Booked Quotes (page 170)
Homicide thats a big word means i killed a guy. seven years. im sprung in four for keep'n my nose clean." (18) the hich hiker is saying this to the truck driver and i think it puts alot of meanning to the book because the truck driver just realized that he could have just died. it adds suspense to the story and makes it kinda scary.
John Steinbeck
People go out to look at sunrises and sunsets who do not recognize their own, quietly and happily, but know that it is foreign to them. As they do by books, so they quote the sunset and the star, and do not make them theirs. Worse yet, they live as foreigners in a world of truth, and quote thoughts, and thus disown them. Quotation confesses inferiority
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Who are we, who is each one of us, if not a combination of experiences, information, books we have read, thingsimagined? Each life is an encyclopedia, a library, an inventory of objects, a series of styles, and everything can beconstantly shuffled and reordered in every way conceivable.
Italo Calvino
What can I expect from myself? My sensation in all their horrible acuity, and a profound awareness of feeling. A sharp mind that only destroys me, and an unusual capacity for dreaming to keep me entertained. A dead will and a reflection that cradles it, like a living child. From, The Book of Disquiet
Fernando Pessoa
Lara walked along the tracks following a path worn by pilgrims and then turned into the fields. Here she stopped and, closing her eyes, took a deep breath of the flower-scented air of the broad expanse around her. It was dearer to her than her kin, better than a lover, wiser than a book. For a moment she rediscovered the purpose of her life. She was here on earth to grasp the meaning of its wild enchantment and to call each thing by its right name, or, if this were not within her power,...
Boris Pasternak
I cannot count the pebbles in the brook. Well hath He spoken: "Swear not by thy head. Thou knowest not the hairs," though He, we read, writes that wild number in His own strange book. I cannot count the sands or search the seas, death cometh, and I leave so much untrod. Grant my immortal aureole, O my God, and I will name the leaves upon the trees, In heaven I shall stand on gold and glass, still brooding earth's arithmetic to spell; or see the fading of the fires of hellere I have thanked my...
Gilbert K. Chesterton