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| Link | Quote | Stars | Tags | Author |
| 999b5d5 | If you could just ravel out into time. That would be nice. It would be nice if you could just ravel out into time | William Faulkner | ||
| 9907946 | War is an episode, a crisis, a fever the purpose of which is to rid the body of fever. So the purpose of a war is to end the war. | William Faulkner | ||
| 9d03714 | Mr Willy Wonka can make marshmallows that taste of violets, and rich caramels that change colour every ten seconds as you suck them, and little feathery sweets that melt away deliciously the moment you put them between your lips. He can make chewing-gum that never loses its taste, and sugar balloons that you can blow up to enormous sizes before you pop them with a pin and gobble them up. And, by a most secret method, he can make lovely blue.. | Roald Dahl | ||
| c0b7235 | We never sit anything out. We are cups, quietly and constantly being filled. The trick is knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out. | Ray Bradbury | ||
| a356d4a | Bringing people into the here-and-now. The real universe. That's the present moment. The past is no good to us. The future is full of anxiety. Only the present is real--the here-and-now. Seize the day. | Saul Bellow | ||
| a62cd8d | open me carefully | emily-dickinson letter | Emily Dickinson | |
| 8c9bf21 | Miracles occur, If you dare to call those spasmodic Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again, | Sylvia Plath | ||
| 7436ec0 | You cannot regard your own life with objective curiosity all the time... | Sylvia Plath | ||
| 95cf715 | I'm doped and thick from my last sleeping pill. | Sylvia Plath | ||
| 63e11b8 | I thought if only I had a keen, shapely bone structure to my face or could discuss politics shrewdly or was a famous writer Constantin might find me interesting enough to sleep with. And then I wondered if as soon as he came to like me he would sink into ordinariness, and if as soon as he came to love me I would find fault, the way I did with Buddy Willard and the boys before him. | Sylvia Plath | ||
| 703d40f | I was at a loss suddenly; but conscious all the while of how Armand listened; that he listened in the way that we dream of others listening, his face seeming to reflect on every thing said. He did not start forward to seize on my slightest pause, to assert an understanding of something before the thought was finished, or to argue with a swift, irresistible impulse -- the things which often make dialogue impossible. And after a long interval.. | Anne Rice | ||
| 068326e | I-I didn't..." Derek began. He scrambled from under Liam. The werewolf's body fell, limp, to the side, his head twisted, neck broken. Derek swallowed. The sound echoed in the silence. "I didn't-- I just-- I was trying to stop him." "You didn't mean it," I said softly. "But he did." He looked at me, eyes refusing to focus. "He would have killed you," I said."Killed both of us, if it came down to it. You might not have meant to do it, but..... | Kelley Armstrong | ||
| 6d871e0 | It's a road!" I patted his back." It's a lovely road. Now which way do we go?" Corey looked one way, the brown ribbon extending into emptiness. He looked the other way, saw the same thing and his shoulders slumped. "Damn." | Kelley Armstrong | ||
| 5f50d6f | Cleavage is great," she said. "Like an extra pocket." | humor rae kelley-armstrong | Kelley Armstrong | |
| d0b380a | Unicorns are not to be forgiven." The magician felt himself growing giddy with jealousy, not only of the touch but of something like a secret that was moving between Molly and the unicorn. "Unicorns are for beginnings," he said, "for innocence and purity, for newness. Unicorns are for young girls." Molly was stroking the unicorn's throat as timidly as though she were blind. She dried her grimy tears on the white mane. "You don't know much a.. | Peter S. Beagle | ||
| 198a083 | A Clock is not time; it's numbers and springs. Pay it no mind. | Peter S. Beagle | ||
| 390db82 | It was the day my grandmother exploded. | Iain Banks | ||
| 225763c | It's a little dense, don't you think, to antagonize the strongest vampire in the house?' Emmett threw his head back and snorted. 'PLEASE!' [...] | Stephenie Meyer | ||
| 8cf70c3 | How old are you?" she asked. My answer was automatic and ingrained. "Seventeen." "And how long have you been seventeen?" | stephenie-meyer midnight-sun twilight | Stephenie Meyer | |
| 0df9dfd | So it's still standing?" he managed to get out between his snickers. "I would've thought you two had knocked it to rubble by now. What were you doing last night? Discussing the national debt?" Emmett howled with laughter." -- | Stephenie Meyer | ||
| e31d1b0 | Yes Rosalie, we all know how proficient of an assassin you are. | midnightsun | Stephenie Meyer | |
| 131a743 | And I was struck all at once how life was out there going through its regular courses, and I was suspended, waiting, caught in a terrible crevice between living my life and not living it. | Sue Monk Kidd | ||
| 179a071 | You can't keep messing me around like this. It's been going on too long. I can't take it anymore. I get sick every time you come around. Then I get sick when you leave. You're like a disease to me. | lovers love | Sam Shepard | |
| 15a4294 | Rabbit underground, rabbit safe and sound. | Richard Adams | ||
| bcf1895 | Maybe the only thing that hints at a sense of Time is rhythm; not the recurrent beats of the rhythm but the gap between two such beats, the gray gap between black beats: the Tender Interval. | time nabokov | Vladimir Nabokov | |
| c6d76cf | I was the shadow of the waxwing slain By the false azure in the windowpane; I was the smudge of ashen fluff -and I Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky. | Vladimir Nabokov | ||
| 7cd77d3 | for the human brain can become the best torture house of all those it has invented, established and used in a millions of years, in millions of lands, on millions of howling creatures. | Vladimir Nabokov | ||
| b2ba910 | That's clear about the end of my other life, how I kept saying 'I can do this' even when I knew I couldn't, even when I knew I was fucked, I was dead ass fucked in the pouring rain. | Stephen King | ||
| d7907dc | Life is like Friday on a soap opera. It gives you the illusion that everything is going to wrap up, and then the same old shit starts up on Monday. | Stephen King | ||
| 69c9278 | Death was no less a miracle than birth. | Stephen King | ||
| 59b96e7 | It's a cash and carry world. Sometimes you pay a little. Mostly it's a lot. Sometimes, it's everything you have. | Stephen King | ||
| b05116d | A man with a good wife is the luckiest of God's creatures... | wives | Stephen King | |
| 3571984 | It was not fair, it was not fair, it was not fair. So cried his child's heart, and then his child's heart died a little. For that is also the way of the world. | Stephen King | ||
| e395f04 | Goodness! Golly! Good God! Blessed Allah! Zeus and Hera! Mary and Joseph! Nathaniel Hawthorne! Don't touch her! Grab her! Move closer! Run away! Don't move! Kill the snake! Leave it alone! Give it some food! Don't let it bite her! Lure the snake away! Here, snakey! Here, snakey snakey! | Lemony Snicket | ||
| 4ec0cfc | At New Year's he had given Anne a present of silver forks with handles of rock crystal. He hopes she will use them to eat with, not to stick in people. | Hilary Mantel | ||
| 64512d7 | What business is it of yours where I'm from, friendo? | Cormac McCarthy | ||
| 48ce266 | You know that the things you put it your head stay there, right?' 'Yeah. But you remember some things, don't you?' 'Yeah. You remember the things you want to forget and forget the things you want to remember. | cormac-mccarthy remembering | Cormac McCarthy | |
| b4cbf47 | I never had any doubts about my abilities. I knew I could write. I just had to figure out how to eat while doing this. | writing-life writing inspirational-quotes humor earning-a-living author-quotes self-support writing-quotes gift creative-process talent quotes self-confidence | Cormac McCarthy | |
| c3d5249 | The truth is that the forms I see have been slowly emptied out. They no longer have any content. They are shapes only. A train, a wall, a world. Or a man. A thing dangling in senseless articulation in a howling void. No meaning to its life. Its words. Why would I seek the company of such a thing? Why? | Cormac McCarthy | ||
| 352afef | In history there are no control groups. There is no one to tell us what might have been. We weep over the might have been, but there is no might have been. There never was. It is supposed to be true that those who do not know history are condemned to repeat it. I don't believe knowing can save us. What is constant in history is greed and foolishness and a love of blood and this is a thing that even God--who knows all that can be known--seem.. | Cormac McCarthy | ||
| 5585069 | That night he dreamt of horses in a field on a high plain where the spring rains had brought up the grass and the wildflowers out of the ground and the flowers ran all blue and yellow far as the eye could see and in the dream he was among the horses running and in the dream he himself could run with the horses and they coursed the young mares and fillies over the plain where their rich bay and their rich chestnut colors shone in the sun and.. | Cormac McCarthy | ||
| 9b46f1e | Things separate from their stories have no meaning. They are only shapes. Of a certain size and color. A certain weight. When their meaning has become lost to us they no longer have even a name. The story on the other hand can never be lost from its place in the world for it is that place. | story names | Cormac McCarthy | |
| a7aa964 | Somewhere out there is a true and living prophet of destruction and I dont want to confront him. I know he's real. I have seen his work. I walked in front of those eyes once. I wont do it again. I wont push my chips forward and stand up and go out to meet him. It aint just bein older. I wish that it was. I cant say that it's even what you are willin to do. Because I always knew that you had to be willin to die to even do this job. That was .. | Cormac McCarthy | ||
| b4a75fe | What could a child know of the darkness of God's plan? Or how flesh is so frail it is hardly more than a dream | Cormac McCarthy |