Krunal > Krunal's Quotes

“रघुवर प्रसाद का आकाश देखना रघुवर प्रसाद का चिठ्ठी लिखना होगा। चंद्रमा सोनसी के लिए लिखा हुआ संबोधन होगा। तारो की लिपि होगी जिसे तत्काल सोनसी पढ़ लेगी। रघुवर प्रसाद कसौटी के पत्थर पर लेटकर एक बड़ा आकाश देखेंगे। बड़ा आकाश लंबी चिठ्ठी होगी। सोनसी खिड़की से छोटा आकाश देखेगी तो छोटी चिठ्ठी होगी। आकाश एक दूसरे को लिखी चिठ्ठी होगी।
दरवाजा खोलकर आकाश देख लेते थे, सोनसी की चिठ्ठी है। सोनसी भी देख लेती होगी की रघुवर प्रसाद की चिठ्ठी है। कभी आकाश में बहुत सारे तारे होते। कभी इक्के दुक्के दिखाई देते। इक्के दुक्के तारों का आकाश लिखने का समय नही मिला जैसा या थोड़ी थोड़ी लिखी जा रही चिठ्ठी जैसा था।”
― Vinod Kumar Shukla, दीवार में एक खिड़की रहती थी

“History always constitutes the relation between a present and its past. Consequently fear of the present leads to mystification of the past”
― John Berger, Ways of Seeing

“You have no responsibility to live up to what other people think you ought to accomplish. I have no responsibility to be like they expect me to be. It's their mistake, not my failing.”
― Richard P. Feynman, Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynman!: Adventures of a Curious Character

“When one remembers a scene from the past in which one is with a loved one who is now dead, it is not like a memory at all, but like a dream one is having before his death, a premonition. In this dream which preceded death, the person is tranquil and happy, and yet, without reason, you know he is to die. When we recall the dead, the past becomes a dream we are dreaming foretelling death, though in our waking moments we cannot properly interpret it or give it significance.”
― Amit Chaudhuri, Afternoon Raag

“At the base of her ankle is a deep, ugly scar she got when a car ran over her foot when she was six years old. That was in a small town in Bangladesh. Thus, even today, she hesitates superstitiously before crossing the road, and is painfully shy of walking distances. Her fears make her laughable. The scar is printed on her skin like a radiant star.”
― Amit Chaudhuri, Afternoon Raag

“Wherever they might be they always remember that the past was a lie, that memory has no return, that every spring gone by could never be recovered, and that the wildest and most tenacious love was an ephemeral truth in the end.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude