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Quote by Forough Farrokhzad

“من پري كوچك غمگيني را مي شناسم كه در اقيانوسي مسكن دارد و دلش را در يك ني لبك چوبين مي نوازد آرام،آرام پري كوچك غمگيني كه شب از يك بوسه مي ميرد و سحرگاه از يك بوسه به دنيا خواهد آمد”

Quote by Forough Farrokhzad

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Forough Farrokhzad

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“Just Let them. If they want to choose something or someone over you, LET THEM. If they want to go weeks without talking to you, LET THEM. If they are okay with never seeing you, LET THEM. If they are okay with always putting themselves first, LET THEM. If they are showing you who they are and not what you perceived them to be, LET THEM. If they want to follow the crowd, LET THEM. If they want to judge or misunderstand you, LET THEM. If they act like they can live without you, LET THEM. If they want to walk out of your life and leave, hold the door open, AND LET THEM. Let them lose you. You were never theirs, because you were always your own. So let them.”

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“DAISIES It is possible, I suppose that sometime we will learn everything there is to learn: what the world is, for example, and what it means. I think this as I am crossing from one field to another, in summer, and the mockingbird is mocking me, as one who either knows enough already or knows enough to be perfectly content not knowing. Song being born of quest he knows this: he must turn silent were he suddenly assaulted with answers. Instead oh hear his wild, caustic, tender warbling ceaselessly unanswered. At my feet the white-petalled daisies display the small suns of their center piece, their -- if you don't mind my saying so -- their hearts. Of course I could be wrong, perhaps their hearts are pale and narrow and hidden in the roots. What do I know? But this: it is heaven itself to take what is given, to see what is plain; what the sun lights up willingly; for example -- I think this as I reach down, not to pick but merely to touch -- the suitability of the field for the daisies, and the daisies for the field.”

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“داروگ خشک آمد کشتگاه ِ من در جوار ِ کشت ِ همسايه . گرچه می‌گويند : « می‌گريند روی ِ ساحل ِ نزديک سوکواران در ميان ِ سوکواران . » قاصد ِ روزان ِ ابری ، داروگ ! [1] کی می‌رسد باران ؟ بر بساطی که بساطی نيست ، در درون ِ کومه‌ی ِ تاريک ِ من که ذرّه‌ای با آن نشاطی نيست و جدار ِ دنده‌های ِ نی به ديوار ِ اتاقم دارد از خشکيش می‌ترکد - چون دل ِ ياران که در هجران ِ ياران – قاصد ِ روزان ِ ابری ، داروگ ! کی می‌رسد باران ؟”

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