A Quote by Naguib Mahfouz

The calendar has a magic that makes us imagine a memory can be resurrected and revived, but nothing returns. — © Naguib Mahfouz
The calendar has a magic that makes us imagine a memory can be resurrected and revived, but nothing returns.
We act, though, not under a utopian illusion that you or I or anyone or everyone together can rid this world of pain and suffering. That responsibility belongs to the resurrected Christ, and he will do it when he returns. But until that day, we do with an undivided heart whatever God calls us to do.
What makes these creatures so awful is the feeling that they can use us in ways too horrible to imagine-and yet, we DO imagine them, which makes it worse than seeing it.
You have to begin to lose your memory, if only in bits and pieces, to realize that memory is what makes our lives. Life without memory is no life at all... Our memory is our coherence, our reason, our feeling, even our action. Without it we are nothing.
Do you know what makes the prison disappear? Every deep, genuine affection. Being friends, being brothers, loving, that is what opens the prison, with supreme power, by some magic force. Without these one stays dead. But whenever affection is revived, there life revives.
Our lack of forgiveness makes us hate, and our lack of compassion makes us hard-hearted. Pride in our hearts makes us resentful and keeps our memory in a constant whirlwind of passion and self-pity.
Catharsis returns us to the purpose for which were originally intended - to be called by God to do good - and thus ultimately returns us to ourselves.
All of us are far richer than we imagine. None of us possesses a life devoid of magic.
There is a riddle about a man who is locked in a room with nothing but a bed and a calendar, and the question is: How does he survive? The answer is: He eats dates from the calendar and drinks from the springs of the bed.
Mitt Romney was treated very unfairly. Mitt Romney didn't want to give his tax returns, because people don't understand returns that are complicated, and complex. And he didn't give it. He fought it, fought it, fought it, all the way into September. A month before the election, he gave his tax returns. And they picked out two items that were absolutely perfect. He did nothing wrong. And his returns are very much smaller than my returns.
I believe that the combination of pencil and memory creates a kind of practical magic, and magic is dangerous.
Memory is a dead thing. Memory is not truth and cannot ever be, because truth is always alive, truth is life; memory is persistence of that which is no more. It is living in ghost world, but it contains us, it is our prison. In fact it is us. Memory creates the knot, the complex called the I and the ego
Nothing is a waste that makes a memory.
Nothing ruins the lines of a suit or blazer and makes you look more like a doofus than when your pockets are crammed with stuff - a wallet, a cell phone, keys, a calculator, a calendar, pens, etc.
And I think of nothing. I think of nothing but Rachel. What happens next is pure magic, and is for us and us alone.
A sensation, hidden in the depths of my emotional memory, was suddenly revived: what if... What if for me The Variation is not dead? If The Variation is alive?!
But pain may be a gift to us. Remember, after all, that pain is one of the ways we register in memory the things that vanish, that are taken away. We fix them in our minds forever by yearning, by pain, by crying out. Pain, the pain that seems unbearable at the time, is memory's first imprinting step, the cornerstone of the temple we erect inside us in memory of the dead. Pain is part of memory, and memory is a God-given gift.
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