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| Link | Quote | Stars | Tags | Author |
| 9fb8e52 | When we sit down each day and do our work, power concentrates around us . . . we become like a magnetized rod that attracts iron filings. Ideas come. Insights accrete. | Steven Pressfield | ||
| b86a159 | We can always revise and revisit once we've acted. But we can accomplish nothing until we act. | Steven Pressfield | ||
| 95a1ce9 | Like the statue of David, our Authentic Swing already exists, concealed within the stone, so to speak." Keeler broke in with excitement. "Then our task as golfers, according to this line of thought..." "...is simply to chip away all that is inauthentic, allowing our Authentic Swing to emerge in its purity." | Steven Pressfield | ||
| 6781170 | Making yourself a corporation (or just thinking of yourself in that way) reinforces the idea of professionalism because it separates the artist-doing-the-work from the will-and-consciousness-running-the-show. | inspirational | Steven Pressfield | |
| 0592023 | The professional knows when he has fallen short of his own standards. He will murder his darlings without hesitation, if that's what it takes to stay true to the goddess and to his own expectations of excellence. | Steven Pressfield | ||
| c442edf | Phobologic discipline is comprised of twenty-eight exercises, each focusing upon a separate nexus of the nervous system. The five primaries are the knees and hams, lungs and heart, loins and bowels, the lower back, and the girdle of the shoulders, particularly the trapezius muscles, which yoke the shoulder to the neck. A secondary nexus, for which the Lakedaemonians have twelve more exercises, is the face, specifically the muscles of the j.. | Steven Pressfield | ||
| 761dbd6 | He remembered a dog--the only living thing they found in the entire village--curled around the body of a dead child. Caramon stopped to pet the small dog. The animal cringed, then licked the big man's hand. It then licked the child's cold face, looking up at the warrior hopefully, expecting this human to make everything all right, to make his little playmate run and laugh again. | Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman | ||
| 38a1244 | Raistlin ran to Fizban's side. "Now is the time for the casting of the fireball, Old One," he panted. "It is?" Fizban's face filled with delight. "Wonderful! How does it go?" "Don't you remember!" Raistlin practically shrieked, dragging the mage behind a pillar as the slug spat another glob of burning saliva onto the floor. "I used to ... let me see." Fizban's brow furrowed in concentration." | Margaret Weis | ||
| f131a54 | People want to believe in something--even if, deep inside, they know it is false. But | Margaret Weis | ||
| f0e3f69 | But he could not help wondering, as he did, that if he was so damn wise, why was his life in such a mess? | Margaret Weis | ||
| d83b4ad | It seems to me that being a great friend is more important than being a great hero or a great warrior. Being a good friend is the most important thing there is. Just think, if everyone in the world were great friends, then we wouldn't be such terrible enemies. | Margaret Weis | ||
| 353237e | paithin- ... he is orn! mother peytin's son, come to lead us to safety!" zifnab- thats it! orn, favors his mother- roland- no, he doesnt. look! hes human! wouldnt mother whats- her - name's kid be and elf- wait! | haplo paithin roland thillia zivnab | Margaret Weis | |
| c0d4179 | For only the humans were endowed with the lust for power so strong that the raw passion of their nature could be easily corrupted. | Margaret Weis | ||
| d39867d | Evil turns upon itself. | Margaret Weis | ||
| 64d1498 | Raistlin did not walk the paths of light, nor did he walk the shadowed paths of darkness. He walked his own path, in his own way, of his own choosing. | Margaret Weis | ||
| 78d08d7 | I will do anything to save Laurana, he swore beneath his breath, clenching his fist. Anything! If it means sacrificing myself or-- He stopped. Would he really give up Berem? Would he really trade the Everman to the Dark Queen, perhaps plunge the world into a darkness so vast it would never see light again? No, Tanis told himself firmly. Laurana would die before she would be part of such a bargain. | dragonlance dragonlance-chronicles dragons-of-spring-dawning fantasy green-gemstone-man laurana margaret-weis price sacrifice tanis the-evermen tracy-hickman | Margaret Weis | |
| 676b6b9 | Pity, mercy, compassion." "Thats's all I'm afraid," said Alfred. "That is everything," said the phantasm." | Margaret Weis | ||
| 9f18f81 | Red Leader to Red One. Come in Red One! | zifnab | Margaret Weis | |
| b519050 | To remind us that our lives are made up of blank sheets waiting to be filled," Lillith replied. "The book of life is open when we are born, and it closes with our death. We write in it continually, but no matter how much we write, what joy or sorrow we experience or what mistakes we have made, we will always turn the page, and tomorrow's page is always blank." | Margaret Weis | ||
| 3868884 | For that is what you are, that is who you are - you are an author. You cannot cease to write any more than you can cease to breathe...This difficult season will pass - your eyes and mind will inevitably be opened once more to the wealth of ideas all around you...And even if the ideas around you fall short of what you seek - even if, as you say, you have not the heart to write... perhaps it is your heart you ought to write of. - Laurie to Jo.. | ideas inspiration writer writing writing-from-the-heart | Trix Wilkins | |
| 658a246 | Sickness occurs when we desire what we need and what's desirable with equal intensity, suffering our lack of perfection as if we were suffering for lack of bread. | romanticism | Fernando Pessoa | |
| 317440d | LIII. What is the holiness of conversation? | god irony | Anne Carson | |
| 1609274 | She said, When you see these horrible images why do you stay with them? Why keep watching? Why not go away? I was amazed. Go away where? I said. | Anne Carson | ||
| 593b894 | A cold ship moves out of harbor somewhere way inside the wife and slides off toward the flat gray horizon, not a bird not a breath in sight. | Anne Carson | ||
| 130de3b | It takes so little to make a child happy that it is a pity, in a world so full of sunshine and pleasant things, that there should be any wistful faces, empty hands, or lonely little hearts. | Louisa May Alcott | ||
| 731dfdb | I loved him for his beauty. | Anne Carson | ||
| 9d5cfc2 | Gorge after gorge, turning, turning. Caverns of sunset, falling, falling away--just a single vast gold air breathed out by beings--they must have been marvelous beings, those gold-breathers. Down. Purple-and-green islands. Cleft and groined and gigantically pocked like something left behind after all the oceans vanished one huge night: the mountains. Their hills fold and fold again, fold away, down. Folded into the dens and rocks of the hil.. | Anne Carson | ||
| edf904e | Although a monster Geryon could be charming in company. | Anne Carson | ||
| 9df9372 | Girls are cruelest to themselves," observes Anne Carson in "The Glass Essay," her brilliant long poem about the ravages of female anger, loneliness, grief, and desire, giving us as poetic adage what any number of other fields give us as statistic." | Maggie Nelson | ||
| 2035e91 | The red world And corresponding red breezes Went on Geryon did not | Anne Carson | ||
| 457f92f | In myth, women's boundaries are pliant, porous, mutable. Her power to control them is inadequate, her concern for them unreliable. Deformation attends her. She swells, she shrinks, she leaks, she is penetrated, she suffers metamorphoses. The women of mythology regularly lose their form in monstrosity. | english-nonfiction | Anne Carson | |
| 023474e | Note that the word 'mute' is regarded by linguists as an onomatopoeic formation referring not to silence but to a certain fundamental opacity of human being, which likes to show the truth by allowing to be seen hiding. | mute nox silence | Anne Carson | |
| d957c07 | what song of death, what dance of Hades shall I do? | hades | Anne Carson | |
| a52341a | Humans in love are terrible. You see them come hungering at one another like prehistoric wolves, you see something struggling for life in between them like a root or a soul and it flares for a moment, then they smash it. The difference between them smashes the bones out. So delicate the bones. | Anne Carson | ||
| f387f8d | Repent means "the pain again." | Anne Carson | ||
| 7e961b8 | In later years this is the one memory he wishes would go away and not come back. And the reason he cannot bear her dying is not the loss of her (which is the future) but that dying puts the two of them (now) into this nakedness together that is unforgiveable. They do not forgive it. He turns away. This roaring air in his arms. She is released. | Anne Carson | ||
| 097cb14 | When I contemplate the physical spaces that articulate the letters 'I love you' in a written text, I may be led to think about other spaces, for example the space that lies between 'you' in the text and you in my life. | Anne Carson | ||
| 7eeadb6 | I lack myself. | Anne Carson | ||
| 9d57606 | Now I think it is true to say of the road, and also of God, that it does not move. At the same time, it is everywhere. It has a language, but not one I know. It has a story, but I am in it. So are you. And to realize this is a moment of some sadness. When we are denied a story, a light goes off. I am asking you to study the dark. | Anne Carson | ||
| ccce2db | I went mad, a god hurt me, I fell. | Anne Carson | ||
| 2eef086 | Aztan megindult felejuk az ido, ahogy karjukkal egymashoz simulva alltak, arcukon a halhatatlansag, hatukban az ejszaka. | Anne Carson | ||
| 6703e9a | We are slaves to the gods. Whatever gods are. | Anne Carson | ||
| c911729 | For in that sad yet happy hour, she had learned not only the bitterness of remorse and despair, but the sweetness of self-denial and self-control, and led by her mother's hand, she had drawn nearer to the Friend who always welcomes every child with a love stronger than that of any father, tenderer than that of any mother. | Louisa May Alcott | ||
| 8ee2462 | The man is well inside the train before the dreadful truth occurs to me. He is the man from the newspaper. The rapist. My doppelganger. My mirrored doppelganger." William Wilson in the short story 'Metro' by Steen Langstrup." | rape | Steen Langstrup |