Sunday, December 07, 2008
...the lies we tell ourselves are the ghosts that haunt the empty house of midnight.
There is in you, as there is in me, a morbid belief in love, and a fascinaton for the madness that love puts in its victims.
YOu can never tell what people have inside them until you start taking it away, one hope at a time.
They claim a hidden corner of our hearts, all those moments that stay with us unscreamed. That's where love, live elephants, drag themselves to die. It's the place where pride allows itself to cry.
Friday, December 05, 2008
...a man has to find a good woman, and when he finds her he has to win her love. Then he has to earn her respect. Then he has to chersh her trust. And then he has to, like, go on doing that for as long as they live. Until they both die. That's what it is all about. That's the most important thing in the world. That's what a man is,
yaar. A man is truly a man when he wins the love of a good woman, earns her respect and keeps her trust. Until you can do that, you're not a man.
The tears, when they come to some men, are worse than beatings. They're wounded worse by sobbing, men like that, than they are by boots and batons. Tears begin in the heart but some of us deny the heart so often, and for so long, that when it speaks we hear not one but a hundred sorrows in the heartbreak. We know that crying is a good and natural thing. We know that crying isn't a weakness, but a kind of strength> Still, the weeping rips us root by tangled root from the earth, and we crash like fallen trees when we cry.
At first when we truly love someone, our greatest fear s that the loves one will stop loving us. What we sould fear and dread, of course, is that we won't stop loving them, even after they're dead and gone. For I still love you with the hwole of my heart, Prabaker. I still love you. And sometimes, my friend, the love that I have and ca't give to you, crushes the breath from my chest. Sometimes, even now, my heart is drowning in a sorrow that has no stars without you, and no laughter, and no sleep.
...friendshp, for him, is measured by what men do and endure for one another, not by what they share and enjoy.
