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Quote by Hala Alyan

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I'll Tell You When I'm Home: A Memoir

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Hala Alyan

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“She finished cleaning him off and then held her baby boy up high to behold this new wonder in his full glory. The brilliant glimmers dancing upon the restive sea as his halo and the winged legions to announce and to extol his arrival and the eternal tide rhythmically whispering of deeds long foreseen. The light and the song and the abiding heart. Creation in its purest form. It was to this divine ensemble that Isa lifted her voice to give name to the precious enigma that she knew would elevate the harmony of all things to realms transcendent.”

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Book:The Subtle Cause
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“INFINITY IS IN THE INFINITE REBIRTHS OF THE UNIVERSE Every possible universe is different from all the rest. No new or reborn universe will be the same as the one before. The accidental nature of these rebirths shows how free will functions from the beginning of anything. It also shows that the world, which doesn’t only copy itself, is more interesting. The immaterial Primordial Being transforms itself in countless, infinite ways, allowing even the functioning and possible satisfaction of ethical laws on the absolute level. On the level of its potential, we may say that the world is “perfect,” yet we cannot foresee this perfection. Potentially, everything is part of everything else, and we can strive for the highest possible perfection in due “time.” The pain of one is the pain of all; the guilt of one is the guilt of all; the king is a bum at the same time. Every element makes the World and is the World. Everything is God, and the World is God. In this sense, everybody and everything is God. No bill will be unpaid. Justice and ethics of the Universe go beyond the human, Earthly concept of justice and ethics. Even Nietzsche’s idea of eternal recurrence, if it existed in reality, would not negatively affect the potential of the Absolute because of its absolute capacity to absorb, transform, and integrate all forms of life into its new manifestations and cycles.”

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Book:ABSOLUTE
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“It is early Christmas morning. As I write, the sun has yet to rise. The world remains drowsy, only now beginning the process of shaking itself awake. But as the world rises from its slumber, will it awaken? Will it come to understand the utter immensity of this day? That in a single yet brilliant moment in time, God inserted the whole of Himself into time and effortlessly broke the back of history in that single act? Will we begin to comprehend the fact that in that singular act, God altered the entire trajectory of time itself, thereby sending the future careening toward hope instead of descending into darkness? And are we able to even remotely fathom what the world would have been like had time not been altered in this exact manner? On any morning, will we awaken to all of that, or will we do nothing more than arise from slumber but never find ourselves awakened in the arising?”

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Author:Craig D. Lounsbrough
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“The rhythm and style of my existence, my loves and hatreds, my alienation and the possibility of my deliverance, the morning blossoming of my birth and the unfigurable horizon of my death, and everything that happens to me in the world must first be announced or prefigured in the elementary phenomena of my immanent life.”

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Book:The Ego and the Flesh: An Introduction to Egoanalysis
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“All the stories I’ve told myself, clinging to the putrid mucus, and swelling, swelling, saying, Got it at last, my legend. But why this sudden heat, has anything happened, anything changed? No, the answer is no, l shall never get born and therefore never get dead, and a good job too. And if I tell of me and of that other who is my little one, it is as always for want of love well I’ll be buggered, I wasn’t expecting that, want of a homuncule, I can’t stop. And yet it sometimes seems to me I did get born and had a long life and met Jackson and wandered in the towns, the woods and wildernesses and tarried by the Seas in tears before the islands and peninsulas where night lit the little brief yellow lights of man and all night the great white and coloured beams shining in the caves where I was happy, crouched on the sand in the lee of the rocks with the smell of the seaweed and the wet rock and the howling of the wind the waves whipping me with foam or sighing on the beach softly clawing the shingle, no, not happy, l was never that, but wishing night would never end and morning never come when men wake and say, Come on, we’ll soon be dead, let's make the most of it. But what matter whether I was born or not, have lived or not, am dead or merely dying, I shall go on doing as I have always done, not knowing what it is I do, nor who I am, nor where I am, nor if I am. Yes, a little creature, I shall try and make a little creature, to hold in my arms, a little creature in my image, no matter what I say. And seeing what a poor thing I have made, or how like myself, I shall cat it. Then be alone a long time, unhappy, not knowing what my prayer should be nor to whom.”

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Book:Malone Dies
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