“মানুষ কি চায় — উন্নতি, না আনন্দ? উন্নতি করিয়া কি হইবে যদি তাহাতে আনন্দ না থাকে? আমি এমন কত লোকের কথা জানি, যাহারা জীবনে উন্নতি করিয়াছে বটে, কিন্তু আনন্দকে হারাইয়াছে। অতিরিক্ত ভোগে মনোবৃত্তির ধার ক্ষইয়া ভোঁতা — এখন আর কিছুতেই তেমন আনন্দ পায় না, জীবন তাহাদের নিকট একঘেয়ে, একরঙা, অর্থহীন। মন শান-বাঁধানো — রস ঢুকিতে পায় না।”
― আরণ্যক
― আরণ্যক
“বর্ষার দিনে এই ইছামতীর কূলে কূলে ভরা ঢলঢল রূপে সেই অজানা মহাসমুদ্রের তীরহীন অসীমতার স্বপ্ন দেখতে পায় কেউ কেউ..কত যাওয়া-আসার অতীত ইতিহাস মাখানো ঐ সব মাঠ, ঐ সব নির্জন ভিটের ঢিপি--কত লুপ্ত হয়ে যাওয়া মায়ের হাসি ওতে অদৃশ্য রেখায় আঁকা। আকাশের প্রথম তারাতা তার খবর রাখে হয়তো।”
― ইছামতী
― ইছামতী
“Him the Almighty Power
Hurled headlong naming from the ethereal sky,
With hideous ruin and combustion, down
To bottomless perdition ; there to dwell
In adamantine chains and penal fire,
Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms.”
―
Hurled headlong naming from the ethereal sky,
With hideous ruin and combustion, down
To bottomless perdition ; there to dwell
In adamantine chains and penal fire,
Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms.”
―
“. . . a stone, a leaf, an unfound door; a stone, a leaf, a door. And of all the forgotten faces.
Naked and alone we came into exile. In her dark womb we did not know our mother's face; from the prison of her flesh have we come into the unspeakable and incommunicable prison of this earth.
Which of us has known his brother? Which of us has looked into his father's heart? Which of us has not remained forever prison-pent? Which of us is not forever a stranger and alone?
O waste of lost, in the hot mazes, lost, among bright stars on this weary, unbright cinder, lost! Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven, a stone, a leaf, an unfound door. Where? When?
O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again.”
― Look Homeward, Angel
Naked and alone we came into exile. In her dark womb we did not know our mother's face; from the prison of her flesh have we come into the unspeakable and incommunicable prison of this earth.
Which of us has known his brother? Which of us has looked into his father's heart? Which of us has not remained forever prison-pent? Which of us is not forever a stranger and alone?
O waste of lost, in the hot mazes, lost, among bright stars on this weary, unbright cinder, lost! Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven, a stone, a leaf, an unfound door. Where? When?
O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again.”
― Look Homeward, Angel
“For winter's rains and ruins are over, And all the season of snows and sins; The days dividing lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that wins; And time remembered is grief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins.”
―
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