Neda Quotes

Li wan rojan Min li gor zewqa hezkirîya xwe jîyana xwe tevde bi rengê şîn xemilandibû Şîn û tenê şîn... Şînê bi rengê deryayê Û di rojek ji rojan de ji nişka ve min destê hezkirîya xwe di destê kesekî din de dît ku jîyana xwe tevde bi rengê zer girêdabû Zerê bi rengê ronahîya rojê Min soberî nedizanî Dilê min rê neda ku hînî soberîyê bibim Û ez di nav deryayeke şîn û bêkutahî ya tirs û xeyalan de xeniqîm!

We can reach a global harmony if we remove xenophobia

For how long would I be trapped in the condition of melancholy without going insane?

Evenings without you are Empires stacked on my heart! - Neda Ria Loncho

We didn’t call it a date, but it felt like one—the kind of electric connection that exists in the spaces between words, the moments when you forget the world and just exist with someone who makes you feel alive.

Arriba un moment a la vida en què ens adonem que els nostres pares no es poden salvar a si mateixos, i tampoc no ens poden salvar a nosaltres, i que tothom que neda a través del temps acaba veient-se arrossegat pel corrent, que se l'endú mar endins. Arriba un moment en què, en definitiva, tothom acaba marxant.

For me, all those systematic Bureaucracies of traditional schools jaded me. For me, I still couldn’t understand why we have to have a factory style education for children living in the 21st century. Why hold them in place, asking them to read and repeat and giving them a number of tasks to finish? I still have no idea how exams and objective assessments could measure human behavior or intelligence. Is it some kind of barcoding human aptitude? Is it ethical anyway?

Look at yourself. Do you want to be a bland pot of spaghetti with no sauce and spice? You are just as normal as everyone else. Do you want to perish with time?

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that in the transgressive romance, the only true taboo is being dull.

In a family not much different from yours They cover every girl born and unborn The girl shan’t talk Shan’t run, shan’t dream The girl shan’t expect, shan’t even exist

For how long are you willing to lie to yourself about who you are? You are not one of them with an expiry date. You're not bound to time.

How sure are you that it is your decision? You’re conditioned to think you need to have a child to be happy. But my dear, what if you don’t? Would you feel incomplete?

His eyes had a shimmer that excited me. Every time they landed on me, they set my heart racing and my thoughts spinning.

I kneeled down, “I do whatever you please. I do whatever you want.” I tried to touch him. “Choke me, hit me, I would take it all.

Mom would always say, ‘We’re in Iran, but this house is America. Here, we’re free. We watch what we want, listen to what we want, do what we want.

Freedom isn’t the absence of rules; it’s the ability to decide which ones you’ll break for the life you want to live.

I carried Iran in my veins and America in my dreams, but neither felt like home. I existed somewhere in between—a place where belonging meant letting go of both.

Those crows, those damn, bad-luck crows. It’s all their fault.

I leaped over the American flag painted on the ground. I couldn’t bring myself to step on it. Never. I had one proudly hung on my bedroom wall.

If they found out who he really was, they would be even harsher on me. A mini drug lord, a good-looking asshole who was always high.

The flag on the pole drooped like a hanged dead body. Off in the distance, students were talking and laughing, oblivious to the weight pressing down on me.

I hated how easily she could flip her mood because some random guy took an interest. She was only eleven.

Back in middle school, I was expelled for wearing clear nail polish.

The headmistress grabbed my file and slapped it into my chest. ‘Take your bad attitude somewhere else.

Two men as old as my dad on a noisy bike passed by and yelled, ‘I wanna eat your cunt!

The school hijab felt like a heavy blanket—a reminder of a life I was desperate to escape.

She told me, ‘Never ever put me in this situation again. Your problems are yours to solve.

In Iran, where beauty was considered a sin, this youth and beauty were nothing short of troublesome.

You’re not a kid, my daughter… Prophet Mohammad’s wife was nine years old when he married her!

If you cover your hair, my dear, no one would bother you!

I never fully understood what it meant to identify as a woman while living in Iran. I never understood it outside of Iran, either.

What is womanhood, really? It’s about the relentless grind of it—the moment your body betrays you, when you realize your identity will always feel like something to defend.

I think of Mia and transitioning… so desperate to embrace womanhood, to claim it for herself.

For me, the past is a sack of garbage that needs to be left outdoors to be picked up.

The weight of the lies I tell are choking me, but I can’t bear the thought of being anything less than a woman in his eyes.

It’s funny how a city can feel so alive yet make you feel so small.

It’s not the absence of a child I miss. It’s the power to decide.

Maybe that’s what I’ve been trying to paint all this time. Not Gus, not motherhood, not even myself. But that quiet, unspoken loss.

To fall for whoever we wanted, to live in bursts of pleasure and unplanned moments, accidental loves, simply to be, to exist, to savor the fleeting sweetness of life without guilt, without suffering.

He wasn’t just Gus; he was possibility, the ‘what if’ that echoed through every choice I made to leave behind the chaos for the comfort of the known. And yet, I never stopped wondering—what if I had chosen differently?

Principom, ktory dodava myslienke dynamicku silu korespondovat s jej predmetom, a tak zvladnut akukolvek nepriaznivu ludsku skusenost, je zakon pritazlivosti, ktory je inym oznacenim pre lasku. Je to vecny a fundamentalny princip, ktory je podstatou vsetkych veci, kazdeho filozofickeho systemu, nabozenstva i vedy. Zakonu lasku sa neda uniknut. To cit prepoziciava mysleniu vitalitu. Cit je tuzba a tuzba je laska. Myslienka presiaknuta laskou sa stava neporazitelnou.

How do you paint the pieces of a life you can’t quite remember, but feel in every aching part of your soul? Gus wasn’t just a memory—I was trying to create him, to pull him from the void of my past and place him on a canvas I could finally understand.

...What’s the purpose of an eternal life when you lose everyone and everything you love? What’s truly the purpose of that?” “Is love the only essence of life?” “Of course it is. What is life without it? Life without love is just a colorless outline of an unfinished masterpiece

Iranian Americans today find themselves caught in racial loopholes in which they are not white enough to escape racially motivated discrimination and hate crimes, but are too white to reliably secure race-based protection and legal redress for the violent and discriminatory acts committed against them.

Many women give up on how they look these days. They become a communality in a society that prefers to follow rather than stand out. They merge in time as if it doesn’t exist and they fade away into it. No one will hear about them ever again when they die. In their culture, uniqueness is a sin. To be part of this fake paradise, they become a commodity.

You’re not resisting enough, darling. If you wanted to go, you would. Unsurprisingly, you’re giving up. You’re still as weak as you were and you will always be if you continue looking at yourself this way. The cycle will never end. I can’t help you forever. You have to make a change now. Separate yourself from yourself. Time won’t wait for anyone, even you.

Lilith Wilde is more than just a pseudonym; she’s the embodiment of my romance literary rebirth. Think of her as the writer who guzzles coffee like water, who gets hit by writer’s block like it’s a sport, who eavesdrops on strangers for dialogue inspiration, and who looks to cats for a muse (because why not?). With Lilith Wilde, I go back into romance, but this time, with a flavor that’s as dark as my coffee.

Sometimes, I can’t separate the reality from dream or illusion. Sometimes, I get so tired thinking about what if I’m not really here and all the good things happened in my life were just a mirage.” “I guess you feel it when you reach some sort of pleasure?” “True. I’m suffering from the fear of losing happiness. The fear that the moments of joy to be taken away from me and be replaced by a tragedy” “Cherophobia. That’s what it’s called.” She glanced at my face “Yeah. That’s what the shrink said” “I’ll cure your fear” “How?” “By eternal life

Don’t dare to follow me” I threatened him. He curved his back and walked away. “You’re just like carrots. I hate carrots” he mumbled and disappeared into the bedroom.

He makes me angry too. Stupid people in general. The purpose of their creation was to test my anger management skills” Versi said and jumped down his laps and stood by me.

Yes. We were happy. We didn’t need Blijd to be happy. We were making it and selling it to the whole multiverse. Why we should have sold our dreams for what we already had?” “To be happier?” “There is no happier. If you’re happy, you’re happy” The Dream of Dandelions - WIP

The only and last words she remembered her mother told her before she became mute was, “You have to remember Pollyanna. In Naraka, you can never ever trust anyone. “She sighed. One of those long sighs that would make her cough till she puked blood. Polly could recall the revolting rotten smell of blood, “no one is your friend here. Do you understand? No one” Umber blood dripping from the corner of her lips, “They might be nice to you only for the lake. This lake is like your life. You have to protect it. This is the only way you can live a long life” she spit the blood and mucus in a piece of filthy cloth. “But mom. Why should we live a long life when it’s a very bad time to live and many bad people want to kill us?” “Because your innocent dreams still have colors and power and we have to keep them that way

In 1991 two hikers in the Italian Alps stumbled upon a 5,300-year-old corpse that would later be dubbed “Ötzi the Iceman.” Preserved for more than five millennia in the ice and dry mountain air, Ötzi is the oldest intact corpse ever found. Forensic investigation revealed that Ötzi was most likely a shepherd. Ötzi was also a murder victim. He had been shot in the back with an arrow. As a Bronze Age shepherd who became a murder victim, we might think of Ötzi as the Abel of the Alps. I find it poignant and sadly apropos that the oldest human corpse was not found resting in a peaceful grave with attendant signs of reverence, but sprawled upon a bleak mountainside with an arrow in his back. It’s a distressing commentary on the origins of human civilization. It seems that human civilization is incapable of advancing without shooting brothers in the back. From the lonely death of Ötzi in the Italian Alps to Neda Agha-Soltan in Iran, whose violent death in Tehran during the 2009 election protests was captured on a cell-phone camera and witnessed around the world, the number of Abels who lay slain by a Cain are incalculable. In a world that spills the blood of the innocent, it’s easy to despair. But it’s the world Abel, Ötzi, and Neda were slain in that Jesus came to save.

That’s the vicious truth doctor. For me and persons like me, we are experiencing a divorce from our own individual self by sensing our sensations, emotions, behaviors as not belonging to the same person or identity. That’s how you psychiatrists could explain it. That’s how society would like to codify its population. Such a ludicrous model we’ve been creating calling it civilization

For me, all those systematic Bureaucracies of traditional schools jaded me. For me, I still I couldn’t understand why we have to have a factory style education for children living in the 21st century. Why hold them in place, asking them to read and repeat and giving them a number of tasks to finish? I still have no idea how exams and objective assessments could measure human behavior or intelligence. Is it some kind of barcoding human aptitude? Is it ethical anyway?

When my men touched you, it gave me the power to see you such susceptible. It made me forget myself. It separated you from me, from the shame of having you. From the unbreakable cycle of repetition.

Death is not scary, it’s where we end up that is.

I’m sorry but this place is promised to be the last destination for the guests who willingly want to die.

Humans are more complex than that. You never know. What if there are some people who don’t literally wish to disappear? They just assume they want… or what if they just show up here in desperation… looking for someone to come and find them before they die?

While Chase returned to the station, to drill a little deeper into Cher’s background, as he announced with a touch of relish, we went to the offices of the Hampton Cove Gazette instead, where a mountain of work awaited our human, since she’d already spent all day yesterday and part of today trying to figure out who had killed Neda Hoeppner, and now it was time to devote some of her time to her actual job.

For a moment he can take a flight of fancy—scandalous, unbearable to hold it for more than a second—that he is Sunny himself, that Neda is his, that he has a normal life, a life where he is in control.

The days come and go, the cars passing by. Nothing is permanent in a prostitute’s life. Surely, no gloryhole is forever.

What amazes me, after all these years of selling my body, is that it’s always a man. Always… Always a man who is appalled by us enough to cause a scene. Even the men who chose to buy us.

How easy it is to justify the same act under a different name. A wife… A prostitute. Both are fucked in all the holes they have. Both do it to give their life some kind of value, both may enjoy being called a slut in bed.

I am not a victim, I am not a sinner, and I am no different than any other human selling their time and youth every day to a cluttered, blue-collar job. Accept the truth. You prefer to die under the weight of chronic stress and suffer from depression to get paid at the end of the month… and I… work my ass off stress and anxiety, free and enjoying it. We all are prostitutes, one way or another.

When you look at yourself in the mirror, will you not see a stranger as well? What is the difference between us when you feel like that about yourself, darling?

I aim to couple Flaubert and de Sade and give them a child.

In the seventh century A.D. the Bulgars in turn began to migrate into the Balkans. They had come originally from central Asia and were said to be related to the Huns. They were of the same stock as the Turks and spoke a language similar to Turkish. Before migrating to the Balkans, they had lived north of the Black Sea. Their social order was vastly different from that of the Slavs, although eventually the Slavic system became dominant. The Bulgars, unlike the Slavs who repudiated the concept of kingship, were governed autocratically by khans. The Bulgars were warriors who fought on horseback, and their customs and dress were Asiatic. When the Bulgars overran what is now northeastern Bulgaria, they found Slavic tribes already established and quickly made peace with them in order to strengthen themselves against the Byzantines. As the Slavs were far more numerous than the Bulgars, the latter were assimilated, and within two centuries the Bulgars had been completely slavicized. The Slavic language and culture were adopted, although the Bulgarian name and political structure were retained.

Here I was trying to find a way home—and by home what I meant was that feeling I belonged.

In another lifetime, I’d choose you. Over and over again, without a moment’s hesitation.

The profound sense of being understood, deciphered, and accepted overwhelmed me.

He was Daphne to my Apollo. Unattainable yet irresistible.

I am constantly in a state of love when I'm sharing memories with someone else.

Memories acquire a poignant beauty when two people who were once deeply in love are no longer together.

You’re not the type of lady inclined to blindly conform to societal norms.

Never give up. For love, you gotta give it your all.

Those captivating eyes, what power they possessed to affect me so profoundly.

He possessed an uncanny ability to provoke me, stir my sensitivities, and ignite a blazing rage within me.

You are the epitome of grace and beauty

Your value isn’t contingent upon the number of admirers you may attract; rather, it is inherent to your being, a reflection of who you are and the inherent preciousness you possess.

With every fleeting second, I felt as though I aged a year.

I hated Gio. I hated him to make me feel things I’d never felt before. Wanting things I’d never wanted before.

There was a cruel comfort in his ignorance.

I don’t love you, and I will never love you. Not now, not ever.

I was higher than smoking any joint, drunker than drinking any alcohol.

You’re so wet.” I smiled, “It’s your fault. Always.

Here I stood, years wiser, more experienced, and supposedly stronger. Yet, I found myself feeling the same way—fragile, exposed, and brought to my knees by his influence

His love was an inferno, an insatiable fire that continued to burn within me.

Every second passed I felt lesser, smaller, less valuable.

Transgressive Romance is a subgenre that pushes the boundaries of societal and moral norms within a romantic narrative. These stories often explore forbidden or taboo relationships, and delve into dark, controversial or illicit themes. Characters may engage in behaviors or find themselves in situations that challenge conventional ethical standards or societal expectations. Transgressive Romance can be a provocative exploration of love and desire set against a backdrop of moral ambiguity, allowing readers to question and explore unconventional romantic dynamics within the safety of a fictional setting.

Despite their legal classification as white, the twenty-first-century experiences of Iranians and other Middle Easterners exemplify an extension of Mia Tuan’s concept of the “forever foreigner” in which no degree of citizenship, legal whiteness, occupational and education success, assimilatory efforts, or self-identification as “American” render Middle Easterners fully white in day-to-day life.

Pain is fuel. Cherish it Elexis. It pushes you to the recreation of yourself. It pushes you to be who you really are bareboned

In the Cloud Park, they promised to make you happy but I swear to candy gods. Immediately after you move in, they take the last bits of your happiness away and make you feel, whatever you do is a bubble on water. Do not believe what they say when they smile. I repeat. Do… Not… Believe! Sincerely, Rossito

Do you want to perish in time?

The Cycle will never end!

Look at us. Just look how similar yet different we are. An exclusive being and a commoner.

Women like her caused declination of social values.

I am the revolution. I am a social change!

You are not a reproductive machine. Do you get it? I saved you from slavery.

I lost everything. My social value, my child, and my husband.