Before Quotes (page 63)
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It was Anthony Marston who disagreed with the majority. 'A bit unsporting, what?' he said. 'Ought to ferret out the mystery before we go. Whole thing's like a detective story. Positively thrilling.' The judge said acidly: 'At my time of life, I have no desire for "thrills," as you call them.' Anthony said with a grin: 'The legal life's narrowing! I'm all for crime! Here's to it.' He picked up his drink and drank it off at a gulp. Too quickly, perhaps. He choked - choked badly. His face...
Agatha Christie
I asked Dr. Seward to give me a little opiate of some kind, as I had not slept well the night before......I hope I have not done wrong, for as sleep begins to flirt with me, a new fear comes: that I may have been foolish in thus depriving myself of the power of waking. I might want it. Here comes sleep. Goodnight.
Bram Stoker
We are as forlorn as children lost in the wood. When you stand in front of me and look at me, what do you know of the griefs that are in me and what do I know of yours? And if I were to cast myself down before you and tell you, what more would you know about me that you know about Hell when someone tells you it is hot and dreadful?
Franz Kafka
At daybreak, my face still turned to the wall, and before I had seen above the big window-curtains what shade of colour the first streaks of light assumed, I could already tell what the weather was like. The first sounds from the street had told me, according to whether they came to my ears deadened and distorted by the moisture of the atmosphere or quivering like arrows in the resonant, empty expanses of a spacious, frosty, pure morning; as soon as I heard the rumble of the first tramcar, I...
Marcel Proust
Dear me! how long is art! And short is our life! I often know amid the scholar's strife. A sinking feeling in my mind and heart. How difficult the means are to be found. By which the primal sources may be breached; And long before the halfway point is reached, They bury a poor devil in the ground.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
I cry because the future has once again found its sparkle and has grown a million times larger. And I cry because I am ashamed of how badly I have treated the people I love–of how badly I behaved during my own personal Dark Ages–back before I had a future and someone who cared for me from above. It is like today the sky opened up and only now am I allowed to enter
Doug Coupland
how wearisom. Eternity so spent in worship paid. To whom we hate. Let us not then pursue. By force impossible, by leave obtain'd Unacceptable, though in Heav'n, our state. Of splendid vassalage, but rather seek. Our own good from our selves, and from our own. Live to our selves, though in this vast recess, Free, and to none accountable, preferring Hard liberty before the easie yoke. Of servile Pomp
John Milton
Please could I say one word?" was the question three times repeated before a rough head boobed out from the grotto of books in which Mac usually sat. "Did anyone speak?" he asked, blinking in teh flood of sunshine that entered with Rose. "Only three times, thank you. Don't disturb yourself, I beg; for I merely want to say a word," answered Rose.
Louisa May Alcott