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"There is no bitterness like that of man who finds out he has been believing in a ghost."
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Exlpore more Emotion quotes
"There is nothing inherently painful about being cheated on."
"There is a resemblance between men and women, not a contrast. When a man begins to recognize his feeling, the two unite. When men accept the sensitive side of themselves, they come alive."
"I lost my illusions in a black rain of bitterness - now what do you see in my eyes? How can you still love me? How can I be tender? ..."
"You think I read your thoughts, but it's your eyes that speak to me. When they glisten with moisture, I see a depth of emotion stirring behind them. One tearful glance begs me for a reassuring embrace. When your gaze glazes over like a misty morning, I know I've lost you to personal cares. A sharp, narrow look will keep me at bay while a wink and twinkle and the flirty flutter of your dark eyelashes invite my company. The strength and duration of a stare gives your feelings towards me away. And when those wary eyes dart to avoid my notice, all of your hidden secrets are betrayed."
"For the sight of the angry weather saddens my soul and the sight of the town, sitting like a bereaved mother beneath layers of ice, oppresses my heart."
"She's been used to hiding her feelings for so long, no wonder her manner can be a little awkward."
"I am emotionally fluid and safe."
Explore more quotes by Salman Rushdie
"A poet's work . . . to name the unnamable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world and stop it from going to sleep."
"In this century history stopped paying attention to the old psychological orientation of reality. I mean, these days, character isn't destiny any more. Economy is destiny. Ideology is destiny. Bombs are destiny. What does a famine, a gas chamber, a grenade care how you lived your life? Crisis comes, death comes, and your pathetic individual self doesn't have a thing to do with it, only to suffer the effects."
"When he was young, he told her, each phase of his life, each self he tried on, had seemed reassuringly temporary. Its imperfections didn't matter, because he could easily replace one moment by the next, one Saladin by another."
"Sardar Harbans Singh passed away peacefully in a wicker rocking-chair in a Srinigar garden of spring flowers and honeybees with his favourite tartan rug across his knees and his beloved son, Yuvraj the exporter of handicrafts, by his side, and when he stopped breathing the bees stopped buzzing and the air silenced its whispers and Yuvraj understood that the story of the world he had known all his life was coming to an end, and that what followed would follow as it had to, but it would unquestionably be less graceful, less courteous and less civilized than what had gone."
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