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Modernist Quotes

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Modernist Quotes

“Years start to pass by but our desire for each other does not pass us by. The “spice” that he brings into my life remains as peppery and savoury as ever. The beauty and warmth I bring to his life, remain as enlivening as ever. Together, we cultivate a loving relationship that lights us both.”

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Book:LOVE TOUCHES ONCE & NEVER LEAVES ...A Blooming & Moving Love Saga!
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“Between pampering each other, hell lot of teasing, making love, and then pampering each other more, we get abundantly used to each other. We never say, every other day, that we know we cannot be apart from each other. We just do not want to be. We like it together and we just know that we shall be together, for life.”

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Book:LOVE TOUCHES ONCE & NEVER LEAVES ...A Blooming & Moving Love Saga!
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“To talk is as easy as falling off a log. To say what your heart loves. Or, not. But we still do not say it. All we have to do is rummage through ourselves and say it out loud to the people we love. It is all within us—the love, the will, the strength, the courage, and the hope!”

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Book:LOVE TOUCHES ONCE & NEVER LEAVES ...A Blooming & Moving Love Saga!
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“To say out loud, the love we have in us for the one we have it for does not hurt, any of us. But, to not say out loud, it hurts two of us. It hurts like a thrust to the chest. A thrust so pushing, that it becomes enervating to breathe.”

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Book:LOVE TOUCHES ONCE & NEVER LEAVES ...A Blooming & Moving Love Saga!
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“Love will always be like love in every clock of time. The measure of love will never differ with time… love has, and always will make the heart flutter and soul fly. Love is the conduit to happiness and life, and shall always be.”

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Book:LOVE TOUCHES ONCE & NEVER LEAVES ...A Blooming & Moving Love Saga!
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“If there is love, your heart tells you, each day, in nanoscopic things. With time, time tells you. Until then, you love with all your true heart. Be honest, to yourself and to your love. Never lie—it goes against the grain of love, to lie in love. Love him and let him love you. But most of all, talk and understand each other!”

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Book:LOVE TOUCHES ONCE & NEVER LEAVES ...A Blooming & Moving Love Saga!
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“Food is over-rated when it comes to love. It is not the way to live in someone’s heart. Your oxytocin hormones are not the answer to it either. These are vital elements, but you dwell in someone’s heart with communication. Love thrives on the gospel truth of communication. Everything else shall wane and wither away with time. But, if true communication, is held all through by lovers, it shall make the two, walk hand in hand, together till the end!”

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Book:LOVE TOUCHES ONCE & NEVER LEAVES ...A Blooming & Moving Love Saga!
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“Roohi- Rumi, what is this love? Rumi- Love is—when, endearingly, I look at you, and you look back at me with equal intensity…! Roohi asserts- Equal or more! Rumi bows with a smile. Rumi- What say, you, my Roohi? Roohi- Love is-- the lifeblood of life! You are my love! You, are my lifeblood!”

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Book:LOVE TOUCHES ONCE & NEVER LEAVES ...A Blooming & Moving Love Saga!
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“Rumi- He whispers into my ear, “Yes. Special—are YOU, and my love for you, Milady! All I want, is to love you more, each day. To be with you, each day. To bring you flowers and everything that brings forth your sumptuous smile. If it were within my reach, I would make each day special for you. He says with such effortless grace that I go weak in my knees. Roohi- Sir, if you would so permit, I would like a mouthful of your tranquil eyes, squidgy cheeks, and succulent lips. That would bring me smiles and much more.”

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Book:LOVE TOUCHES ONCE & NEVER LEAVES ...A Blooming & Moving Love Saga!
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“I am not me anymore. He changed me into someone. Someone sentient of feelings. Someone who loved being loved by him. Someone who loved doing things which I would never even dream of doing, but I did, and happily, for him. And, then, one day he thought he could leave. He snaffled me from the world, and then he left me for the world.”

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Book:LOVE TOUCHES ONCE & NEVER LEAVES ...A Blooming & Moving Love Saga!
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“He did not talk… He just stayed quiet. And left. He could have just talked. The same old Rumi, my Rumi, did not talk and just left me. My Rumi, who could talk to me through his eyes, did not even look into mine, maybe from fear that I would see what was writ large in them. He did not let me. He just left. My Rumi, is no more my Rumi. He is, just Rumi.”

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Book:LOVE TOUCHES ONCE & NEVER LEAVES ...A Blooming & Moving Love Saga!
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“If only, it were written on men’s faces how they would eventually be, things could work. Relationships would thrive. But my darling, only time is the real deal and the answer to one’s integrity. Time reveals one’s allegiance. People are, who they are. Their intentions, however, either get revealed or change over a period of time. Hard truth!”

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Book:LOVE TOUCHES ONCE & NEVER LEAVES ...A Blooming & Moving Love Saga!
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“Listen, I am your mother, nonetheless, I am saying this to you. And these may not have been the wisest two cents in our times, but perhaps, are in today’s times—love, you take your time to get married, no rush. Know a guy, well, very well, before you engineer lofty dreams in your head and heart, and take the big step. I do not care about the world; I care about my daughter and her heart more than anything else.”

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Book:LOVE TOUCHES ONCE & NEVER LEAVES ...A Blooming & Moving Love Saga!
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“I look at my much in love parents, and their cutest ever tiffs. How they get back to talking because they cannot just, not talk, to each other, for too long. They sulk, and talk, but talk. Never a day without talking. Such, is how love should be. I look at them and my cup runneth over!”

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Book:LOVE TOUCHES ONCE & NEVER LEAVES ...A Blooming & Moving Love Saga!
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“Parents’ love is not conscious, rather it is ethereally organic. Parents’ love is not seasonal. Their love is a voluntary decision to be with their offspring, no matter what. Their love does not need answers, confirmation, validation, or acceptance. It thrives on its own and overflows like the purest waters from the mountains, irrespective of what it may have to cascade through. The deepest cockles of my heart reverberate with their love and keep me on the go.”

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Book:LOVE TOUCHES ONCE & NEVER LEAVES ...A Blooming & Moving Love Saga!
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“It was then that Brown took his revenge upon the world which, after twenty years of contemptuous and reckless bullying, refused him the tribute of a common robber’s success. It was an act of cold-blooded ferocity, and it consoled him on his deathbed like a memory of an indomitable defiance. . . . Thus Brown balanced his account with the evil fortune. Notice that even in this awful outbreak there is a superiority as of a man who carries right—the abstract thing—within the envelope of his common desires. It was not a vulgar and treacherous massacre; it was a lesson, a retribution—a demonstration of some obscure and awful attribute of our nature which, I am afraid, is not so very far under the surface as we like to think.”

ModernismModernistJoseph ConradConradFreudian
Book:Lord Jim
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“He is romantic—romantic,” he repeated. “And that is very bad—very bad. . . . Very good, too,” he added. “But is he?” I queried. ‘“Gewiss,” he said, and stood still holding up the candelabrum, but without looking at me. “Evident! What is it that by inward pain makes him know himself? What is it that for you and me makes him—exist?” ‘At that moment it was difficult to believe in Jim’s existence—starting from a country parsonage, blurred by crowds of men as by clouds of dust, silenced by the clashing claims of life and death in a material world—but his imperishable reality came to me with a convincing, with an irresistible force! I saw it vividly, as though in our progress through the lofty silent rooms amongst fleeting gleams of light and the sudden revelations of human figures stealing with flickering flames within unfathomable and pellucid depths, we had approached nearer to absolute Truth, which, like Beauty itself, floats elusive, obscure, half submerged, in the silent still waters of mystery. “Perhaps he is,” I admitted with a slight laugh, whose unexpectedly loud reverberation made me lower my voice directly; “but I am sure you are.” With his head dropping on his breast and the light held high he began to walk again. “Well—I exist, too,” he said.”

MetaphysicsMetaphysicalModernismModernistJoseph ConradConrad
Book:Lord Jim
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“This compulsion to an activity without respite, without variety, without result was so cruel that one day, noticing a swelling over his stomach, he felt an actual joy in the idea that he had, perhaps, a tumor that would prove fatal, that he need not concern himself with anything further, since it was this malady that was going to govern his life, to make a plaything of him, until the not-distant end. If indeed, at his period, it often happened that, though without admitting it even to himself, he longed for death, it was in order to escape not so much from the keenness of his sufferings as from the monotony of his struggle.”

LiteratureClassicFrenchProustModernistMarcel ProustIn Search Of Lost TimeSwann S WayOdetteSwannFrench LitClassic Lit
Book:Swann’s Way
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“He suffered greatly from being shut up among all these people whose stupidity and absurdities wounded him all the more cruelly since, being ignorant of his love, incapable, had they known of it, of taking any interest, or of doing more than smile at it as at some childish joke, or deplore it as an act of insanity, they made it appear to him in the aspect of a subjective state which existed for himself alone, whose reality there was nothing external to confirm; he suffered overwhelmingly, to the point at which even the sound of the instruments made him want to cry, from having to prolong his exile in this place to which Odette would never come, in which no one, nothing was aware of her existence, from which she was entirely absent.”

LoveLove QuotesMelancholyFrenchClassicsProustFrench LiteratureModernistMarcel ProustIn Search Of Lost TimeSwann S WaySwannFrench LitFrench Writers
Book:Swann’s Way
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“He himself, Anthony went on to think, he himself had chosen to regard the whole process as either pointless or a practical joke. Yes, chosen. For it had been an act of the will. If it were all nonsense or a joke, then he was at liberty to read his books and exercise his talents for sarcastic comment; there was no reason why he shouldn't sleep with any presentable woman who was ready to sleep with him. If it weren't nonsense, if there was some significance, then he could no longer live irresponsibly. There were duties towards himself and others and the nature of things. Duties with whose fulfilment the sleeping and the indiscriminate reading and the habit of detached irony would interfere. He had chosen to think it nonsense, and nonsense for more than twenty years the thing had seemed to be – nonsense, in spite of occasional uncomfortable intimations that there might be a point, and that the point was precisely in what he had chosen to regard as the pointlessness, the practical joke.”

HumanityExistenceAbsurdIronyAbsurdityModernist
Book:Eyeless In Gaza
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“The rock has split, the egg has hatched, the prismatically plumed bird of life has escaped from its cage. It spreads its wings and is perched now on the peak of the huge African mountain Kilimanjaro. Strange recompense, in the depths of our despair at the unfathomable mist into which all mankind is plunging, a curious force awakens. It is Hope long asleep, aroused once more. Wilson has taken an army of advisers and sailed for England. The ship has sunk. But the men are all good swimmers. They take the women on their shoulders and buoyed on by the inspiration of the moment they churn the free seas with their sinewy arms, like Ulysses, landing all along the European seaboard. Yes, hope has awakened once more in men's hearts. It is NEW! Let us go forward! The imagination, freed from the handcuffs of "Art", takes the lead! Her Feet are bare and not too delicate. In fact those who come behind her have much to think of. Hm. Let it pass.”

WritingPoetryCreative WritingProse PoetryModernistWilliam Carlos Williams
Book:Imaginations
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“BY DISPOSITION OF ANGELS Messengers much like ourselves? Explain it. Steadfastness the darkness makes explicit? Something heard most clearly when not near it? Above particularities, these unparticularities praise cannot violate. One has seen, in such steadiness never deflected, how by darkness a star is perfected. Star that does not ask me if I see it? Fir that would not wish me to uproot it? Speech that does not ask me if I hear it? Mysteries expound mysteries. Steadier than steady, star dazzling me, live and elate, no need to say, how like some we have known; too like her, too like him, and a-quiver forever.”

PoetryLanguagePoetPoemWordsSimplicityModernist
Book:Complete Poems
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“In the days of Prismatic Color not in the days of Adam and Eve, but when Adam was alone; when there was no smoke and color was fine, not with the refinement of early civilization art, but because of its originality; with nothing to modify it but the mist that went up, obliqueness was a variation of the perpendicular, plain to see and to account for: it is no longer that; nor did the blue-red-yellow band of incandescence that was color keep its stripe”

PoetryLanguagePoetPoemWordsSimplicityModernist
Book:Complete Poems
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“ROSEMARY Beauty and Beauty’s son and rosemary— Venus and Love, her son, to speak plainly— born of the sea supposedly, at Christmas each, in company, braids a garland of festivity. Not always rosemary— since the flight to Egypt, blooming differently. With lancelike leaf, green but silver underneath, its flowers—white originally— turned blue. The herb of memory, imitating the blue robe of Mary, is not too legendary to flower both as symbol and as pungency. Springing from stones beside the sea, the height of Christ when thirty-three— it feeds on dew and to the bee “hath a dumb language”; is in reality a kind of Christmas-tree.”

PoetryLanguagePoetPoemWordsSimplicityModernist
Book:Complete Poems
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“TO A GIRAFFE If it is unpermissible, in fact fatal to be personal and undesirable to be literal—detrimental as well if the eye is not innocent-does it mean that one can live only on top leaves that are small reachable only by a beast that is tall?— of which the giraffe is the best example— the unconversational animal. When plagued by the psychological, a creature can be unbearable that could have been irresistible; or to be exact, exceptional since less conversational than some emotionally-tied-in-knots animal. After all consolations of the metaphysical can be profound. In Homer, existence is flawed; transcendence, conditional; “the journey from sin to redemption, perpetual.”

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Book:Complete Poems
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“TO VICTOR HUGO OF MY CROW PLUTO “Even when the bird is walking we know that it has wings.”—VICTOR HUGO Of: my crow Pluto, the true Plato, azzurronegro green-blue rainbow — Victor Hugo, it is true we know that the crow “has wings,” however pigeon-toe- inturned on grass. We do. (adagio) Vivorosso “corvo,” although con dizionario io parlo Italiano— this pseudo Esperanto which, savio ucello you speak too — my vow and motto (botto e totto) io giuro è questo credo: lucro è peso morto. And so dear crow— gioièllo mio— I have to let you go; a bel bosco generoso, tuttuto vagabondo, s erafino uvaceo Sunto, oltremarino verecondo Plato, addio. (((((Impromptu equivalents for esperanto madinusa (made in U.S.A.) for those who might not resent them. azzurro-negro: blue-black vivorosso: lively con dizionario: with dictionary savio ucello: knowing bird botto e totto: vow and motto io giuro: I swear è questo credo: is this credo lucro è peso morto: profit is a dead weight gioièllo mio: my jewel a bel bosco: to lovely woods tuttuto vagabondo: complete gypsy serafino uvaceo: grape-black seraph sunto: in short verecondo: modest))))”

PoetryLanguagePoetPoemWordsSimplicityItalianModernist
Book:Complete Poems
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“When writing personal letters I have sometimes gone too far. Maybe belief and trust in another’s love is an obsessional desire to control a wayward eyewitness. I could go on and on about the origins of transference via H. D. and The Sword Went Out to Sea but a foreword is a like a fish tank so there isn’t room here for leaping dolphins, solo séances, hallucinatory visions, dead pilots, the atomic bomb, nervous breakdowns, the Küsnacht clinic March–November 1946. Sigh sough rough wind world war.”

PoetryModernist
Book:Debths
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