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Quote by P.S. Jagadeesh Kumar

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P.S. Jagadeesh Kumar

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“You better not be touched by love; you are living peacefully. But if you do, you better not be left by it. Because the wounded in love is only shreds of heart scattered. Even if you manage to regain it, you will never be that peaceful person again. Such is the curse of love.”

LoveLivingPeacefulBroken HeartPeaceful LifeHeenashree KhandelwalHeenashreeScattered HeartTouched By LoveCurse Of LoveLove CurseShreds Of HeartWounded In Love
Author:Heenashree Khandelwal
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“Being misplaced, even by choice, is so very difficult on our body and soul. In my case, I still long for what, once, I took for granted— That immediacy of culture and belonging. And for those who did not choose — So many are forced to be misplaced in our world today! Some are misplaced even in the lands that they were born on, striped away by cultural warfare, greed and ignorance. I wish for us to know this void in each other— To witness it for one another so we would be able to imagine a new, WHOLE, body.”

ImmigrationDislocationMisplaceBeloning
Book:Spiritual Misfits: Collaboration and Belonging in a Divisive World
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“The calendar gave him unmoving pools of quiet in which to rest. He spent hours looking at the calendar. It was time past and time to come, divided into neat little boxes, and the boxes named and numbered. He would look at a box ahead, say, February 25, 1917, and think, Inside that box, I and everyone else on earth, minus a few who will die before then and plus a few who will be born, will have our lives. Inside that box, each of my acts and feelings for that twenty-four hours awaits me. And because he was sick, there was not much he could do to prepare for or to control those acts which waited for him to become their center. . . . Most of the time, he was alone. He took deep breaths of the raw smell of seed potatoes, newly cut and bleeding their milky starch. He inhaled the sun-warmed scent of the creosote-stained redwood planks. The top quilt on his bed was pieced in a star design. Each star was made up of God knows how many pieces, and each piece was of a different color and design. The designs were a tanglewood maze of leaves and flowers and stars and branches. When he got tired of calendar quiet and of cataloging smells, he took up quilt-gazing. He didn't need a world a minute bigger than his room, an inch wider than his calendar, or an iota sweeter than his own breath. But he was the only one who knew this.”

IsolationCalendarsTime PassingQuiltsBedriddenQuilt GazingWaiting While Ill
Book:South of the Angels
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