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| Link | Quote | Stars | Tags | Author |
| 81d9197 | between human beings there are only two alternatives, either brotherhood or crime. | Saul Bellow | ||
| 04740ab | In our time... a man whose enemies are faceless bureaucrats almost never wins. It is our equivalent to the anger of the gods in ancient times. But those gods you must understand were far more imaginative than our tiny bureaucrats. They spoke from mountaintops not from tiny airless offices. They rode clouds. They were possessed of passion. They had voices and names. Six thousand years of civilization have brought us to this. | mythology | Chaim Potok | |
| 0adc59d | Did he really believe God wrote stories that were open to one explanation only? A story that knew but one explanation could hardly be interesting and was certainly not worth the trouble of remembering. | god torah | Chaim Potok | |
| f769f68 | The silence became unreal and seemed suddenly filled with a noise of its own, the noise of a too long silence. | Chaim Potok | ||
| 45f4da9 | I won't talk to you about my family and you won't talk to me about yours. Family talk is either boring or self-pitying. Or it's Gothic, like a Faulkner novel. Who needs to talk about it? It's enough to live it. | Chaim Potok | ||
| 868d6a3 | Now I stand on the knoll before the grave of Jacob Kahn, the cypress tall against the blue morning sky and the wind warm on my face. It is the only sense left me, I hear him say. There are colors in the wind, Asher Lev. Find your demons again and return to your work. Colors wait for you in the wind. Things were too comfortable for you. An artist needs a broken world in order to have pieces to shape into art. Isn't that right, Asher Lev? Com.. | Chaim Potok | ||
| 28bb3f7 | It is a contradiction this creek- a hundred thousand years old but renewed with each rainfall. | Robert R. McCammon | ||
| fd7cdf1 | he was a scream wrapped up in straw, a little, weak, vicious thing gnashing inside a monstrous facade... | Robert R. McCammon | ||
| 208a190 | A second wave collapsed over my feet, lipped with white froth, and the chill gripped my ankles with a mortal ache. | sylvia plath | ||
| 8c5b09c | They might ignore me immediately. In my moon suit and funeral veil. I am no source of honey So why should they turn on me? Tomorrow I will be sweet God, I will set them free. | sylvia-plath the-arrival-of-the-bee-box | Sylvia Plath | |
| 9f096fd | I liked looking at other people in crucial situations. If there was a road accident or a street fight or a baby pickled in a laboratory jar for me to look at, I'd stop and look so hard I never forgot it. | Sylvia Plath | ||
| d77d269 | Love set you going like a fat gold watch. | Sylvia Plath | ||
| 3f172b4 | I may have made a straight A in physics, but I was panic-struck. Physics made me sick the whole time I learned it. | school | Sylvia Plath | |
| faec884 | I had decided I would put off the novel until I had gone to Europe and had a lover. | Sylvia Plath | ||
| 6594de9 | The sight of all the food stacked in those kitchens made me dizzy. It's not that we hadn't enough to eat at home, it's just that my grandmother always cooked economy joints and economy meat loafs and had the habit of saying, the minute you lifted the first forkful to your mouth, "I hope you enjoy that, it cost forty-one cents a pound," which always made me feel I was somehow eating pennies instead of Sunday roast." | Sylvia Plath | ||
| 9be807c | It all flowed over me with a screaming ache of pain ... remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I've taken for granted. When you feel that this may be the good-bye, the last time, it hits you harder. | Sylvia Plath | ||
| f451436 | Life happens so hard and fast I sometimes wonder who is me... | selfhood | Sylvia Plath | |
| 589bd7a | To feel the tender skin of sensitive child-fingers thicken; to feel the sex organs develop and call loudly to the flesh; to become aware of school, exams (the very words as unlovely as the sound of chalk shrilling on the blackboard,) bread and butter, marriage, sex, compatibility, war, economics, death and self. What a pathetic blighting of the beauty and reality of childhood. | Sylvia Plath | ||
| acc6c21 | There is a charge For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge For the hearing of my heart---- It really goes. | Sylvia Plath | ||
| c1623b5 | Perhaps you considered yourself an oracle, Mouthpiece of the dead, or of some god or other. Thirty years now I have labored To dredge the silt from your throat. I am none the wiser. | Sylvia Plath | ||
| c3ba3e8 | We shall by morning Inherit the earth. Our foot's in the door. | Sylvia Plath | ||
| cc982fc | I have been holding a dialogue with myself and girding myself to stand fast without running. | Sylvia Plath | ||
| 5972d97 | I hope each of us owns the facts of her or his own life," Hughes wrote in a letter to the Independent in April, 1989, when he had been goaded by a particularly intrusive article. But, of course, as everyone knows who has ever heard a piece of gossip, we do not "own" the facts of our lives at all. This ownership passes out of our hands at birth, at the moment we are first observed. The organs of publicity that have proliferated in our time a.. | Janet Malcolm | ||
| 16c2140 | Your shelled bed I remember. Father, this thick air is murderous. I would breathe water. | Sylvia Plath | ||
| 9f7b4c3 | I was a terrible dancer. I couldn't carry a tune. I had no sense of balance, and when we had to walk down a narrow board with our hands out and a book on our heads in gym class I always fell over. I couldn't ride a horse or ski, the two things I wanted to do most, because they cost too much money. I couldn't speak German or read Hebrew or write Chinese. I didn't even know where most of the old out-of-the-way countries the UN men in front of.. | Sylvia Plath | ||
| c523d4d | I don't mean that creative people are somehow finer, or more sensitive, and thus have finer, more sensitive nervous breakdowns - you can save that horseshit for the Sylvia Plath worshipers. It's just that creative people have creative breakdowns. | Stephen King | ||
| 72c2b68 | How long can I be a wall, keeping the wind off? How long can I be Gentling the sun with the shade of my hand, Intercepting the blue bolts of a cold moon? The voices of loneliness, the voices of sorrow Lap at my back ineluctably. How shall it soften them, this little lullaby? | fortitude loneliness poetry sorrow strength | Sylvia Plath | |
| 947c342 | I sometimes think my vision of the sea is the clearest thing I own. I pick it up, exile that I am, like the purple 'lucky stones' I used to collect with a white ring all the way round, or the shell of a blue mussel with its rainbowy angel's fingernail interior; and in one wash of memory the colors deepen and gleam, the early world draws breath. | Sylvia Plath | ||
| 65d0b5b | She had debated, in the frivolity of the beginning, whether to build a hole or a tower; a hole, because she was fond of hobbits, or a tower -- well, a tower for many reasons, but chiefly because she liked spiral staircases. | Keri Hulme | ||
| 80914ca | Writing ... is an addiction, an illusory release, a presumptuous taming of reality, a way of expressing lightly the unbearable. That we age and leave behind this litter of dead, unrecoverable selves is both unbearable and the commonest thing in the world -- it happens to everybody. In the morning light one can write breezily, without the slight acceleration of one's pulse, about what one cannot contemplate in the dark without turning in pan.. | writing | John Updike | |
| d3bfe34 | As if pity is, as he has been taught, not a helpless outcry but a powerful tide that could redeem the world... | John Updike | ||
| c0a147e | Oh yes!...The sweet summons of God to man. That's when He calls you up to His arms. And it's the most beautiful thing, a rebirth, a new life. But, just the same I'm in no rush to find out. | Oscar Hijuelos | ||
| 9e82ed1 | Oh, what can you do with a man like that? What can you do? How can you dissuade his eye in a crowd from seeking out the cheek with acne, the infirm hand; how can you teach him to respond to the inestimable greatness of the race, the harsh surface beauty of life; how can you put his finger for him on the obdurate truths before which fear and horror are powerless? The sea that morning was iridescent and dark. My wife and my sister were swimmi.. | John Cheever | ||
| 3baeb93 | She perceived vaguely the pitiful corruption of the adult world; how cruel and frail it was, like a worn piece of burlap, patched with stupidities and mistakes, useless and ugly, and yet they never saw its worthlessness. | John Cheever | ||
| 2aad391 | Benim icin kitap okurken hala onemli olan anlamaktan cok, okudugum seye uygun dusler kurmaktir. | books kitap kitaplar okumak reading | Orhan Pamuk | |
| 772933a | Where there is a true art and genuine virtuosity the artist can paint an incomparable masterpiece without leaving even a trace of his identity. | artist artists-life insight | Orhan Pamuk | |
| bd8c2be | To be left with only the trace of a memory is to gaze at an armchair that's still molded to the form of a love who has left never to return: It is to grieve, dear reader, it is to weep. | Orhan Pamuk | ||
| aa38577 | You cannot embark on life, that one-off coach ride, once again when it is over, but if you have a book in your hand, no matter how complex or difficult, when you have finished it, you can, if you wish, go back to the beginning, read it again, and thus understand that which is difficult and, with it, understand life as well. | Orhan Pamuk | ||
| db81c75 | The ideal story should begin innocently like a fairy-tale, be frightening like a nightmare in the middle, and conclude sadly like a love story ending in separation. | Orhan Pamuk | ||
| 185fc20 | dh ftHti `ynyki ljmyltyn htyn fln ySybki mkrwh , l tqlqy . | Orhan Pamuk | ||
| 37fcf30 | Estoy sufriendo las penas del infierno sin ni siquiera haber muerto. | muerte penas | Orhan Pamuk | |
| 4da956a | man's sentimental attachment to objects is one of life's greatest consolations. | consolation objects sentimentality | Orhan Pamuk | |
| 9488e45 | Only vulgar people boast about how happy they are | humanity people | Orhan Pamuk | |
| 995ac1d | The greatest happiness is when the eye discovers beauty where neither then mind conceived of nor the hand intended any. | happiness | Orhan Pamuk |