Fictions are realities we don't think of, that are happening to people we know nothing about.

— Sanhita Baruah

For grief has always been so dear to you that you would make me writhing in pain in the brothel of your imaginations than to be playing with a bunch of balloons in the yard where I should have been."" And may be that's why, you'd rather talk to me about this, than to write a story about me where I could live happily.

— Sanhita Baruah

He saw her red eyes filled with tears of anger. "Tell me why this rage?" He asked holding her in his arms. "Why do you fence for yourself so much? She sighed and muttered, "Because all I really want is nothing but to be proved wrong.

— Sanhita Baruah

I am an optimist and when I am too sure of something or someone, well, of course it turns out that I am wrong . At other situations, I imagine the worst and needless to say, I am again wrong

— Sanhita Baruah

I asked myself only when he needed my help, "How will the broken heal the wounded?

— Sanhita Baruah

I couldn't find my cup of tea. So probably, I've been simply taking a sip from everyone else's cup. Maybe it shouldn't matter as long as there is tea to drink. Or should it?

— Sanhita Baruah

I'd rather be not the light in your life The bright day might make me obscure'd rather be the cold darkness For it remains, unseen, uncertain and unsure

— Sanhita Baruah

I find beauty in sadness, and peace... and a mystery waiting to be solved. The more you unfold the mystery, the more you are mesmerized by the layers of mystery lying underneath. And solitude becomes the perfect company for sadness.but again, the feeling you get when you realize you're not alone gives you inexplicable happiness. And there's satisfaction in happiness, and another mystery which is unknotted yet difficult to penetrate

— Sanhita Baruah

If I tell you I am upset about everything that's going on around me, you will probably ask me why, half listening, half wandering away in your own train of thoughts... If I tell you I am happy, you will probably not bother to know why, congratulating me and forgetting. I should rather tell you I am fine, satisfied, you will probably tell me your own issues then, for which I will be all ears

— Sanhita Baruah

I had seen the world as either white or black. It is only when I read the pages of her diary that I understood why the sky looked so gray.

— Sanhita Baruah