A pure heart is superlatively rare and even more attractive.
I think this is what we all want to hear: that we are not alone in hitting the bottom, and that it is possible to come out of that place courageous, beautiful, and strong.
কাউকে করো না দায়ী কারোর বিরুদ্ধ তুমি কোরো না নালিশ কখনোই, কোন কিছুকেই দায়ী কোরো না কখনো; কারণ জীবনে তুমি যা চেয়েছ তা-ই তুমি করেছ মূলত। মেনে নাও নির্মানের অন্তরায় আর নিজেকে শোধরানোর শুরুর সাহস। ভুলের ভস্ম থেকে উঠে আসে প্রকৃত মানুষের সফলতা। কখনো কোরো না দায়ী নিয়তি ও একাকিত্বকে মোকাবেলা করো সব সাহসের সঙ্গে। যেকোনভাবেই হোক-এ তোমারই কাজের ফসল, তুলে ধরো নিয়ত জয়ের লক্ষণ। নিজের ব্যার্থতায় তিক্ত হোয়ো না আর অন্যের কাঁধে তাকে দিয়ো না চাপিয়ে, এই বেলা মেনে নাও কিংবা শিশুর মতো
শোকগাথা আমি প্রথম দরজা খুলি। সূর্য-করোজ্জ্বল বিশাল ঘর। একটি ভারী যান সড়ক পেরিয়ে যায় আর চীনামাটি কেঁপে ওঠে। আমি দ্বিতীয় দরজা খুলি। বন্ধুরা, তোমরা পান করলে অন্ধকার আর দৃশ্যমান হলে। তিন নম্বর দরজা। সরু একটি হোটেল কক্ষ রাস্তার পিছন দিকে মুখ করা। আলকাতরার ওপরে বাতির স্ফুলিঙ্গ অভিজ্ঞতার সুন্দর মরিচা।
To Her Steady Lover - Poem by Jibanananda Das There is no meaning in living—I don't say this. There is meaning for some, may be for all—may be a perfect meaning. Yet I hear the white sound of wind-driven birds In the water of the distant seas beneath the burning summer sun. The candle burns slowly, very slowly, on my table; The books of intellect are more still—unwavering— lost in meditation; Yet when you go out on to the streets or even while sitting by the window side Will you sense the frenzied dance of violent waters; Right beside that a book of your cheeks; no more like a lantern, Perhaps like a conch-shell lying on the beach as if ocean's father It is also a music by his own merit—like Nature: caustic—lovable—finally like the most favourite entity. So I get the taste of expansive wind in the airing of maddening grievances; Otherwise in the mind's forest the python coils up around the doe: I feel the pitiable hint of a life like that in the Sceptre of protest. Some glacier-cold still flock of Cormorants will realize my words; When the electric-compass of life will cease They will eat up snow-grey sleep like polar seas in endless grasp.
अंतरटॉनिक बीड़ी फूँकती हो अवंतिका चुंबन में श्रम का स्वाद पाता हूँ देसी पीती हो अवंतिका श्वास में नींद की गंध पाता हूँ गुटखा खाती हो अवंतिका जीभ पर रक्त का स्पर्श पाता हूँ जुलूस में जाती हो अवंतिका पसीने में तुम्हारे दिवास्वप्न पाता हूँ
Maybe true beauty is when something quite ‘simple’ exercises whatever bit of faith it holds, and in the exercising it suddenly discovers that the ‘simple thing’ that it always thought itself to be only served to hide the ‘great thing’ that it always was.
But in the midst of all that uncertainty and lack of clarity, there lies a wild beauty. A hope. Possibility. The promise of something bigger than us happening just beneath the surface that we can’t see.
Only a few of us are going to be willing to break our own hearts by trading in the living beauty of imagination for the stark disappointment of words.
One should be a painter. As a writer, I feel the beauty, which is almost entirely colour, very subtle, very changeable, running over my pen, as if you poured a large jug of champagne over a hairpin.
Fighting and writing’s deepest layers of beauty lie not only in the physical and mental realms of what we know, but also as an incognizable instinct, a realm we will never fully know but will forever feel.
Writing takes a combination of sophistication and innocence; it takes conscience, our belief that something is beautiful because it is right.
If we are exhorted to play simple melodies with beauty rather than difficult ones with error, the same should be applied to writing; simple words greater effect.
For every moment of triumph, for every instance of beauty, many souls must be trampled.
There's nothing more inspiring than the complexity and beauty of the human heart.
I am the lover's gift; I am the wedding wreath; I am the memory of a moment of happiness; I am the last gift of the living to the dead; I am a part of joy and a part of sorrow.
Pippa's laugh is bitter, tinged with tears. 'Ha! Why do girls think being beautiful will solve every problem? Being beautiful just creates problems. It's a misery. I wish I were someone else.
Five tender apricots in a blue bowl, a brief and exact promise of things to come.
The really magical things are the ones that happen right in front of you. A lot of the time you keep looking for beauty, but it is already there. And if you look with a bit more intention, you see it.
No sooner have you feasted on beauty with your eyes than your mind tells you that beauty is vain and beauty passes
