But when I come out of the woods, when I see the basket, scarcely a handful of words remain. The majority disappear. They vanish into thin air, they flow like water between my fingers. Because the basket is memory, and memory betrays me, memory doesn't hold up.
Jhumpa Lahiri In Other Words
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In her work "In Other Words," Jhumpa Lahiri reflects on the struggle of capturing thoughts and memories. She shares her experience of stepping out of the woods and being met with the realization that most of her words slip away, leaving her with only a few. This metaphor illustrates the fleeting nature of language and how it can often elude us, despite our efforts to grasp it.

Lahiri's assertion that memory can betray us highlights the challenges she faces in her pursuit of expression. The idea that memory is as transient as water flowing through one’s fingers emphasizes the difficulty of retaining thoughts and experiences fully. This struggle is a central theme in her journey as she navigates the complexities of language, memory, and identity.

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In Other Words
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Other quotes in In Other Words

Everything has to be reconsidered, shaped anew. Autobiographical fiction, even if it is inspired by reality, by memory, requires a rigorous selection, a merciless cutting. One writes with the pen, but in the end, to create the right form, one has to use, like Matisse, a good pair of scissors.
Jhumpa Lahiri In Other Words
Everything has to be reconsidered, shaped anew. Autobiographical fiction, even if it is inspired by reality, by memory, requires a rigorous selection, a merciless cutting. One writes with the pen, but in the end, to create the right form, one has to use, like Matisse, a good pair of scissors.
Why do I write? To investigate the mystery of existence. To tolerate myself. To get closer to everything that is outside of me.If I want to understand what moves me, what confuses me, what pains me--everything that makes me react, in short--I have to put it into words. Writing is my only way of absorbing and organizing life. Otherwise it would terrify me, it would upset me too much.What passes without being put into words, without being transformed and, in a certain sense, purified by the crucible of writing, has no meaning for me. Only words that endure seem real. They have power, a value superior to us.
Jhumpa Lahiri In Other Words
Why do I write? To investigate the mystery of existence. To tolerate myself. To get closer to everything that is outside of me.If I want to understand what moves me, what confuses me, what pains me--everything that makes me react, in short--I have to put it into words. Writing is my only way of absorbing and organizing life. Otherwise it would terrify me, it would upset me too much.What passes without being put into words, without being transformed and, in a certain sense, purified by the crucible of writing, has no meaning for me. Only words that endure seem real. They have power, a value superior to us.
But when I come out of the woods, when I see the basket, scarcely a handful of words remain. The majority disappear. They vanish into thin air, they flow like water between my fingers. Because the basket is memory, and memory betrays me, memory doesn't hold up.
Jhumpa Lahiri In Other Words
But when I come out of the woods, when I see the basket, scarcely a handful of words remain. The majority disappear. They vanish into thin air, they flow like water between my fingers. Because the basket is memory, and memory betrays me, memory doesn't hold up.
One could say that the mechanism of metamorphosis is the only element of life that never changes. The journey of every individual, every country, every historical epoch, of the entire universe and all it contains, is nothing but a series of changes, at times subtle, at times deep, without which we would stand still. The moments of transition, in which something changes, constitute the backbone of all of us. Whether they are a salvation or a loss, they are moments that we tend to remember. They give a structure to our existence. Almost all the rest is oblivion.
Jhumpa Lahiri In Other Words
One could say that the mechanism of metamorphosis is the only element of life that never changes. The journey of every individual, every country, every historical epoch, of the entire universe and all it contains, is nothing but a series of changes, at times subtle, at times deep, without which we would stand still. The moments of transition, in which something changes, constitute the backbone of all of us. Whether they are a salvation or a loss, they are moments that we tend to remember. They give a structure to our existence. Almost all the rest is oblivion.
The unknown words remind me that there's a lot I don't know in this world.
Jhumpa Lahiri In Other Words
The unknown words remind me that there's a lot I don't know in this world.
Why, as an adult, as a writer, am I interested in this new relationship with imperfection? What does it offer me? I would say a stunning clarity, a more profound self-awareness. Imperfection inspires invention, imagination, creativity. It stimulates. The more I feel imperfect, the more I feel alive.
Jhumpa Lahiri In Other Words
Why, as an adult, as a writer, am I interested in this new relationship with imperfection? What does it offer me? I would say a stunning clarity, a more profound self-awareness. Imperfection inspires invention, imagination, creativity. It stimulates. The more I feel imperfect, the more I feel alive.
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{...} what I wish for Chizalum is the following: that she is full of opinions, and that her opinions stem from a well-informed, humane, and open mind. That she have health and happiness. That she have the life she wants to have.
«In memory of the countless men and women of all creeds, nations, and races who fell victim to the fascist and communist belief in the Inexorable Laws of Historical Destiny.»
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Relationships and marriages are hard enough, but you add war into the mix and small fissures become gaping wounds. No one sees what you're seeing - again that clear-eyed, unbiased thing - except your fellow soldiers. It's like one of those movies where only the hero can see the ghosts and everyone else thinks the hero is crazy.
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Relationships and marriages are hard enough, but you add war into the mix and small fissures become gaping wounds. No one sees what you're seeing - again that clear-eyed, unbiased thing - except your fellow soldiers. It's like one of those movies where only the hero can see the ghosts and everyone else thinks the hero is crazy.
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