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Quote by Imants Ziedonis

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Imants Ziedonis

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“Eventually, some black thinkers believe, this "separation" may be the shortest route to an authentic communication at some future date when blacks and whites can enter into encounters in which they truly speak as equals and in which the white man will no longer load every phrase with unconscious suggestions that he has something to "concede" to black men or that he wants to help black men "overcome" their blackness.”

BlackJusticeWhiteRaceRacismSeparationRacistNegro
Book:Black Like Me
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“Apa yang akan terjadi padaku kalau aku harus meninggalkanmu ya?" Dia bertanya, dengan nada seolah tidak membutuhkan jawaban. "Tidakkah kau mau bertanya yang sebaliknya?" Joon menawarkan, dan gadis itu meminta penjelasan lewat pandangan. "Kenapa kau tidak bertanya bagaimana aku kalau kau pergi? Tidak penasaran?" Kali ini, gadis itu ternganga. "Karena mungkin saja," lanjut pria itu, "aku akan sama menderitanya sepertimu.”

LoveSeparation
Book:A (Wo)man's Scent
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“Falling out of love is a lot harder than falling in love. When you fall in love, everything is beautiful—flowers bloom, music plays, and every star in the sky is winking at you. But falling out of love is like finding yourself in a pitch-black tunnel. At first you think in time you’ll get through it, and then you realize how terribly long the tunnel is. I’m starting to see pinpricks of light ahead, so I might be coming to the end, but I’m not there yet.”

LoveSeparationMourning
Book:A Year of Extraordinary Moments
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“When the last autumn of Dickens's life was over, he continued to work through his final winter and into spring. This is how all of us writers give away the days and years and decades of our lives in exchange for stacks of paper with scratches and squiggles on them. And when Death calls, how many of us would trade all those pages, all that squandered lifetime-worth of painfully achieved scratches and squiggles, for just one more day, one more fully lived and experienced day? And what price would we writers pay for that one extra day spent with those we ignored while we were locked away scratching and squiggling in our arrogant years of solipsistic isolation? Would we trade all those pages for a single hour? Or all of our books for one real minute?”

LifeWritingAgeDeathTimeRegretOld AgeWritersCharles Dickens
Book:Drood
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