کتاب Spy پائولو کوئلیو
سهشنبه ۰۳ تیر ۱۳۹۹
سوم تیر ماهه و گردنم هنوز درد میکنه.
خیلی سخت و دردناکه وقتی یه اتفاق باعث بشه چیزی از دست بدی، چیزی که دیگه برنمی گرده.
این کتاب رو تقریبا دو بار خوندمش. الان میخوام جملاتی که دوست داشتم رو بنویسم.
Memory is a river, one that always runs backward.
Memories are full of caprice, where images of things we've experienced
are still capable of suffocating us
through one small detail or insignificant sound.
I'm a woman who was born at the wrong time and nothing can be done to fix this.
Remember this when you feel joy, pain, or sadness:
Everything passes, grows old, dies, and is reborn.
"Change" and "change for better" are two different things.
Know what you want and try to go beyond your own expectations.
Improve your dancing, practice a lot, and set a very high goal,
one that will be difficult to achieve. Because that is an artist's mission:
to go beyond one's limits. An artist who desires very little and
achieves it has failed in life.
You are born, go to school, and attend university in search of a husband.
You get married-- even if he is the worst man in the world--
just so that others cant say no one wants you. You have children,
grow old, and spend the end of your days watching passersby
from a chair on the sidewalk, pretending to know everything about life
yet unable to silence the voice in your heart that says:
"You could try something else."
Sin was not created by God; it was created by us
when we tried to transform what was inevitable into something subjective.
We ceased to see the whole and came to see just one part;
and that part is loaded with guilt, rules, good versus evil,
and each side thinking it's right.
Love doesn't obey anyone and will betray those who try to decipher its mystery.
I thought that speaking about my wounds with only make them more real.
And yet the exact opposite was taking place: My tears were healing me.
At times I punched my fists into the gravel beach and my hands bleed,
but I didn't even feel the pain. I was being healed.
I understood why Catholics confess even though they must know priests
share the same sins of worst. It did not matter who was listening
what mattered was leaving the wound open for the sun to purify
and the rainwater to wash.
That is what I was doing now in front of a man with whom
I had no intimacy that was the real reason i was able to speak so freely.