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Quote by Iris Murdoch

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The Message To The Planet

This book delves into the hypothetical scenario of a message received from beings beyond our solar system, examining the implications and potential reactions of humanity to such an event. more

Author

Iris Murdoch
Iris Murdoch

Iris Murdoch was an Irish-Canadian philosopher and author, born on July 15, 1919, in Dublin, Ireland, and passed away on February 8, 1999. She is celebrated for her philosophical novels that intertwine moral and ethical dilemmas with complex narratives. Murdoch's work has left a lasting impact on the literary world, particularly in the latter half of the 20th century. more

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“Prepare yourself for Eid Wear new clothes of kindness, and never wear off Scent yourself with the perfume of love, and spread it everywhere Keep the sweet on the tongue and distribute it by heart to everyone Open Your Arms wide, hug everyone tight, Ego, anger, superiority, free your soul with these all to friends, to relatives, to strangers, gift beautiful feelings to all”

LoveSoulHumanityPeaceEmotionsIndiaCelebrationFestivalsZakiansariquotesEid
Book:"Zaki's Gift Of Love"
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“Effective communication requires the understanding of feelings and emotions associated with the words. This emotional communication is non- verbal and needs common faiths and beliefs. People can see, hear or write the words but not the feelings which come only when the speakers and listeners are connected with the bond of a common faith. Without faith, no effective communication is possible.”

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Book:Myths are Real, Reality is a Myth
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“ہڈ کا احاطہ کرتا ہے، ہاتھ بندھے ہوئے پیچھے کی طرف. پلیٹ تبدیل کرنے پر تلخ ہارگمن کی گند میں ہوا ہوا ہوا وقت کونسا ہے؟ ڈاکٹر کاپی جج واہارڈن یا کوئی نہیں؟ میں اپنے آپ کو تہھانے بادل میں ناپسند کرتا ہوں جہاں گندگی کی نمک پسینہ کی تاریخ بند ہے رسی پہلے سب سے تیز ہے اس کے بعد کمزور جکڑے ہوئے، کٹوری کی گونج کے ساتھ جہاں پرندوں اور مکھیوں نے ان کی زوال کو دوبارہ ڈالا میں اپنا اضافہ دوبارہ بناتا ہوں بڑھتی ہوئی واحد ہے. الفاظ کے دانو سے غیر جن کے پاؤں برباد شدہ کائنات کو پسند کرتے ہیں ہر وقت زندہ رکھنے کے لئے میں نے کبھی جھاڑیوں کا سامنا نہیں کیا ان لوگوں کا ایک خاندان جو موت کے لئے جنم دیا جاتا ہے.”

LoveLifeDeathEmotionsDissentProtests
Book:প্রিয় পচিশ - কবিতার বই
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“A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose? Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation. Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, Growing among black folks as among white, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same. And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. Tenderly will I use you curling grass, It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers' laps, And here you are the mothers' laps. This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers, Darker than the colorless beards of old men, Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths. O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues, And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing. ... What do you think has become of the young and old men? And what do you think has become of the women and children? They are alive and well somewhere, The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceas'd the moment life appear'd. All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.”

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Book:Song of Myself
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