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Quote by Gautam Chikermane

“And more specifically, when asked by a youngster about the right way of reading Sri Aurobindo, the Mother replied:4 I advise always to read a little at a time, keeping the mind as tranquil as one can, without making an effort to understand, but keeping the head as silent as possible, and letting the force contained in what one reads enter deep within. This force received in the calm and the silence will do its work of light and, if needed, will create in the brain the necessary cells for the understanding. Thus, when one re-reads the same thing some months later, one perceives that the thought expressed has become much more clear and close, and even sometimes altogether familiar. It is preferable to read regularly, a little every day, and at a fixed hour if possible; this facilitates the brain-receptivity (emphasis in the original).”

Quote by Gautam Chikermane

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Reading Sri Aurobindo

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Gautam Chikermane

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“It sometimes seemed to Molly that the library was a place of silent discord and anarchy, its superficial tranquillity concealing a babel of assertion and dispute. Fiction is one strident lie - or rather, many competing lies; history is a long narrative of argument and reassessment; travel shouts of self-promotion; biography is pushing a product. As for autobiography... And all this is just fine. That is the function of books: they offer a point of view, they offer many confliction points of view, they provoke thoughts, they provoke irritation and admiration and speculation. They take you out of yourself and put you down somewhere else from whence you never entirely return. If the library were to speak, Molly felt, if it were to speak with a thousand tongues, there would be a deep collective growl coming from the core collection up on the high shelves, where the voices of the nineteenth century would be setting new precedents, the bleats and cries of new opinion, new fashion, new style, The surface repose of a library is a cynical deception.”

“Reading makes you see with clearer eyes and understand the world better. When you can do that, you become stronger – the feeling you associate with success. But at the same time, it gives you pain. Within the pages, there’s much suffering, beyond what we’ve gone through in our finite experience of life. You’ll read about suffering you didn’t know existed. Having experienced their pain through words, it becomes a lot harder to focus on pursuing individual happiness and success. Reading makes you deviate further from the textbook definition of success because books don’t make us go ahead of or above anyone else; they guide us to stand alongside others.”

“روشنایی گاز خواندن، ورق بازی کردن، و حتی صحبت کردن را نیز دلپذیرتر کرد. شب ها هنگام غذا خوردن می شد غذا را دید. می شد تیغ ماهی را درآورد، می شد دید چقدر نمک یا فلفل از نمکدان و جای فلفل فرو می ریزد. اگر سوزنی یا چیز کوچیک دیگری به زمین می افتاد لازم نبود تا روز بعد منتظر بمانند. عنوان کتاب ها را در قفسه ها می شد دید و‌خواند. مردم بیشتر مطالعه می کردند. تصادفی نیست که تعداد روزنامه ها، مجلات، کتاب ها و صفحات موسیقی و اوراق نت در اواسط قرن نوزدهم به طور ناگهانی افزایش یافت. تعداد روزنامه ها و نشریات ادواری در انگلیس کمتر از صد و‌ پنجاه مورد در ابتدای قرن به تقریبا پنج هزار در پایان قرن رسید.”

“I’m more attracted to this other one.” “Tess of the d’Urbervilles. It’s the original. You’re bold enough to read Hardy in English?” “Don't you see? It feels as if it's been waiting for me. As if it has been hiding here for me since before I was born.” I looked at her in astonishment. Bea’s lips crinkled into a smile. “What have I said?” Then, without thinking, barely brushing her lips, I kissed her.”

“Listen to me, bat boy…" The point of the blade is moving up and down on my bulge. "You are hot, and I really want to sit on your pretty face. But if you ever even think of having my blood, I am going to cut off your cock and use it as my dildo after I preserve it." "Ah, how lucky I am since you can see ghosts. So… I’ll enjoy the view." I point to my cock. She rolls her eyes. "I fucking hate you." I am fucking obsessed with her.”

“How strange to feel something so close to mercy, whatever that was, and stranger still that it should be found in here of all places, at the end of a road of ruined houses by a toxic river. That among a pile of salvaged trash, he would come closest to all he ever wanted to be: a consciousness sitting under a light-bulb reading his days away, warm and alone, alone and yet, somehow, still somebody's son.”