The dead pull the living down.
The life-loving, smart,good-hearted deaddon't want forty days of mourningor say, "After me the deluge!"Leaving behind some helpful things- a few words, a tree, a smile -each gets up and goesand does not burden the livingwith the darkness of the tomb,carrying the weightof his stone all alone.And because they ask for nothingfrom the living, it's as if they aren't d
Poems of Nazım Hikmet
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The life-loving, smart,good-hearted deaddon't want forty days of mourningor say, "After me the deluge!"Leaving behind some helpful things- a few words, a tree, a smile -each gets up and goesand does not burden the livingwith the darkness of the tomb,carrying the weightof his stone all alone.And because they ask for nothingfrom the living, it's as if they aren't d
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With horror he perceived that, by uniting himself as he had with the dead, he had cut himself off from the living. Stripped of all earthly hope, bereft of every consolation, he was rendered as poor as mortal can possiblybe on this side of the grave.
The dead are jealous, jealous, jealous and they will do anything to keep you from the living, the lucky living. They will argue with you, and distract you, and if that doesn't work, they will even let you hug them, and dance for you, and kiss you, and laugh, anything to keep you. The dead are selfish. Jealous. Lonely. Desperate. Hungry. ("The Chambered Fruit")
I do know that for the sympathy of one living being, I would make peace with all. I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.
Because if God doesn't exist we are the creaturesof highest consciousness in the universe. We alone understand thepassage of time and the value off every minute of human life. Andwhat constitutes evil, real evil, is the taking of a single human life. Whether a man would have died tomorrow or the day after oreventually . . . it doesn't matter. Because if God does not exist, this life . . . every second of it . . . is all we have.
It__ that short-lived happiness, which empowers us to bear; long-lasting pain in living.