Rohit Vyas

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Tao Te Ching
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by Lao Tzu
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Meditations
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On Writing Well: ...
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Ramdhari Singh 'Dinkar'
“प्रासादों के कनकाभ शिखर,
होते कबूतरों के ही घर,
महलों में गरुड़ ना होता है,
कंचन पर कभी न सोता है.
रहता वह कहीं पहाड़ों में,
शैलों की फटी दरारों में.

होकर सुख-समृद्धि के अधीन,
मानव होता निज तप क्षीण,
सत्ता किरीट मणिमय आसन,
करते मनुष्य का तेज हरण.
नर वैभव हेतु लालचाता है,
पर वही मनुज को खाता है.

चाँदनी पुष्प-छाया मे पल,
नर भले बने सुमधुर कोमल,
पर अमृत क्लेश का पिए बिना,
आताप अंधड़ में जिए बिना,
वह पुरुष नही कहला सकता,
विघ्नों को नही हिला सकता.

उड़ते जो झंझावतों में,
पीते जो वारि प्रपातो में,
सारा आकाश अयन जिनका,
विषधर भुजंग भोजन जिनका,
वे ही फानिबंध छुड़ाते हैं,
धरती का हृदय जुड़ाते हैं.”
Ramdhari Singh Dinkar, रश्मिरथी

Julian Barnes
“History: the lies of the victors, the self-delusions of the defeated.”
Julian Barnes, The Sense of an Ending

Fyodor Dostoevsky
“If one wanted to crush and destroy a man entirely, to mete out to him the most terrible punishment ... all one would have to do would be to make him do work that was completely and utterly devoid of usefulness and meaning.”
Fyodor Dostoyevsky

John Keats
“My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.”
John Keats, Bright Star: Love Letters and Poems of John Keats to Fanny Brawne

Franz Kafka
“First: breakdown, impossible to sleep, impossible to stay awake, impossible to endure life, or, more exactly, the course of life. The clocks are not in unison; the inner one runs crazily on at a devilish or demoniac or in any case inhuman pace, the outer one limps along at its usual speed. What else can happen but that the two worlds split apart, and they do split apart, or at least clash in a fearful manner. There are doubtless several reasons for the wild tempo of the inner process; the most obvious one is introspection, which will suffer no idea to sink tranquilly to rest but must pursue each one into consciousness, only itself to become an idea, in turn to be pursued by renewed introspection.

Secondly: this pursuit, originating in the midst of men, carries one in a direction away from them. The solitude that for the most part has been forced on me, in part voluntarily sought by me –but what was this if not compulsion too? –is now losing all its ambiguity and approaches its dénouement. Where is it leading? The strongest likelihood is, that it may lead to madness; there is nothing more to say, the pursuit goes right through me and rends me asunder. Or I can –can I? –manage to keep my feet somewhat and be carried along in the wild pursuit. Where, then, shall I be brought? ‘Pursuit,’ indeed, is only a metaphor. I can also say, ‘assault on the last earthly frontier’, an assault, moreover, launched from below, from mankind, and since this too is a metaphor, I can replace it by the metaphor of an assault from above, aimed at me from above.”
Franz Kafka, Diaries, 1910-1923

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