Salma > Salma's Quotes

“الخيال.. هو ليل الحياة الجميل

هو حصننا وملاذنا من قسوة النهار الطويل

!إن عالم “الواقع” لا يكفى وحده لحياة البشر

إنه أضيق من أن يتسع لحياة إنسانية كاملة”
― توفيق الحكيم, عصفور من الشرق

“She thought there were no Gods; no one was to blame; and so she evolved this atheist's religion of doing good for the sake of goodness.”
― Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

“Beauty, the world seemed to say. And as if to prove it (scientifically) wherever he looked at the houses, at the railings, at the antelopes stretching over the palings, beauty sprang instantly. To watch a leaf quivering in the rush of air was an exquisite joy. Up in the sky swallows swooping, swerving, flinging themselves in and out, round and round, yet always with perfect control as if elastics held them; and the flies rising and falling; and the sun spotting now this leaf, now that, in mockery, dazzling it with soft gold in pure good temper; and now again some chime (it might be a motor horn) tinkling divinely on the grass stalks—all of this, calm and reasonable as it was, made out of ordinary things as it was, was the truth now; beauty, that was the truth now. Beauty was everywhere.”
― Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

“Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame”
― Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

“Wherever God has planted you, you must know how to flower - translated from a French saying”
― Alan Furst, The Spies of Warsaw

“زهور

وسلالٌ منَ الورِد
ألمحُها بينَ إغفاءةٍ وإفاقه
وعلى كلِّ باقةٍ
اسمُ حامِلِها في بِطاقه
***
تَتَحدثُ لي الزَهراتُ الجميلهْ
أن أَعيُنَها اتَّسَعَتْ - دهشةً -
َلحظةَ القَطْف,
َلحظةَ القَصْف,
لحظة إعدامها في الخميلهْ!
تَتَحدثُ لي..
أَنها سَقَطتْ منْ على عرشِها في البسَاتين
ثم أَفَاقَتْ على عَرْضِها في زُجاجِ الدكاكينِ, أو بينَ أيدي المُنادين,
حتى اشترَتْها اليدُ المتَفضِّلةُ العابِرهْ
تَتَحدثُ لي..
كيف جاءتْ إليّ..
(وأحزانُها الملَكيةُ ترفع أعناقَها الخضْرَ)
كي تَتَمني ليَ العُمرَ!
وهي تجودُ بأنفاسِها الآخرهْ!!
***
كلُّ باقهْ..
بينَ إغماءة وإفاقهْ
تتنفسُ مِثلِىَ - بالكادِ - ثانيةً.. ثانيهْ
وعلى صدرِها حمَلتْ - راضيهْ...
اسمَ قاتِلها في بطاقهْ!”
― أمل دنقل, أوراق الغرفة 8

“Women want love to be a novel. Men, a short story.”
― Daphne du Maurier

“You shall know the truth and the truth shall make you mad.”
― Aldous Huxley

“The only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive.”
― John Green, Looking for Alaska

“When I look at my room, I see a girl who loves books.”
― John Green, Looking for Alaska

“They love their hair because they're not smart enough to love something more interesting.”
― John Green, Looking for Alaska

“I may die young, but at least I'll die smart.”
― John Green, Looking for Alaska

“Have you really read all those books in your room?”

Alaska laughing- “Oh God no. I’ve maybe read a third of ‘em. But I’m going to read them all. I call it my Life’s Library. Every summer since I was little, I’ve gone to garage sales and bought all the books that looked interesting. So I always have something to read.”
― John Green, Looking for Alaska

“Y'all smoke to enjoy it. I smoke to die.”
― John Green, Looking for Alaska

“الطبيب: تقدر تقول لى النهارده إيه؟
المجنون: النهاردة السبت يا دكتور.
الطبيب: وبكره؟
المجنون: بكره السبت برضه يا دكتور.
الطبيب: يعنى النهارده السبت وبكره السبت؟! أمّال الأحد يجي امتى؟
المجنون: الأحد يجي لما نحس إن النهارده اختلف عن إمبارح، لما نحس إن الدنيا اتقدمت بينا خطوة، لما عدالة النهارده تبقى أكتر من عدالة امبارح، لما نحس إن ظلم النهارده أقل بكتير من ظلم إمبارح، لما نحس إننا لاقيين مكان فى أتوبيس، لما نحاسب المسؤول وهو لسه مسؤول، لما نحس إننا اتقدمنا خطوة أو اترقينا سنتي.. يجي الأحد يا دكتور.”
― يوسف إدريس, المهزلة الأرضية

“ليت الانسان مثل الرياضيات او علوم الهندسة تفسره بضع نظريات..ذلك الكائن الذى لا تزيدنا معرفتنا به الا تصعيبا لمهمة فهمه”
― يوسف إدريس, العسكري الأسود

“الثقافة هى المعرفة الممزوجة بالكرامة، فلو كانت الثقافة تعنى المعرفة فقط لما اهتاجت السلطة، فماذا يهمها من سابلة الثقافة ورعاعها، إنما الذى يصنع الأزمة الدائمة هى الثقافة ذات الكرامة.. لها إشعاعها الخاص، تلمحه فى بريق العيون ووضاءة الجبهة وجلال العقل ونصاعة الموقف، إشعاع يكشف الزيف ويصارع التلفيق ويضرب المخاتلة”
― يوسف إدريس, أهمية أن نتثقف يا ناس

“انت تملك ترف ان تعيش شريفاً لكن غيرك حتى لو اراد لا يملك هذا الترف”
― يوسف إدريس, نيويورك 80

“Just when you think you're having a scene without Simon, he drops in to remind you that everyone else is a supporting character in his catastrophe.”
― Rainbow Rowell, Carry On

“You were the sun, and I was crashing into you. I'd wake up every morning and think, 'This will end in flames.”
― Rainbow Rowell, Carry On

“For a moment—not even a moment, a split second—I imagine him saying, 'The truth is, I'm desperately attracted to you.' And then I imagine myself spitting in his face. And then I imagine licking it off his cheek and kissing him. (Because I'm disturbed. Ask anyone.)”
― Rainbow Rowell, Carry On

“I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”
― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

“Name one hero who was happy."
I considered. Heracles went mad and killed his family; Theseus lost his bride and father; Jason's children and new wife were murdered by his old; Bellerophon killed the Chimera but was crippled by the fall from Pegasus' back.
"You can't." He was sitting up now, leaning forward.
"I can't."
"I know. They never let you be famous AND happy." He lifted an eyebrow. "I'll tell you a secret."
"Tell me." I loved it when he was like this.
"I'm going to be the first." He took my palm and held it to his. "Swear it."
"Why me?"
"Because you're the reason. Swear it."
"I swear it," I said, lost in the high color of his cheeks, the flame in his eyes.
"I swear it," he echoed.
We sat like that a moment, hands touching. He grinned.
"I feel like I could eat the world raw.”
― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

“In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.”
― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

“We were like gods at the dawning of the world, & our joy was so bright we could see nothing else but the other.”
― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

“I will never leave him. It will be this, always, for as long as he will let me.
If I had had words to speak such a thing, I would have. But there were none that seemed big enough for it, to hold that swelling truth.
As if he had heard me, he reached for my hand. I did not need to look; his fingers were etched into my memory, slender and petal-veined, strong and quick and never wrong.
“Patroclus,” he said. He was always better with words than I.”
― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

“Achilles was looking at me. “Your hair never quite lies flat, here.” He touched my head, just behind my ear. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you how I like it.”

My scalp prickled where his fingers had been. “You haven’t,” I said.

“I should have.” His hand drifted down to the vee at the base of my throat, drew softly across the pulse. “What about this? Have I told you what I think of this, just here?”

“No,” I said.

“This surely then.” His hand moved across the muscles of my chest; my skin warmed beneath it. “Have I told you of this?”

“That you have told me.” My breath caught a little as I spoke.

“And what of this?” His hand lingered over my hips, drew down the line of my thigh. “Have I spoken of it?”

“You have.”

“And this? Surely I would not have forgotten this.” His cat’s smile. “Tell me I did not.”

“You did not.”

“There is this too.” His hand was ceaseless now. “I know I have told you of this.”

I closed my eyes. “Tell me again,” I said.”
― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

“I have done it," she says. At first I do not understand. But then I see the tomb, and the marks she has made on the stone. A C H I L L E S, it reads. And beside it, P A T R O C L U S.
"Go," she says. "He waits for you."

In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.”
― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

“He is half of my soul, as the poets say.”
― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

“This, I say. This and this. The way his hair looked in summer sun. His face when he ran. His eyes, solemn as an owl at lessons. This and this and this. So many moments of happiness, crowding forward.”
― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles