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Quote by Estefanía Pérez

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La Chica de la Manzana

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Estefanía Pérez

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“Her face and the garden Her face is like a summer garden, By divine beauty tended and by grace never forsaken, There bloom roses many, and lilies too, And I keep looking at it, for in spell bound state what else can I do, Yesterday she was a garden of roses, Last year she was the entire spring, where once in bloom, the beauty’s flower never closes, This year she has transformed into a garden blooming with new flowers, Daisies, daffodils, and sunflowers standing like beauty’s radiant towers, Rendered more radiant in the never ending splendour of her eyes, And the garden of beautiful roses growing all over her, even time defies, While I watch the garden of beauty grow over her face, My heart beats assume a new and lovely pace, That draw my mind into this world of endless beauty, And I know not whether it obeys my heart’s yearnings or it too has grown fond of her pure serenity, The summer has found a permanent residence in her face, infact within her, Because I still see the roses blooming over her face although it is late November, And when sometimes she brushes her hair with her fingers, The roses peek from her face to feel her finger tips and their magical wonders, And when she rests her eyelids upon her eyes, The pollen dust of million flowers, upon her waiting eyelashes, a perfect sheen applies, That neither sparkles nor glows, But in the garden of her face it simply in its splendour grows, And when the winter sun gets tired and retires finally, The lilies apply the mask of radiance on her tenderly, While the violets and narcissus seep deep into her brow, And what a wonder she is to look at now, A beauty with no end, where waves of summer flow interminably, As she rests her head on the pillow and closes her eyes slowly, The morning glory turns into the night glory, And then begins our own love story, Where the lovely and winding creepers grow all over us, over her and over me too, Finally the garden of beauty grows all over us, and now it shall be so, no matter what you do, I in the garden of her beauty where flowers bloom everywhere, And then my heart confesses, “Irma, let us hide in this garden somewhere, To be never found by time, and never felt by any season, Because finally we have found love in each other that defies every reason,” And this is how it has been for many years now, I and my every feeling of love sinking deep into her beauty’s eternal brow!”

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“El amor… Hay tantas palabras, frases y filosofías sobre él… Se nos llena la boca de amor. Los románticos escriben sobre él, la gente cree que lo siente, furioso, desbocado, pasional… Pero el amor del que hablan no es amor: ese pseudoamor encierra un monstruo que nos devora: el ego. El amor sólo es, no encierra nada. La mayoría de la gente no siente amor, sino necesidad de llenar una carencia. Eso es apego. No aman… sólo… quieren que se les quiera. Le ponen condiciones, exigen… Sólo enfrentándote a ese monstruo puedes saber qué es el Amor. Y te das cuenta de que sólo con Amor podemos comprender el Todo. Todo lo que nos sucede, todo lo que vivimos, hacia dónde vamos y de dónde venimos. Sólo con amor es posible comprender”

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Book:Alma
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“Dios está dentro de ti y dentro de cada cual. Tú vienes al mundo con Dios. Pero solo lo encuentra aquel que lo busca dentro de sí. Y a veces se manifiesta aunque tú no lo busques o no sepas lo que estás buscando. A la mayoría de la gente eso le ocurre a través de una desgracia. De una pena. Cuando se sienten hechos polvo. ¿Y Dios no es «Él» ni «Ella»?, pregunto. Exacto. Dios es, sencillamente Dios. Pero ¿qué aspecto tiene? Ninguno. No es cosa de cine. Es algo que no puedes separar de las demás cosas, incluido tú mismo. Yo creo que Dios lo es todo. Todo lo que es, ha sido o será. Y cuando tú pienses así y estés satisfecha de pensar así, es que ya lo has encontrado.”

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Book:The Color Purple
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“Marco Polo describe un puente, piedra por piedra. —¿Pero cuál es la piedra que sostiene el puente? — pregunta Kublai Kan. —El puente no está sostenido por esta piedra o por aquélla — responde Marco—, sino por la línea del arco que ellas forman. Kublai permanece silencioso, reflexionando. Después añade: —¿Por qué me hablas de las piedras? Es sólo el arco lo que me importa. Polo responde: —Sin piedras no hay arco.”

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Book:Las ciudades invisibles (Biblioteca Calvino) (Biblioteca Calvino / Calvino Library) (Spanish Edition) by Italo Calvino (1998) Paperback
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