Zia Haider Rahman Famous Quotes
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that the truth is finer and that the only answers each of us hears are to the questions we are capable of asking.
know that most men, including those at ease with problems of the greatest complexity, can seldom accept even the simplest and most obvious truth if it be such as would oblige them to admit the falsity of conclusions which they have delighted in explaining to colleagues, which they have proudly taught to others, and which they have woven, thread by thread, into the fabric of their lives. - Leo Tolstoy, What Is Art?
What is the beginning of rage, the beginning of anger? Not dislike, but love.
My point is that you could think of the people you meet in your life as questions, there to help you figure out who you are, what you're made of, and what you want. In life, as in our new version of the game, you start off not knowing the answer. It's only when the particles rub against each other that we figure out their properties. It's the strangest thing, this idea in quantum physics, and yet somehow unsurprising when you consider it as a metaphor. It's when the thing interacts that its properties are revealed, even resolved.
I am as impressed by honesty as anyone, but when there is a hint that a man is taking me into his confidence, my first instinct is to suspect him. Am I to be flattered? And is he about to break another's confidence?
We take much for granted, much that is granted by others, and we're told to do as we're told, and we agree. And we must agree.
Everything new is on the rim of our view, in the darkness, below the horizon, so that nothing new is visible but in the light of what we know.
When evil enters the world, do you think it comes with horns and cloven feet, billowing some foul stench?
As I reached the highest step, I turned. Spread along the platform was a mass of bobbing black hair like a long wave of silk. Suddenly I felt the first stirrings of what I would later come to recognize as kinship, a feeling that alarmed me, a sense that I was of a piece with a group of people for the most basic reasons, simple to the senses and irrational.
I wasn't as untrusting. I had faith in the goodness of people, the perfection of love.
What happened?
Everything ends. And it's how they end that leaves the lasting effect.
Afghanistan doesn't have the oil of the Khazars, he said, and we're not ready to prostitute our women like the Thais. Unlike the Westerner's, ours is not a spiritual poverty but a material one. When our needs in that area are met, we will not have the dilemma or crisis of Western man.
Pointing to the sandstone buildings around us, some of which had stood there for several hundreds of years, she commented on how old everything in Oxford looked. Can't they afford anything new? she asked earnestly.
Difficult questions can have simple answers.
It is no consolation to reflect that every cause itself is an effect, making the search for causes and reasons a fool's errand.
Our choices are made, our will flexed, in the teeth of events that overwhelm us and devour us.
No sight better expresses the politics of aid, the dynamics of the West and the developing countries, than the image of children, happy or in need.
That's another argument for writing: making something that outlasts you.
You see, calling things by their proper names is the beginning of wisdom. That's a Chinese proverb and they invented writing. The wisdom, in case you're wondering, is that when you get names right, you narrow the gap between you and the thing.
Yes, they mean well, but the only good that an absence of malice guarantees is a clear conscience.
destruction. Turning to God can save your life, but, in the process, it can annihilate your soul.
You think people never say what they mean. The truth is, nine times out of ten what they say is all they mean.
It's always nice to learn a thing or two from a novel, don't you think?
Autobiography, we know, is flawed from the moment the nib of the pen touches the parchment.
Is that not the Promethean fable, that the fire stolen from the gods will light men their way even while it burns their hands?
Maps, contour maps and all maps, intrigue us for the metaphors that they are: tools to give us a sense of something whose truth is far richer but without which we would perceive nothing and never find our bearings.
I had a friend at Princeton, a Russian graduate student. He had a cute message on his answering machine, delivered in his thick Russian accent: Who are you and what do you want? Some people spend a lifetime trying to answer these questions. You, however, have thirty seconds. My father and I chuckled. What happened to him? Gone. My point is that you could think of the people you meet in your life as questions, there to help you figure out who you are, what you're made of, and what you want. In life, as in our new version of the game, you start off not knowing the answer. It's only when the particles rub against each other that we figure out their properties.
love America for the clear idea behind the cloudy reality. Without the idea, the joys of America would be mere accident, the ephemera tossed up by the hand of fate, to disappear in the wind. And what is that idea? It is the idea of hope, that grand, audacious idea that makes the Britisher blush with embarrassment.
We are a dangerous breed, you and I. We are lock pickers. We are dangerous to others and ourselves. It is always a great risk to open a door if you don't know what's behind it.
Advisers were numberless in Kabul, like stray dogs in Mumbai.
He, like so many of them, came from that breed of international development experts unsparing in its love for all humanity but having no interest in people.
Our memories do not visit us in chronology, and the story we form by joining up the memories involves choices with the purpose of making a whole and finding a pattern.
If I had my time again, I'd believe in reincarnation.
How many senators have taken their conception of what America can do from what they've seen on the American movie screen?
We're not put on this earth to fuck around. We have to make something of our lives.
This is a miserable country, Zafar. I don't need to explain that to you. It needs help. Isn't it that simple?
Is anything that simple?
Then, as now, I believe that the English use language to hide what they mean.
The whole thing is too abstract, continued Zafar, this business of our lives standing for something else. All we know is that we don't want it to stand for nothing. So we dive headlong into becoming heroes, becoming the big swinging dick on Wall Street or the rock star or the hot-shot human rights lawyer. Which is about making our lives stand for something that our intelligence can grasp, saving us from confronting what we fear might be true - or what we would fear if we gave ourselves the chance - namely, that we're accidental pieces of flesh, mutton without meaning.
Since when did books ever solve anything? They only raise more questions than they answer, otherwise they're just fucking entertainment, and I am not here to fucking entertain you.