't want to admit it to myself.
I don't even know what to call this thing I'm writing. It feels a little pretentious to call it a diary. It's not like I have anything to say. Anne Frank kept a diary-not someone like me. Calling it a "journal" sounds too academic, somehow. As if I should write in it every day, and I don't want to -if it becomes a chore, I'll never keep it up.
Maybe I'll call it nothing. An unnamed something that I occasionally write in. I like that better. Once you name something, it stops you from seeing the whole of it or why it matters. You focus on the word, which is just the tiniest part, really, the tip of an iceberg.
He that has eyes to see and ears to hear may convince himself that no mortal can keep a secret. If his lips are silent, he chatters with his fingertips; betrayal oozes out of him at every pore.
-SIGMUND FREUD
It's odd how quickly one adapts to the strange new world of a psychiatric unit. You become increasingly comfortable with madness - and not just madness of the others but your own. We're all crazy, I believe, just in different ways.
Somehow grasping at vanishing snowflakes is like grasping at happiness: an act of possession that instantly gives way to nothing.
~The Silent Patient
A scream like skies', as deadly and strong as lightening, as sharp as blade, as black as night, as sad as sorrow, as pretty as moon, and as soothing as writing.
The little prince was not able to reach any explanation of the use of a street lamp and a lamplighter, somewhere in the heavens, on a planet which had no people, and not one house. But he said to himself, nevertheless:
"It may well be that this man is absurd. But he is not so absurd as the king, the conceited man, the businessman, and the tippler. For at least his work has some meaning. When he lights his street lamp, it is as if he brought one more star to life, or one flower. When he puts out his lamp, he sends the flower, or the star, to sleep. That is a beautiful occupation. And since it is beautiful, it is truly useful."
"I must endure the presence of two or three caterpillars if I wish to become acquainted with the butterflies. It seems that they are very beautiful."
"The fact is that I did not know how to understand anything! I ought to have judged by deeds and not by words. She cast her fragrance and her radiance over
me. I ought never to have run away from her... I ought to have guessed all the affection that lay behind her poor little stratagems. Flowers are so inconsistent! But I was too young to know how to love her..."
But the flowers was not satisfied to complete the preparations for her beauty in the shelter of her green chamber. She chose her colors with the greatest care. She dressed herself slowly. She adjusted her petals one by one. She did not wish to go out into the world all rumpled, like the field poppies. It was only in the full radiance of her beauty that she wished to appear. Oh, yes! She was a coquettish creature! And her mysterious adornment lasted for days and days.
"Before they grow so big, the baobabs start out by being little."
In consequence, there were good seeds from good plants and bad seeds from bad plants. But seeds are invisible. They sleep deep in the heart of the earth's darkness until someone among them is seized with the desire to awaken. Then this little seed will stretch itself and begin-timidly at first-to push a charming little sprig inoffensively upward toward the sun. If it is only a sprout of radish or the sprig of a rose bush, one would let it grow wherever it might wish. But when it is a bad plant, one must destroy it as soon as possible, the very first instant that one recognizes it.
~The Little Prince
When a mystery is too overpowering, one dare not disobey.
تجھے پھول کیسے ملیں بتا، تیرے ہاتھ میں ہے سنگ۔
ٹھیک کہتی ہو تم, تمہاری کوئی کہانی نہیں ہے۔ تمہارے پاس سچ ہے۔ ہم دونوں کے پاس اپنا اپنا سچ ہے جس پر کوئی یقین نہیں کر رہا۔ ہم دونوں کی روحیں زخمی ہیں اور ہم دونوں داغ دار ہیں۔ ہم دونوں کو اپنوں نے ہی داغ دار کیا ہے۔ تم کابل ہو، میں ہلمند۔ دن رات ہماری روحوں پر بد روحوں کی بمباری جاری ہے۔ دن بھی بھاری تھا رات بھی بھاری ہے۔
حاجی مرجان نے میرا گلا پکڑ رکھا ہے اور ڈاکٹر نے تمہارا ہاتھ جکڑ رکھا ہے۔ ڈاکٹر نے تم سے جو باتیں کیں وہ میرے کانوں سے ہوتے ہوئے میرے دماغ تک آئیں۔ اور میرے دماغ نے حساب لگا کر مجھے بتایا ہے کہ اس نے تمہاری کمزوری کا کیا فائدہ اٹھایا ہے۔ ہم دونوں داغ دار ہوئے ہیں۔
ہماری روحیں بھٹکتی بھٹکتی ایک دوسرے سے آ ملی ہیں۔
~سنگ ماہ
🖤
تجھ سے بچھڑ کے ہم بھی مقدر کے ہو گئے
پھر جو بھی در ملا ہے اُسی در کے ہو گئے
پھر یوں ہوا کہ غیر کو دل سے لگا لیا
اندر وہ نفرتیں تھیں کہ باہر کے ہو گئے
کیا لوگ تھے کہ جان سے بڑھ کر عزیز تھے
اب دل سے محو نام بھی اکثر کے ہو گئے
اے یادِ یار تجھ سے کریں کیا شکایتیں
اے دردِ ہجر ہم بھی تو پتھر کے ہو گئے
سمجھا رہے تھے مجھ کو سبھی ناصحانِ شہر
پھر رفتہ رفتہ خود اسی کافر کے ہو گئے
اب کے نہ انتظار کریں چارہ گر کا ہم
اب کے گئے تو کوئے ستم گرکے ہو گئے
روتے ہو اک جزیرۂ جاں کو فراز تم
دیکھو تو کتنے شہر سمندر کے ہو گئے
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