Here Quotes (page 173)
-
-
-
Sometimes I get tired of trying to convince him that I love him and shall love him for ever. He pounces on my words like a barrister and twists them. I know he is afraid of that desert which would be around him if our love were to end, but he can’t realize that I feel exactly the same. What he says aloud, I say to myself silently and write it here.
Graham Greene
Everything he wanted was comprised moreover in a single boon--the common unattainable art of taking things as they came. He appeared to himself to have given his best years to an active appreciation of the way they didn't come; but perhaps--as they would seemingly here be things quite other--this long ache might at last drop to rest.
Henry James
Diesel rocked back on his heels and grinned at the monkey. “Carl?”
“Eep!” The monkey stood, squinted at Diesel, and gave him the finger.
“Looks like you know each other,” I said.
“Our paths crossed in Trenton,” Diesel said. “How did he get here?”
“Monkey Rescue,” Glo told him. “He was abandoned.”
“Figures,” Diesel said.
The monkey gave him the finger again.
“Does he do that all the time?” I asked Diesel.
“Not all the time.”
“I got him by mistake,” Glo said. “And now we don’t know...
Janet Evanovich
GOING TO WALDENIt isn't very far as highways lie. I might be back by nightfall, having seen. The rough pines, and the stones, and the clear water. Friends argue that I might be wiser for it. They do not hear that far-off Yankee whisper: How dull we grow from hurrying here and there! Many have gone, and think me half a fool. To miss a day away in the cool country. Maybe. But in a book I read and cherish, Going to Walden is not so easy a thing. As a green visit. It is the slow and difficult....
Mary Oliver
Well, here he was. They could save each other, the way the poets promised lovers should. He was mystery, he was darkness, he was all she had dreamed of. And if she would only free him he would service her - oh yes - until her pleasure reached that threshold that, like all thresholds, was a place where the strong grew stronger, and the weak perished. Pleasure was pain there, and vice versa. And he knew it well enough to call it home.
Clive Barker
A beautiful and binding morning. The world outside begins to breathe. See clouds arriving without warning. I need you here to shelter me. If I could make these moments endless. If I could stop the winds of change. If we just keep our eyes wide open. Then everything would stay the same. And I know that only time will tell me how. We'll carry on without each other. So keep me awake for every moment. Give us more time to be this way. We can't stay like this forever. But I can have you next to me...
Josh Groban
What do I make of all this texture? What does it mean about the kind of world in which I have been set down? The texture of the world, its filigree and scrollwork, means that there is the possibility for beauty here, a beauty inexhaustible in its complexity, which opens to my knock, which answers in me a call I do not remember calling, and which trains me to the wild and extravagant nature of the spirit I seek.
Annie Dillard
Paradise is not a garden of bliss and changeless perfection where the lions lie down like lambs (what would they eat?) and the angels and cherubim and seraphim rotate in endless idiotic circles, like clockwork, about an equally inane and ludicrous -- however roseate -- unmoved mover. That particular painted fantasy of a realm beyond time and space which Aristotle and the church fathers tried to palm off on us has met, in modern times, only neglect and indifference passing on into oblivion it...
Edward Abbey