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Authors:

His Quotes (page 472)

There is scarcely any writer who has not celebrated the happiness of rural privacy, and delighted himself and his reader with the melody of birds, the whisper of groves, and the murmur of rivulets. Samuel Johnson
I remember asking John, after Dusklands, what new project he had on the go. His answer was vague. 'There is always something or the other I am working on', he said. 'If I yield to the seduction of not working, what would I do with myself? What would there be to live for? I would have to shoot myself. J. M. Coetzee
Unless a film of flesh envelops us, we die. Man exists only insofar as he is separated from his surroundings. The cranium is a space-traveler's helmet. Stay inside or you perish. Death is divestment, death is communion. Vladimir Nabokov
Love, what is love? I don't think you can really put it into words. Love is understanding someone, caring for him, sharing his joys and sorrows. This eventually includes physical love. You've shared something, given something away and received something in return, whether or not you're married, whether or not you have a baby. Losing your virtue doesn't matter, as long as you know that for as long as you live you'll have someone at your side who understands you, and who doesn't have to be... Anne Frank
Jodi Picoult quote: "He was a detective, but he didn’t detect anything. It fell..."
He was a detective, but he didn’t detect anything. It fell into his lap, already broken, every time. Jodi Picoult
He regards boredom, I observe, as the One and Mighty Enemy of his soul. And will succeed in conquering it, I am sure—if he survives the experience. Dorothy Dunnett
He says: ‘it doesn’t matter. What I know is that I could do this with you’ — he makes a movement with his hands like a baker, kneading a loaf of bread — ‘and afterwards you’d be different. Jean Rhys
For the life of me, I did not understand how he[Atticus] could sit there in cold blood and read a newspaper when his only son stood an excellent chance of being murdered with a Confederate Army relic. Harper Lee
Jack London quote: "Man rarely places a proper valuation upon his womankind, at..."
Man rarely places a proper valuation upon his womankind, at least not until deprived of them. Jack London
Religions are, by definition, metaphors, after all: God is a dream, a hope, a woman, an ironist, a father, a city, a house of many rooms, a watchmaker who left his prize chronometer in the desert, someone who loves you - even, perhaps, against all evidence, a celestial being whose only interest is to make sure your football team, army, business, or marriage thrives, prospers, and triumphs over all opposition. Neil Gaiman
Lee put his arm around the broad shoulders to comfort him. "You're growing up. Maybe that's it," he said softly. "Sometimes I think the world tests us most sharply then, and we turn inward and watch ourselves with horror. But that's not the worst. We think everybody is seeing into us. The dirt is very dirty and purity is shining white. Aron, it will be over. That's not much relief to you because you don't believe it, but it's the best I can do for you. Try to believe that things are neither... John Steinbeck
It was a strange combination to absorb - the everyday concerns of the town doctor stuck in the middle of a discussion of his early days in seventeenth-century London. Stephenie Meyer
Samuel Johnson quote: "A secret in his mouth, is like a wild bird put into a cage;..."
A secret in his mouth, is like a wild bird put into a cage; whose door no sooner opens, but 'tis out. Samuel Johnson
Paulo Coelho quote: "The boy and his heart had become friends, and neither was..."
The boy and his heart had become friends, and neither was capable now of betraying the other. Paulo Coelho
The silver trumpets rang across the Dome; The people knelt upon the ground with awe; And borne upon the necks of men I saw, Like some great God, the Holy Lord of Rome. Priest-like, he wore a robe more white than foam, And, king-like, swathed himself in royal red, Three crowns of gold rose high upon his head; In splendour and in light the Pope passed home. My heart stole back across wide wastes of years. To One who wandered by a lonely sea; And sought in vain for any place of rest: Oscar Wilde

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