Ends Quotes (page 56)
That was the trouble. The land is too big out there, and after a while it starts to swallow you up. I reached a point when I couldn't take it anymore. All that bloody silence and emptiness. You try to find your bearings in it, but it's too big, the dimensions are too monstrous, and eventually, I don't know how else to put it, eventually it just stops being there. There's no world, no land, no nothing. It comes down to that, Fogg, in the end it's all a figment. The only place you exist is in...
Paul Auster
If I could live again my life,In the next - I'll try,- to make more mistakes,I won't try to be so perfect,I'll be more relaxed...I'll take fewer things seriously..I'll take more risks,I'll take more trips,I'll watch more sunsets,I'll climb more mountains,I'll swim more rivers,I'll go to more places I've never beenI'll eat more ice ...I'll have more real problems and less imaginary onesIf I could live again - I will travel light If I could live again - I'll try to work bare feet at the...
Jorge Luis Borges
You've always lived here, right?" Sarah asked."Except for the years I went to college."Didn't you ever want to move away? To experience something new?"Like bistros?"She nudged him playfully with her elbow. "No, not just that. Cities have a vibrancy, a sense of excitement that you can't find in a small town."I don't doubt it. But to be honest, I've never been interested in things like that. I don't need those things to make me happy. A nice quiet place to unwind at the end of the day,...
Nicholas Sparks
They stared at her curiously, and she caught snatches of conversation in two ot three languages. It wasn't hard to guess their content, and she smiled a bit frimly. Youth, it appeared, was full of illusions as to how much sexual energy two people might have to spare while hiking forty or so kilometers a day, concussed, stunned, diseased, on poor food and little sleep, alternating caring for a wounded man with avoiding becoming dinner for every carnivore within range - and with a coup to plan...
Lois McMaster Bujold
Conceive the condition of the human mind if all propositions whatsoever were self-evident except one, which was to become self-evident at the close of a summer’s day, but in the meantime might be the subject of question, of hypothesis, of debate. Art and philosophy, literature and science, would fasten like bees on that one proposition which had the honey of probability in it, and be the more eager because their enjoyment would end with sunset. Our impulses, our spiritual activities, no more...
George Eliot