Lavanda > Lavanda's Quotes

“Love...no such thing.

Whatever it is that binds families and married couples together, that's not love. That's stupidity or selfishness or fear. Love doesn't exist.

Self interest exists, attachment based on personal gain exists, complacency exists. But not love. Love has to be reinvented, that’s certain.”
― Arthur Rimbaud, A Season in Hell and The Drunken Boat

“Maybe happiness too is a metaphor invented on a day of boredom”
― Gustave Flaubert, November

“O građani otadžbine Tebe, evo Edipa,
znalca čudesne zagonetke i prvog čoveka,
čiju sreću niko nije gledao bez zavisti!
Gledajte u kakav ponor sudbe grozne pade on!
Zato nikog, dan dok onaj poslednji ne dočeka,
neću proslavljati kao srećna, pre no doplovi
kraju veka svog a nikakav ne pogodi ga jad.”
― Sophocles, Grčke tragedije

“Anyone whose goal is 'something higher' must expect someday to suffer vertigo. What is vertigo? Fear of falling? No, Vertigo is something other than fear of falling. It is the voice of the emptiness below us which tempts and lures us, it is the desire to fall, against which, terrified, we defend ourselves.”
― Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

“Recite, Taru, da li ste sposobni da žrtvujete život za ljubav?
– Ne znam, ali mi se čini da nisam, sada.
– Eto. A sposobni ste da umrete za ideju, to se vidi na prvi pogled. A ja sam, vidite, sit ljudi koji umiru za ideju. Ne verujem u herojstvo, znam da je ono laka stvar i naučio sam da je ubilačko. Mene zanima da čovek živi i umre za ono što voli.”
― Albert Camus, The Plague

“I never read a book before reviewing it: it prejudices a man so.”
― Sydney  Smith, Bon-mots of Sydney Smith and R. Brinsley Sheridan 1893 [Leather Bound]

“Il faut se prêter à autrui et ne se donner qu'à soi-même.”
― Montaigne, Les Essais

“One sometimes weeps over one's illusions with as much bitterness as over a death.”
― Guy de Maupassant , Une vie

“What does it matter how many lovers you have if none of them gives you the universe?

”
― Jacques Lacan

“Ne mogu ja - kaže - dobri čovječe, ozdraviti, jer ja i nisam bolestan, nego sam ovakav, a od sebe se ne može ozdraviti.”
― Ivo Andrić, Prokleta avlija

“Možda ćemo jednom moći
Da to što kažemo dodirnemo rukama”
― Branko Miljković

“Uzmite šaku svežeg pepela
ili bilo čega što je prošlo
i videćete da je još uvek vatra
ili da to može biti.”
― Branko Miljković

“Ako smo pali bili smo padu skloni”
― Branko Miljković

“Али ако умрем, погледаћу последњи пут у небо, yтеху моју, и смешићу се.”
― Miloš Crnjanski, Dnevnik o Čarnojeviću

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

“If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I'm neurotic as hell. I'll be flying back and forth between one mutually exclusive thing and another for the rest of my days.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

“I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks or a champion college footballer suddenly confronted by Wall Street and a business suit, his days of glory shrunk to a little gold cup on his mantel with a date engraved on it like the date on a tombstone.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar