"Carrot! Don't you remember last night? Didn't you wonder what I might become? Didn't you worry about the future?"
"No."
"Why the hell not?"
"It hasn't happened yet. Shall we get back? It'll be dark soon."
Terry Pratchett, The Fifth Elephant
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Either way, no one looks up. Everyone just pushes ahead, and the smell of the past is everywhere,
the thyme and rosemary rubbing against your clothes,
the smell of too many illusions—
Louise Glück, “Sunrise” from A Village Life: Poems
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Just like any other day
And this day, like any other, seems,
When happiness lingered in my dreams
Family moments, a nostalgic view,
Sensitivity returns, emotions anew
Cherry blossoms I'd pick each morn,
Greeting the world as a new day is born
Today's sun and air, reminiscently,
Echo the past's familiar glee
Even the lit cigarette in the crowd,
Among those I once avowed,
Like a twist of fate and joy it seems,
All remembered in tranquil dreams
A pinkish glow, reminiscent and tender,
Recalls serene days in splendor
That beautiful summer of old,
Though now it makes me feel cold
And when night falls, as it must,
All turns into memories, lost in dust
To forget, such is my fate,
Living through the lens of forgetfulness, innate
~ Nihil Novi
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In the stillness of a tranquil night,
Memories drift, like whispers light.
Once held close, now far away,
A love lost, yet lingers to stay.
In dreams, I find her gentle grace,
Her laughter echoes, a cherished trace.
Though time has woven paths apart,
Her image stays within my heart.
She found her solace in another's arms,
A choice made amidst life's charms.
Yet I, in longing, still search anew,
For someone to love, pure and true.
Through the ebb and flow of life's dance,
I seek a love, a second chance.
With quirks and flaws, imperfectly whole,
Yearning for peace to soothe my soul.
May fate guide me to the one unseen,
Whose love ignites a tranquil scene.
In every heartbeat, in every sigh,
I'll find my peace, beneath the sky.
- Written by me.
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One of the biggest paradoxes of our world: memories vanish when we want to remember, but fix themselves permanently in the mind when we want to forget.
— Emil Cioran, On the Heights of Despair (1934). Ilinca Zarifopol-Johnston (Translator). University of Chicago Press; October 1, 1996.
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I have already lost touch with a couple of people I used to be.
Joan Didion
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There’s a line I read once, by an Egyptian poet whose name I cannot remember: that a diary’s function is not to show you who you are, but who it is you have ceased to be.
— Sean Michaels, Do You Remember Being Born: A Novel (Astra House, September 5, 2023)
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Fogadd el, és sétálj tovább. Majd elmúlik.
- mondta, majd elnyomta a cigijét és odébb állt.
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