Paraphrasing Yeats: It was as the Irish poet had written, a waste of breath, the years that had gone past, the years to come. There was only the present moment to live and die in. [ref. An Irish Airman Foresees His Death. ..The years to come seemed waste of breath, A waste of breath the years behind In balance with this life, this death. W.B. Yeats Tan Twan Eng
Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.
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Unknown
My dear, Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will...
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Charles Bukowski
If you gave someone your heart and they died, did they take it with them? Did you spend the rest of forever with a hole inside you that couldn't be filled?
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Jodi Picoult
Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, if not always in the way we expect.
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J.k. Rowling
Love is how you stay alive, even after you are gone.
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Mitch Albom
More Quotes By Tan Twan Eng
The mind forgets, but the heart will always remember. And what is the heart's memory but love itself?
Paraphrasing Yeats: It was as the Irish poet had written, a waste of breath, the years that had gone past, the years to come. There was only the present moment to live and die in. [ref. An Irish Airman Foresees His Death. ..The years to...
I have lived, I have traveled the world, and now, like a worn-out clock, my life is winding down, the hands slowing, stepping out of the flow of time. If one steps out of time what does one have? Why, the past of course, gradually...
Are all of us the same, I wonder, navigating our lives by interpreting the silences between words spoken, analysing the returning echoes of our memory in order to chart the terrain, in order to make sense of the world around us?
It is getting dark. In the low mists over the hills, an orange glow broods, as if the trees are on fire. Bats are flooding out from the hundreds of caves that perforate these mountainsides. I watch them plunge into the mists without any hesitation,...
