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Authors:

His Quotes (page 147)

Conversely, the absolute absence of a burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into heights, take leave of earth abd his earthy being, and become half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant. Milan Kundera
I'd been blindsided with the most painful knowledge: the first man to ever say he loved me had never loved me at all. His passion had been artificial. His pursuit of me had been choreographed. Charlaine Harris
...So in his own way Guy Clinch confronted the central question of his time, a question you saw being asked and answered everywhere you looked, in every headline and haircut: if, at any moment, nothing might matter, then who said that nothing didn't matter already? Martin Amis
All men are tragic...All men are comic...Every man is important if he loses his life; and every man is funny if he loses his hat. Gilbert K. Chesterton
I learned this, at least, by my experiment; that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours. . . . In proportion as he simplifies his life, the laws of the universe will appear less complex, and solitude will not be solitude, nor poverty poverty, nor weakness weakness." (From Walden) Henry David Thoreau
Then felt I like like some watcher of the skies. When a new planet swims into his ken; Like stout Cortes when with eagle eyes. He star'd at the Pacific-and all his men. Look'd at each other with a wild surmise. Silent upon a peak in Darien John Keats
Anne?" said Dacy sitting up in bed and propping his chin on his hands, "Anne, where is sleep? People go to sleep every night, and of course I know it's a place where I do things I dream, but I want to know where it is and how to get there and back without knowing anything about it . . . and in my nighty too. Where is it? L. M. Montgomery
A murderer is less loathsome to us than a spy. The murderer may have acted on a sudden mad impulse; he may be penitent and amend; but a spy is always a spy, night and day, in bed, at table, as he walks abroad; his vileness pervades every moment of his life Honore de Balzac
He who is different from me does not impoverish me - he enriches me. Our unity is constituted in something higher than ourselves - in Man... For no man seeks to hear his own echo, or to find his reflection in the glass. Antoine de Saint-Exupery
A charge often levied against organic agriculture is that it is more philosophy than science. There's some truth to this indictment, if that it what it is, though why organic farmers should feel defensive about it is itself a mystery, a relic, perhaps, of our fetishism of science as the only credible tool with which to approach nature. ... The peasant rice farmer who introduces ducks and fish to his paddy may not understand all the symbiotic relationships he's put in play--that the ducks and... Michael Pollan
He bequeaths us His manger, from which to learn how God came down to man, and His cross to teach us how man may go up to God. Charles Spurgeon
The wise men understood that this natural world is only an image and a copy of paradise. The existence of this world is simply a guarantee that there exists a world that is perfect. God created the world so that, through its visible objects, men could understand his spiritual teachings and the marvels of his wisdom. Paulo Coelho
In every country and in every age, the priest has been hostile to liberty. He is always in alliance with the despot, abetting his abuses in return for protection to his own. Thomas Jefferson
William Shakespeare quote: "This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men..."
This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men stomach to digest his words. With better appetite. William Shakespeare
Then came the march past the victims. The two men were no longer alive. Their tongues were hanging out, swollen and bluish. But the third rope was still moving: the child, too light, was still breathing... And so he remained for more than half an hour, lingering between life and death, writhing before our eyes. And we were forced to look at him at close range. He was still alive when I passed him. His tongue was stillred, his eyes not yet extinguished. Behind me, I heard the same man... Elie Wiesel

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