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| Link | Quote | Stars | Tags | Author |
| bfee1c5 | Standing there, I loved myself and I hated myself. That's what the black Mary did to me, made me feel my glory and my shame at the same time. | Sue Monk Kidd | ||
| 73dff79 | ESTRAGON: Do you think God sees me? VLADIMIR: You must close your eyes. Estragon closes his eyes, staggers worse. ESTRAGON: (stopping, brandishing his fists, at the top of his voice.) God have pity on me! VLADIMIR: (vexed). And me? ESTRAGON: On me! On me! Pity! On me! | Samuel Beckett | ||
| f774564 | Will night never come? | Samuel Beckett | ||
| d4740ea | What kind of country is this where a woman can't weep her heart out on the highways and byways without being tormented by retired bill-brokers! | Samuel Beckett | ||
| aaaafe6 | l shy ynqDy, l 'Hd y'ty, l 'Hd ydhhb, hdh rhyb. | Samuel Beckett | ||
| 861b634 | There's my life, why not, it is one, if you like, if you must, I don't say no, this evening. There has to be one, it seems, once there is speech, no need of a story, a story is not compulsory, just a life, that's the mistake I made, one of the mistakes, to have wanted a story for myself, whereas life alone is enough. | Samuel Beckett | ||
| a6ab425 | To be always what I am - and so changed from what I was. | self | Samuel Beckett | |
| dd0d64d | fy SGry kn lkbr yb`thwn fy nfsy ltsw'l wlrhb@ , wm ydhshny lan hm l'Tfl ybkwn wySrkhwn . | Samuel Beckett | ||
| 8c88ff4 | How long have I been here, what a question, I've often wondered. And often I could answer, An hour, a month, a year, a century, depending on what I meant by here, and me, and being, and there I never went looking for extravagant meanings, there I never much varied, only the here would sometimes seem to vary. | Samuel Beckett | ||
| 09ce2cb | My life, my life, now I speak of it as of something over, now as of a joke which still goes on, and it is neither, for at the same time it is over and it goes on, and is there any tense for that? Watch wound and buried by the watchmaker, before he died, whose ruined works will one day speak of God, to the worms. | samuel-beckett | Samuel Beckett | |
| ae460af | There is not a day or night but a doe offers her life for her kittens, or some honest captain of Owsla his life for his Chief Rabbit's. Sometimes it is taken, sometimes it is not. But there is no bargain, for here, what is, is what must be. | sacrifice | Richard Adams | |
| 59027b0 | She might be a little introverted, livelier of movement than of conversation, neither bashful nor forward, with a soul that seemed submerged, but in a radiant moistness. Opalescent on the surface but translucent in her depths... | radiant | Vladimir Nabokov | |
| 402c620 | I could isolate, consciously, little. Everything seemed blurred, yellow-clouded, yielding nothing tangible. Her inept acrostics, maudlin evasions, theopathies - every recollection formed ripples of mysterious meaning. Everything seemed yellowly blurred, illusive, lost. | riddles | Vladimir Nabokov | |
| 1de4eb6 | Vanity plays lurid tricks with our memory, and the truth of every passion wants some pretence to make it live. | Joseph Conrad | ||
| 8d54176 | It is very queer, but not the less true, that people are generally quite as vain, or even more so, of their deficiencies than of their available gifts. | Nathaniel Hawthorne | ||
| 2ee0865 | But this had been a sin of passion, not of principle, nor even purpose. | Nathaniel Hawthorne | ||
| 51e5ede | because when i feel the human world is doomed, has doomed itself by its own mingy beastliness, then i feel the colonies aren't far enough. the moon wouldn't be far enough, because even there you could look back and see the earth, dirty, beastly, unsavory among all the stars: made foul by men. Then i feel i've swallowed gall, and its eating my inside out, and nowhere's far enough to get away. but when i get a turn, i forget it all again. tho.. | D.H. Lawrence | ||
| 3ea778c | But in the time it takes to say now, now is already over. It's already then. | Ruth Ozeki | ||
| df66d24 | Some idiotic things are well worth doing. | Richard Ford | ||
| e240709 | Door of passage to the other side, the soul frees itself in stride. | transcendence | Jim Morrison | |
| 06f0163 | Our relationship felt like a Christmas gift that you hadn't asked for and weren't expecting to receive, but the minute you saw it, you knew it was perfect for you. | Erin McCarthy | ||
| 7c64016 | Men say they only learn this but he said that no creature can learn that which his heart has no shape to hold. | Cormac McCarthy | ||
| fd3df65 | I ain't got an original thought in my head. If it ain't got the scent of divinity to it, I ain't interested in it | Cormac McCarthy | ||
| d2ebc76 | When your dreams are of some world that never was or of some world that never will be and you are happy again then you will have given up. | Cormac McCarthy | ||
| e0e3f36 | I know your kind, he said. What's wrong with you is wrong all the way through you. | Cormac McCarthy | ||
| 90408d6 | Courage is fear that has said its prayers. | Anne Lamott | ||
| 00f09c6 | I know that sometimes these friends feel that they have been expelled from the ordinary world they lived in before and that they are now citizens of the Land of the Fucked. | Anne Lamott | ||
| ee05a8a | Perfectionism means that you try not to leave so much mess to clean up. But clutter and mess show us that life is being lived. | inspirational perfection writing | Anne Lamott | |
| 144d687 | If we can believe in the Gnostic gospel of Thomas, old Uncle Jesus said, "If you bring forth what is inside you, what you bring forth will save you. If you don't bring forth what is inside you, what you bring forth can destroy you." -- | Anne Lamott | ||
| d698632 | So does our writing matter, again?" they ask. Because of the spirit, I say. Because of the heart. Writing and reading decrease our sense of isolation. They deepen and widen and expand our sense of life: they feed the soul. When writers make us shake our heads with the exactness of their prose and their truths, and even make us laugh about ourselves or life, our buoyancy is restored. We are given a shot at dancing with, or at least clappin.. | Anne Lamott | ||
| c076a91 | And so the merry party began. It was one of those jolly, happy, bread-crumbling parties where you cough twice before you speak, and then decide not to say it after all. | hilarious | P.G. Wodehouse | |
| 4c1634d | As Shakespeare says, if you're going to do a thing you might as well pop right at it and get it over. | shakespeare | P.G. Wodehouse | |
| af0166d | They know where happiness lies, not in a cave or a country, but in love and the freedom to give and take what has been there all along. | Amy Tan | ||
| 51d4f3d | Only you pick that crab. Nobody else take it. I already know this. Everyone else want best quality. You thinking different. | jesus | Amy Tan | |
| 8c51e84 | Isn't that why we're put on this earth to begin with, to make it a better place? It's not a religious quest; it's a humanitarian one. | Simone Elkeles | ||
| c362dc9 | Just do you know, Lenny this isn't a date. - Then what is it? - It's me falling sorry for you, because you're such a loser. | Simone Elkeles | ||
| 639afc6 | The threat of taking something away makes us appreciate it more. | Simone Elkeles | ||
| f3040e6 | Lei una vez que la memoria de los peces de colores solo duran cinco segundos. Les envidio. Mis recuerdos con Alex, mi amor por el, me duraran toda la vida. | Simone Elkeles | ||
| 9c86d6a | Khattam-Shud,' he said slowly, 'is the Arch-Enemy of all Stories, even of language itself. He is the Prince of Silence and the Foe of Speech. And because everything ends, because dreams end, stories end, life ends, at the finish of everything we use his name. "It's finished," we tell one another, "it's over. Khattam-Shud: The End." | fairytales stories | Salman Rushdie | |
| 33f8bf0 | Is birth always a fall? | Salman Rushdie | ||
| b7d98ef | There was once, in the country of Alifbay, a sad city, the saddest of cities, a city so ruinously sad that it had forgotten its name. It stood by a mournful sea full of glumfish, which were so miserable to eat that they made people belch with melancholy even though the skies were blue... And in the depths of the city, beyond an old zone of ruined buildings that look like broken hearts, there lived a happy young fellow by name of Haroun, the.. | Salman Rushdie | ||
| 95747a3 | At sixteen, you still think you can escape from your father. You aren't listening to his voice speaking through your mouth, you don't see how your gestures already mirror his; you don't see him in the way you hold your body, in the way you sign your name. You don't hear his whisper in your blood. | family fathers genetics parents traits | Salman Rushdie | |
| 1f04fe4 | Man is the Storytelling Animal, and that in stories are his identity, his meaning, and his lifeblood. | Salman Rushdie | ||
| f7d76f6 | in autobiography, as in all literature, what actually happened is less important than what the author can manage to persuade his audience to believe | Salman Rushdie |