Manish Kamble

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Little Women
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The Idiot
Manish Kamble is currently reading
bookshelves: currently-reading
read in December 2019
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  (page 455 of 633)
"Such an unbearable plot to continue, for Prince he is so gay in his decision making, and yes an IDIOT! Such title suiting him perfectly. I wish it ends where it has never started, and he finally make his peace with existence. Like an Idiot would never do." Nov 14, 2025 04:03AM

 
Notes from Underg...
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read in February 2022
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  (page 48 of 136)
"Urrh, what a pain. There is no clarity in writing, felt like a sentence is been dragged to paragraphs and then to pages. Few passages makes little to no sense, and whatever looks sensible is meager ordinary in philosophical introspect. Such a dim read." Aug 09, 2025 03:30PM

 
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John Keats
“Stop and consider! life is but a day;
A fragile dewdrop on its perilous way
From a tree's summit; a poor Indian's sleep
While his boat hastens to the monstrous steep
Of Montmorenci. Why so sad a moan?
Life is the rose's hope while yet unblown;
The reading of an ever-changing tale;
The light uplifting of a maiden's veil;
A pigeon tumbling in clear summer air;
A laughing schoolboy, without grief or care,
Riding the springy branches of an elm.”
John Keats, Bright Star: Love Letters and Poems of John Keats to Fanny Brawne

Ocean Vuong
“I want to leave
no one behind.
To keep&
be kept.
The way a field turns
its secrets
into peonies.
The way light
keeps its shadow
by swallowing it.”
Ocean Vuong, Night Sky with Exit Wounds
tags: poem

Clarice Lispector
“She had what's known as inner life and didn't know it. She lived off herself as if eating her own entrails. When she went to work she looked like a gentle lunatic because as the bus went along she daydreamed in loud and dazzling dreams. These dreams, because of all that interiority, were empty because they lacked the essential nucelus of⁠—of ecstasy, let's say. Most of the time she had without realizing it the void that fills the souls of the saints. Was she a saint? So it seems. She didn't know what she was meditating because she didn't know what the word meant. But it seems to me that her life was a long meditation on the nothing. Except she needed others in order to believe in herself, otherwise she'd get lost in the successive and round emptiness inside her. She meditated while she was typing and that's why she made even more mistakes.”
Clarice Lispector, The Hour of the Star

Ocean Vuong
“Maybe in the next life we'll meet each other for the first time- believing in everything but the harm we're capable of. Maybe we'll be the opposite of buffaloes. We'll grow wings and spill over the cliff as a generation of monarchs, heading home. Green Apple.

Like snow covering the particulars of the city, they will say we never happened, that our survival was a myth. But they're wrong. You and I, we were real. We laughed knowing joy would tear the stitches from our lips.

Remember: The rules, like streets, can only take you to known places. Underneath the grid is a field- it was always there- where to be lost is never to be wrong, but simply more.

As a rule, be more.

As a rule, I miss you.

As a rule,"little" is always smaller than "small". Don't ask me why.

I'm sorry I don't call enough.

Green Apple.

I'm sorry I keep saying How are you? when I really mean Are you happy?”
Ocean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous

Ocean Vuong
“There is so much I want to tell you, Ma. I was once foolish enough to believe knowledge would clarify, but some things are so gauzed behind layers of syntax and semantics, behind days and hours, names forgotten, salvaged and shed, that simply knowing the wound exists does nothing to reveal it.
I don't know what I'm saying. I guess what I mean is that sometimes I don't know what or who we are. Days I feel like a human being, while other days I feel more like a sound. I touch the world not as myself but as an echo of who I was. Can you hear me yet? Can you read me?”
Ocean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous

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