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“هر جا که پا می گذاشتم، چیزی بود که آزارم می داد.
چه چیزی که به همان صورتی که از بچگی دیده بودم هنوز مانده بود
و چه چیزی که از آن صورت در آمده بود و چیز دیگری شده بود.
و همه ی چیزهایی که در اصفهان بود یکی از این دوتا چیز بود.”
― جعفر مدرس صادقی

“آدم‌ه�� می‌آین��
زندگی می‌کنن��
می���یرن��
و می‌رون��
اما
فاجعه‌�� زندگی تو
آن هنگام آغاز می‌شو��
که آدمی می‌مير��
اما
نمی‌رو��
می���ان��
و نبودنش در بودن تو
چنان ته ‌نشی�� می‌شو��
که تو می‌میر�� در حالی که زنده­‌ا��
و او زنده می‌شو�� در حالی که مرده است

از مزار که بازگشتی
قبرستان را به خانه نیاور”
― آزاده طاهايي / Azadeh Tahaei

“بیست وچهارم پاییز:
دیروزبه دنیاآمدم
عاشق شدم.دیروز
ودیروزبودکه من مردم
بیست وپنجم پاییز:
امروز زاده شدم
ظهرعاشق خواهم شد
وغروب نخواهم مردتا...
بیست وششم پاییز:
که درمن زاده شوی
باتوهستم عشق پاییزی عشاق
و....آنگا��
��رگزپاییزنخوا��دشد
بیژن نجدی”
― بیژن نجدی

“Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita. Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, an initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

“In a nervous and slender-leaved mimosa grove at the back of their villa we found a perch on the ruins of a low stone wall. She trembled and twitched as I kissed the corner of her parted lips and the hot lobe of her ear. A cluster of stars palely glowed above us between the silhouettes of long thin leaves; that vibrant sky seemed as naked as she was under her light frock. I saw her face in the sky, strangely distinct, as if it emitted a faint radiance of its own. Her legs, her lovely live legs, were not too close together, and when my hand located what it sought, a dreamy and eerie expression, half-pleasure, half-pain, came over those childish features. She sat a little higher than I, and whenever in her solitary ecstasy she was led to kiss me, her head would bend with a sleepy, soft, drooping movement that was almost woeful, and her bare knees caught and compressed my wrist, and slackened again; and her quivering mouth, distorted by the acridity of some mysterious potion, with a sibilant intake of breath came near to my face. She would try to relieve the pain of love by first roughly rubbing her dry lips against mine; then my darling would draw away with a nervous toss of her hair, and then again come darkly near and let me feed on her open mouth, while with a generosity that was ready to offer her everything, my heart, my throat, my entrails, I gave her to hold in her awkward fist the scepter of my passion.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

“Do you hate people?��

“I don't hate them...I just feel better when they're not around.”
― Charles Bukowski, Barfly

“Depression is melancholy minus its charms.”
― Susan Sontag, Illness as Metaphor

“For those who believe in God, most of the big questions are answered. But for those of us who can't readily accept the God formula, the big answers don't remain stone-written. We adjust to new conditions and discoveries. We are pliable. Love need not be a command nor faith a dictum. I am my own god. We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.”
― Charles Bukowski

“یک مرد و یک زن
که هرگز همدیگر را ندیده اند
و بسیار دور از هم
در شهر های مختلف زندگی می کنند
یک روز
همان صفحه از همان کتاب را
هم زمان
دقیقاً
در دومین ثانیه ی
اولین دقیقه ی
آخرین ساعت خود
می خوانند”
― ژاک پرور

“Believe those who are seeking the truth. Doubt those who find it.”
― Andre Gide

“We are all born mad. Some remain so.”
― Samuel Beckett

“برنامه ای دارم،برنامه دیوانه شدن”
― داستایفسکی

“Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery - celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from - it’s where you take them to."

[MovieMaker Magazine #53 - Winter, January 22, 2004 ]”
― Jim Jarmusch

“I am alone in the midst of these happy, reasonable voices. All these creatures spend their time explaining, realizing happily that they agree with each other. In Heaven's name, why is it so important to think the same things all together. ”
― Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea

“I want to leave, to go somewhere where I should be really in my place, where I would fit in . . . but my place is nowhere; I am unwanted.”
― Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea

“My thought is me: that's why I can't stop. I exist because I think�� and I can't stop myself from thinking. At this very moment - it's frightful - if I exist, it is because I am horrified at existing. I am the one who pulls myself from the nothingness to which I aspire.”
― Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea

“I have crossed the seas, I have left cities behind me,
and I have followed the source of rivers towards their
source or plunged into forests, always making for other
cities. I have had women, I have fought with men ; and
I could never turn back any more than a record can spin
in reverse. And all that was leading me where ?
To this very moment...”
― Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea

“Through the lack of attaching myself to words, my thoughts remain nebulous most of the time. They sketch vague, pleasant shapes and then are swallowed up; I forget them almost immediately.”
― Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea

“People who live in society have learnt how to see themselves, in mirrors, as they appear to their friends. I have no friends: is that why my flesh is so naked?”
― Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea

“He is always becoming, and if it were not for the contingency of death, he would never end.”
― Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea

“Objects should not touch because they are not alive. You use them, put them back in place, you live among them: they are useful, nothing more. But they touch me, it is unbearable. I am afraid of being in contact with them as though they were living beasts.”
― Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea

“It's quite an undertaking to start loving somebody. You have to have energy, generosity, blindness. There is even a moment right at the start where you have to jump across an abyss: if you think about it you don't do it.”
― Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea

“و عشق‌ا�� پیروزیِ آدمی‌س��
هنگامی که به جنگِ تقدیر می‌شتاب��.”
― احمد شاملو, آیدا در آینه

“Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word.”
― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

“Three o'clock is always too late or too early for anything you want to do.”
― Jean-Paul Sartre , Nausea

“In heaven, all the interesting people are missing.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche

&�����ܴ�;گفتمش:
ـ «شیرین‌تری�� آواز چیست؟»
چشم غمگینش به‌روی�� خیره ماند،
قطره‌قطر�� اشکش از مژگان چکید،
لرزه افتادش به گیسوی بلند،
زیر لب، غمناک خواند:
ـ «نالۀ زنجیرها بر دست من!»
گفتمش:
ـ «آنگه که از هم بگسلند . . .»
خندۀ تلخی به لب آورد و گفت:
ـ «آرزویی دلکش است، اما دریغ
بختِ شورم ره برین امید بست!
و آن طلایی زورق خورشید را
صخره‌ها�� ساحل مغرب شکست! . . .»
من به‌خو�� لرزیدم از دردی که تلخ
در دل من با دل او می‌گریس��.
گفتمش:
ـ «بنگر، درین دریای کور
چشم هر اختر چراغ زورقی ست!»
سر به سوی آسمان برداشت، گفت:
ـ «چشم هر اختر چراغ زورقی‌ست��
لیکن این شب نیز دریایی‌س�� ژرف!
ای دریغا شبروان! کز نیمه‌را��
می‌کش�� افسونِ شب در خوابشان . . .»
گفتمش:
ـ «فانوس ماه
می‌ده�� از چشم بیداری نشان . . .»
گفت:
ـ «اما، در شبی این‌گون�� گُنگ
هیچ آوایی نمی‌آی�� به‌گو�� . . .»
گفتمش:
ـ «اما دل من می‌تپی��.
گوش کُن اینک صدای پای دوست!»
گفت:
ـ «ای افسوس! در این دام مرگ
باز صید تازه‌ا�� را می‌برند��
این صدای پای اوست . . .»
گریه‌ا�� افتاد در من بی‌اما��.
در میان اشک‌ها�� پرسیدمش:
ـ «خوش‌تری�� لبخند چیست؟»
شعله‌ا�� در چشم تاریکش شکفت،
جوش خون در گونه‌ا�� آتش فشاند،
گفت:
ـ «لبخندی که عشق سربلند
وقت مُردن بر لبِ مردان نشاند!»
من زجا برخاستم،
بوسیدمش.&�����ܴ�;
― هوشنگ ابتهاج, آینه در آینه

“آگوستوس دستش را توی جیبش کرد و سیگاری بیرون آورد و گذاشت بین دندان‌های�� و گفت: بچه‌ه�� نجات پیدا کردن
من اشاره کردم: البته موقتی
آگوستوس جواب داد: تمام نجات‌ه�� موقتی هستن”
― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

“Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.”
― Carl Sagan

“آیا هیچ می‌دانی�� که اگر شما گیوتین را به جلو صحنه آورده‌ای��
و آن را با این شادمانی و افتخار برافراشته و به آسمان رسانده‌ای��
فقط برای این است که بریدن سر از همه کار آسان‌ت�� است
...و پروردن اندیشه در سر از همه کار دشوارتر”
― Fyodor Dostoyevsky