“Ghosts don’t haunt us. That’s not how it works. They’re present among us because we won’t let go of them.”
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” I said, faintly.
“Some people can’t see the colour red. That doesn’t mean it isn’t there,” she replied.”
― Sue Grafton, M Is for Malice
The kumara (sweet potato) does not say how sweet he is
This proverbs accentuates the the value of humbleness.
There are ghosts of me here,
and a trace of the old circle
in the grass my father mowed
so we girls could ride our horses
in the park. We reach the metal
gate that leads up to the paddock
and beyond, the house where I
lived when young.
‘I often pause my walking
here to take a rest,’ you say.
‘This road, this house.’
I called out once, at this very gate
to a God I wasn’t sure was there.
And thirty years later here you are:
the odd longevity of prayer.
― Chuck Palahniuk, Lullaby
Comedian Russell Means finds himself plagued, even in his adulthood, by memories of acts of mischief and pranks done during his childhood. Thus, at around seven or eight years old, he watched an elderly neighbour planting flowers. The man, seeing Russell’s gaze, explained and illustrated, in some detail, the ways in which the seeds could be rooted into the ground, then grow into seedlings and buds, then, in time, flowers. Stepping into his home for a moment, he asked the young Means to be sure not to trample upon his flowers. Once the man had gone inside, Means, after waiting a moment, felt gripped by an urge to tread on every flower until it disappeared into the flat of the earth beneath it. He did so. The hurt and shock in his neighbour’s eyes when he emerged from his house and viewed the destruction, continues to haunt the now wealthy and renowned comedian.
A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one’s suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.
― Hermann Hesse, Bäume. Betrachtungen und Gedichte
― Salman Rushdie, The Satanic Verses
Ghosts seem harder to please than we are; it is as though they haunted for haunting’s sake — much as we relive, brood, and smoulder over our pasts.
ELIZABETH BOWEN, preface to The Second Ghost Book
Read more at http://www.notable-quotes.com/g/ghosts_quotes.html#ZxaHff6UoICJ6Hbj.99
‘Lose this day loitering, ‘Twill be the same story Tomorrow — and the next more dilatory. Then indecision brings its own delays, and days are lost lamenting over days! Are you earnest? Seize this very minute! What you can do, or dream you can – begin it! Courage has genius, power and magic in it. Only engage, and the mind grows heated. Begin it, and the work will be completed.’
Charles Duhigg, The Power of Habit: Why We Do What We Do in Life and Business
If an addict who has been completely cured starts smoking again he no longer experiences the discomfort of his first addiction. There exists, therefore, outside alkaloids and habit, a sense for opium, an intangible habit which lives on, despite the recasting of the organism. The dead drug leaves a ghost behind. At certain hours it haunts the house. Jean Cocteau
“Look back, hold a torch to light the recesses of the dark. Listen to the footsteps that echo behind, when you walk alone.
All the time the ghosts flit past and through us, hiding in the future. We look in the mirror and see the shades of other faces looking back through the years; we see the shape of memory, standing solid in an empty doorway. By blood and by choice, we make our ghosts; we haunt ourselves.
Each ghost comes unbidden from the misty grounds of dream and silence.
Our rational minds say, “No, it isn’t.”
But another part, an older part, echoes always softly in the dark, “Yes, but it could be.”
― Diana Gabaldon, Drums of Autumn
― Yasmine Galenorn, Songs of Love and Death: All-Original Tales of Star-Crossed Love
“Every man carries two bags about him, one in front and one behind, and both are full of faults. The bag in front contains his neighbours’ faults, the one behind his own. Hence it is that men do not see their own faults, but never fail to see those of others.”
― Sarah Rees Brennan, The Demon’s Covenant
No day goes by without your haunting me,You, whose tongue was always heavy with silence.Watching myself taped, a mouth pouringWord on crested word, I am ashamed.