Shahla Maharramova
@ShehlaM
Potterhead
Uluslararasi ilişkiler
Bologna,Italya
Bakı , Azərbaycan, 28 Mayıs 1998
202 okur puanıNisan 2017 tarihinde katıldı
Bazı hikâyeler tam tahmin ettiğin gibi ilerler. Bazılarıysa son sayfada tüm bildiklerini sorgulatır. 🤯
Ters köşeleri seviyorsan, seni sonuna kadar merakta bırakacak 3 kitap önerisini keşfetmeye hazır ol!
It is hard enough to accept that this is what the physical body amounts to. But what about a person’s anger? What about her voice? Her laughter? Her arrogance? Her irreverence? Her humor, her ego, her honor, her character? Do these fingerprints of an individual life simply evaporate and disappear with the last exhale? And if that is so, what use all this struggle, misery, and strife? What difference whether a woman ever lived or not? Whether she was loved or unloved, educated or illiterate, wanted or unwanted by her parents, whether or not she suffered hurt and betrayal, or whether she still managed to retain her humanity and nobility? In the end, Bhima thinks, it doesn’t matter. It is all ash and dust. This is what it means to be human, she thinks: grains of dust arranged in human form—some dark, some light, some tall, some short, some male, some female. And in the end, the same gust of wind breaks them all down.
Don’t worry. The devil and I, we will take care of you.”
“You don’t believe in God, but you believe in the devil?”
“Sister. I have never seen the face of God. But the devil—I have seen him a thousand times. Isn’t that so
"It isn't the words we speak that make us who we are. Or even the deeds we do. It is the secrets buried in our hearts."
Hope is a dangerous drug
Because without hope she may as well be dead. And after all, it costs as much to dream big as to dream small.