Going Quotes (page 237)
I don't want to lose you.' His voice almost a whisper. Seeing his haggard expression, she took his hand and squeezed it, then reluctantly let it go. She could feel the tears again, and she fought them back. 'But you don't want to keep me, either, do you?' To that, he had no response.
Nicholas Sparks
Can the purpose of a relationship be to trigger our wounds? In a way, yes, because that is how healing happens; darkness must be exposed before it can be transformed. The purpose of an intimate relationship is not that it be a place where we can hide from our weaknesses, but rather where we can safely let them go. It takes strength of character to truly delve into the mystery of an intimate relationship, because it takes the strength to endure a kind of psychic surgery, an emotional and...
Marianne Williamson
And where are the other gentry that were taken?—the real leaders of this plaguey rebellion. Grey’s case explains their absence, I think. They are wealthy men that can ransom themselves. Here awaiting the gallows are none but the unfortunates who followed; those who had the honor to lead them go free. It’s a curious and instructive reversal of the usual way of things. Faith, it’s an uncertain world entirely!
Rafael Sabatini
Every man hath the right to doubt his task, and to forsake it from time to time; but what he must not do is forget it. Whoever doubteth not himself is unworthy-- for in his unquestioning belief in his ability, he commiteth the sin of pride. Blessed are they who go through moments of indecision.
Paulo Coelho
So far as Emma was concerned she did not ask herself whether she was in love. Love, she thought, was something that must come suddenly, with a great display of thunder and lightning, descending on one's life like a tempest from above, turning it topsy-turvy, whirling away one's resolutions like leaves and bearing one onward, heart and soul, towards the abyss. She never bethought herself how on the terrace of a house the rain forms itself into little lakes when the gutters are choked, and she...
Gustave Flaubert
Often in the summer, as I go to or come from the vestry, I sit downfor a moment on the turf that covers my old friend Rodgers, and thinkthat this body of mine is everyday moldering away, til it shall fall aheap of dust into it's appointed place. But what is that to me? It isto me the drawing nigh of the fresh morning of life when I shall beyoung and strong again, glad in the presence of the wise and beloveddead, and unspeakably glad in the presence of God.
George MacDonald