Barrister Babu CC #18 - Page 74

Originally posted by: briti_asfiya

It's in my bucket list.

Originally posted by: blackhole

but why not? Why they are not ready??? I don't understand!😕

“This world is such a little place. Just the red in the sky before the sun rises. So let us keep fast hold of hands that when the birds begin, none of us be missing.”

— Emily Dickinson, 1861

I read “The Incredible and Sad Tale of Innocent Eréndira and her Heartless Grandmother “, by Gabriel Garcìa Màrquez. It is a collection of short stories, loosely related (at least the one that gives the title to the book) to One Hundred Years of Solitude.

I never read Garcìa Màrquez before and I didn’t want to go straight to reading his most important works because he feels like an important author, one that I needed to prepare for to truly appreciate, so I read this one before. The stories didn’t particularly strike me as incredible, but they were really useful to grow a little bit accustomed to Garcìa Màrquez incredible and peculiar style of writing.

I was really happy that I made this choice: when (after a couple of weeks) I read One Hundred Years of Solitude I was able to appreciate it a lot more, and I really enjoyed it. It was so deeply and tragically beautiful that I can’t really think about it in a way that isn’t emotional.

I also recently found Love in the Time of Cholera around so I’ll definitely be reading that soon.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I've heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me

- Emily Dickinson

“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”

Sonnet XVII, Pablo Neruda

Before you came,

things were as they should be:

the sky was the dead-end of sight,

the road was just a road, wine merely wine.

Now everything is like my heart,

a color at the edge of blood:

the grey of your absence, the color of poison, of thorns,

the gold when we meet, the season ablaze,

the yellow of autumn, the red of flowers, of flames,

and the black when you cover the earth

with the coal of dead fires.

And the sky, the road, the glass of wine?

The sky is a shirt wet with tears,

the road a vein about to break,

and the glass of wine a mirror in which

the sky, the road, the world keep changing.

Don't leave now that you're here—

Stay. So the world may become like itself again:

so the sky may be the sky,

the road a road,

and the glass of wine not a mirror, just a glass of wine.

- Faiz Ahmed Faiz

She said, " I am like the Cactus I dont have a soft side."

He hmmed in agreement and replied, "I agree as you are soft inside"

You know what my perfect gift would be? It would be an annotated copy of your favourite book. I don’t just mean a couple of tabs, I mean annotated. I mean highlighted to the ends of the earth, pages black with scribbled annotations, entire pages underlined and captioned ‘THIS’. I want to see tear stains on the pages, corners bent from when you threw it across the room, spine broken because you were too absorbed in the story to care. I want paragraphs of you yelling at characters, I want your witty remarks and sarcastic comments, I want your little doodles in the margins. because then you’re not just giving me a book. you’re giving me a little piece of yourself, and I think that’s the best gift you could ever give me.

Per colmare un vuoto devi inserire ciò che l'ha causato. Se lo riempi con altro, ancora di più spalancherà le fauci. Non si chiude un abisso con l'aria.

- Emily Dickinson