محمود عبدالتواب > محمود's Quotes

“How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray’r accepted, and each wish resign’d”
― Alexander Pope, Eloisa to Abelard

“وإذا استطاع المرء أن يشعر بأن بقاءه إنسانا هو أمر يستحق التضحية من أجله، حتى لو لم يُؤد ذلك إلى نتيجة، فإنه يكون قد ألحق بهم الهزيمة.”
― جورج أورويل, 1984

“الغياب شكل من أشكال الحضور، يغيب البعض وهم حاضرون في أذهاننا أكثر من وقت حضورهم في حياتنا”
― سعود السنعوسي, ساق البامبو

“ففي الحالات التي يبدو فيها البشر مصّرين على أن يبدو أقوى مما هم عليه فعلاً، يكونون قد بلغوا درجة ضعف تفوق ضعفهم المعتاد بكثير!”
― إبراهيم نصر الله, قناديل ملك الجليل

“ولقد يكون في الدنيا ما يُغني الواحد من الناس عن أهل الأرض كافّة.. ولكن الدنيا بما وسعت لا يمكن أبدا أن تغني محبا عن الواحد الذي يحبه! هذا الواحد له حساب عجيب غير حساب العقل.. فإن الواحد في الحساب العقلي أول العدد.. أما في الحساب القلبي فهو أول العدد وآخره .. ليس بعده آخـِـر إذ ليس معه آخـَر”
― مصطفى صادق الرافعي, أوراق الورد

“ما حيلة الشمس في الحيطان , والأبواب التي أنت تقيمها !
افتح لها .... تدخل إليك !”
― مصطفى صادق الرافعي

“A little Learning is a dangerous Thing.”
― Alexander Pope

“To err is human, to forgive, divine.”
― Alexander Pope, An Essay On Criticism

“Words are like Leaves; and where they most abound,
Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found.”
― Alexander Pope, An Essay On Criticism

“Men must be taught as if you taught them not,
And things unknown propos'd as things forgot.”
― Alexander Pope, An Essay On Criticism

“For books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are; nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them.”
― John Milton, Areopagitica

“لا قلب للحب”
― محمود درويش

“As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
'Love has no ending.

'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,

'I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.”
― W.H. Auden, As I Walked Out One Evening: Songs, Ballads, Lullabies, Limericks & Other Light Verse

“I’ll love you, dear, I’ll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street”
― W.H. Auden

“A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it! Something of the awfulness, even of Death itself, is referable to this. No more can I turn the leaves of this dear book that I loved, and vainly hope in time to read it all. No more can I look into the depths of this unfathomable water, wherein, as momentary lights glanced into it, I have had glimpses of buried treasure and other things submerged. It was appointed that the book should shut with a a spring, for ever and for ever, when I had read but a page. It was appointed that the water should be locked in an eternal frost, when the light was playing on its surface, and I stood in ignorance on the shore. My friend is dead, my neighbour is dead, my love, the darling of my soul, is dead; it is the inexorable consolidation and perpetuation of the secret that was always in that individuality, and which I shall carry in mine to my life's end. In any of the burial-places of this city through which I pass, is there a sleeper more inscrutable than its busy inhabitants are, in their innermost personality, to me, or than I am to them?”
― Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

“Death may beget life, but oppression can beget nothing other than itself.”
― Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”
― Oscar Wilde

“الحقيقة أن هذه الحياة فخ .. فخ نتخبط فيه منذ أن نولد و الغلطة أننا نحاول الخروج من هذا الفخ”
― بهاء طاهر, أنا الملك جئت

“O Me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;
Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.”
― Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

“I can connect
Nothing with nothing”
― T.S. Eliot