Janice Pariat Quotes

As though I am oriented only by your presence, or your absence. You are my north.

The ones we pretend to ignore are the ones we're most aware of.

I am struck, at this moment, by how precisely we know how to hurt the ones we love.

Because life is like that, isn't it? One cannot stop its ebb and flow. You step into the current and whatever's in your path will cross you and touch you and sometimes stay.

I grow jealous of your memories because those are times in your life i will never be a part of, and i imagine them large and exuberant in your head.

Stories are told at festive, joyful gatherings, but the ones narrated at funerals are special because they reaffirm existence, of the listeners and the narrators. They are times of remembrance that haul the past into the present, and keep people alive even when they’re gone.

Perhaps it’s the only way to retain it. Love. To never have it happen. To love, otherwise, is always to lose. And isn’t it true? That one imagined kiss is worth a thousand real ones.

And things will mellow. And all this love will turn to friendship tinged forever. After that, there will be only accidental meetings, a stray email, a long-lost text.

The once we pretend to ignore are the once we are most aware of..

You have a heart as open as the sky. It is rare, and i am touched.

I feel the weight of everyone's history press down on me like relentless rain.

Look... how she's allowed some sky to filter through the branches... That's how it is, isn't it? A tree is patchy. There are gaps between the leaves...

They are starlings, you say, and you are certain they are the souls of the dead. My voice is stuck in my throat. I'd like to think that's true. That all the dead in the world are reborn into creatures of flight.

I’m a white dwarf, I tell myself. A dead star. Exhausted of everything life-giving, heavy not just with the weight of the past, but also the sense that nothing lies beyond, no further evolution. I’m lost and hollow. What to stand in the sun for now? Nothing, I tell myself gloomily.

to anticipate is to feel alive

This is what it was like, I think, for explorers, perched on the brink of an expedition. You an undiscovered continent. A land that hasn't been charted. And in a way, for me, the world.

I made the mistake of coming round to your side of the table, and praising the girl to your right. 'Look... how she's allowed some sky to filter through the branches... That's how it is, isn't it? A tree is patchy. There are gaps between the leaves...' You stared at me with something close to hatred.

It’s not as though I haven’t seen skimpily clad women – at least in pictures (I study in an all-boys school, remember?) – but I’d see them and think, what’s all the fuss about? You, though, are as beautiful as light splitting through glass.

I was like that too, you know …’ you continue, ‘A “leavee”, if there’s such a word, not a leaver … but not any more, I like to think …’ I turn to you and ask, ‘What happens when you leave people?’ You hesitate for the briefest moment. ‘It allows you both to grow.

I lean across to take your hand, and you exclaim, looking at the rose, ‘It’s wilted … already, it’s wilted …’ I say that’s what it is. Tristezza dei fiori. The sadness of flowers. You look at me, and cannot take your eyes away from mine. You repeat the words. The sadness of flowers.

The thing is, at moments like these, I always think it’s sweet and rare, and it isn’t. It’s so easy to feel love. And I know you’re hurling yourself into this because you’re in a space of great sadness, and what else can I do but allow you to fall so that you’re carried elsewhere, wherever that may be.

I had a Muslim neighbour once who did the Hajj. He went to Mecca, did the whole route—Mina, Arafah, seven times around the Kaabah, of course, and prayers at the masjid. You know what he told me was the best part? Coming home. And that’s what pilgrimages are for, really. To think about the places and people you leave behind.

They don't know it yet, but the young drink to die. Alongside raging life runs an urge to extinguish themselves.

Quelli che fingiamo di ignorare sono quelli di cui percepiamo la presenza con più intensità.

Unlike the hills and mist, for us freedom doesn't last a lifetime; it comes and goes on unexpected afternoons.

I imagine you waiting, like when I first found you, for someone to lead you out to where all rivers end, to the sea.

He remembered something his father had once told him, that the kite held the soul of the person who flew it. ‘What does that mean, abba?’ he’d asked, and his father had replied, ‘What you feel flows through the string.

Why is this place called Laitlum?’ asked Melvin suddenly. ‘It means where the hills are set free,’ answered Grace. ‘Yes, but why? Don’t you Khasis have a story for everything?’ ‘I’m sure there is, something about a cruel giant, or evil serpent, or some person caught by spirits and water fairies. But who cares?’ she said, ‘Folk stories are rubbish.’ Chris sipped the rum. ‘Why?’ ‘Because they have nothing to do with the world we live in, they’re not real.’ ‘They might not be real to you, but…’ ‘Look at what’s going on,’ she interrupted. ‘Is there time for folk tales when people are shooting each other across their own town roads?’ ‘Perhaps that’s when they need them most.’ My sister shook her head. ‘Maybe once they taught people something about life, and how to live it but not any more. Now you figure things out for yourself, you can’t depend on anyone else to get you out of shit.

i do not love you but i will not forget you