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Quote by Dejan Stojanovic

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Krugovanje

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Author

Dejan Stojanovic
Dejan Stojanovic

Dejan Stojanovic, born on March 11, 1959, is a Serbian poet known for his profound emotions and unique style in his poetry, which has won the hearts of readers worldwide. more

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“I know for sure that so many dreams will become a reality in this month of October. So many of the prayers will be answered. So many ideas, creative thoughts & intentions will be manifesting for so many people around the world. Darling listen – I wish you to be one of them! I wish this blessing of change in season brings you whatever you have been praying for & expecting. Let it bring you everlasting bliss & everything that is good for your mind, body & spirit. Sweetheart, I want you to fix your thoughts on what is pure, honorable, graceful, lovely & excellent. I also want you to focus & do some real things that are not only good & worthy of praise, but also make you proud of yourself & bring you closer to your God. I wish your existence alone would become deserving of celebration, very soon. I pray & hope that you succeed & prosper in every area of your life, be in good health & remain in high spirits throughout. Happy new month, October!”

“Seorang murid; ia tidak mengetahui apapun. Selembar kertas kosong, halaman buku yang belum tercetak, pena tanpa tinta, biji yang belum bertunas, bayi yang baru lahir, yang belum mengenal dunia, yang tak mengetahui mana yang baik atau mana yang buruk, tak tahu panas atau dingin. Yang tak melihat pesona warna-warna, memisahkan yang terang dari yang gelap, yang halus dari yang kasar. Tak bisa memilih yang mudah dari yang sulit, memilah yang benar dari yang salah. Ini sungguh sesuatu yang ganjil, namun dari situasi yang serupa itu, kita bisa merasakan kehadiran cahaya pengetahuan Ilahi.”

“Do not let perfection and order become your masters! These are the two most dangerous traps set for the spiritual Murid. True spirituality proceeds from an honoring and awareness of chaos and imperfection. Who would dare untangle a rainforest?”

“That night, I fell into a deep, travel-weary sleep, lulled by the familiar sound of the waterfall beyond the window. I dreamed of the beck fairies, a blur of lavender and rose-pink and buttercup-yellow light, flitting across the glittering stream, beckoning me to follow them toward the woodland cottage. There, the little girl with flame-red hair picked daisies in the garden, threading them together to make a garland for her hair. She picked a posy of wildflowers- harebell, bindweed, campion, and bladderwort- and gave them to me.”

“I moved silently across the garden, silvered with moonlight, my feet barely touching the ground. I brushed past fern and tree, following the lights across the stream, toward the cottage in the clearing where I watched a little girl surrounded by light and laughter as the fairies threaded flowers through her hair. I stood out of sight, peering through the tangled blackberry bushes, but the girl saw me, rushing forward, her hand outstretched, a white flower clasped between her fingers. "For Mammy," she said. "For my Mammy.”