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Knowing Quotes (page 719)

The corruption of the good by the belief in their own infallible goodnes is the most bloody dangerous pitfall in the human spectrum. Once you have conquered all your sins, pride is the one which will conquer you. A man starts off deciding he is a good man because he makes good decisions. Next thing, he's convinced that whatever decision he makes must be good because he's a good man. Most of the wars in the world are caused by people who think they have god on their side. Always stick with... Helen Fielding
Odd to think that the piece of you I know best is already dead. The cells on the surface of your skin are thin and flat without the blood vessels or nerve endings. Dead cells, thickest on the palms of your hands and the soles of your feet. Jeanette Winterson
Marquis de Sade quote: "I don't know what the heart is, not I: I only use the word to..."
I don't know what the heart is, not I: I only use the word to denote the mind's frailties. Marquis de Sade
William Shakespeare quote: "As you all know, Security Is Mortals chiefest Enemy."
As you all know, Security Is Mortals chiefest Enemy. William Shakespeare
Bob Dylan quote: "Little red wagon, little red bike, I ain’t no monkey but I..."
Little red wagon, little red bike, I ain’t no monkey but I know what I like. Bob Dylan
William Butler Yeats quote: "O body swayed to music, O brightening glance, How can we know..."
O body swayed to music, O brightening glance, How can we know the dancer from the dance? William Butler Yeats
For all the ghosts and corpses that shall never know the breath of our childrenso longfor the sacrifice and endurance of our mothers and the sustained breath of our fatherswe live Saul Williams
When I pointed to him his palms slipped slightly, leaving greasy sweat streaks on the wall, and he hooked his thumbs in his belt. A strange spasm shook him, as if he heard fingernails scrape slate, but as I gazed at him in wonder the tension slowly drained from his face. His lips parted into a timid smile, and our neighbor’s image blurred with my sudden tears. “Hey, Boo,” I said. “Mr. Arthur, honey,” said Atticus, gently correcting me. “Jean Louise, this is Mr. Arthur Radley. I believe... Harper Lee
it may not always be so; and i saythat if your lips, which i have loved, should touchanother's, and your dear strong fingers clutchhis heart, as mine in time not far away; if on another's face your sweet hair layin such a silence as i know, or suchgreat writhing words as, uttering overmuch, stand helplessly before the spirit at bay; if this should be, i say if this should be-you of my heart, send me a little word; that i may go unto him, and take his hands, saying, Accept all happiness from... E. E. Cummings
If you commit perjury I don't care. Don't give a shit. I don't think you should because you grade murder. You have murder One. Murder Two. You realize that there can be a difference in the level of murder. So there must be a difference in the level of perjury. Perjury One is when you're saying there's no Holocaust when, you know, 10 million people have died in it, and Perjury Nine, is when you said you shagged someone and you didn't. Eddie Izzard
...living the same sorrows three times was a suffering, but it was a suffering to relive even the same joys. The joy of life is born from feeling, whether it be joy or grief, always of short duration, and woe to those who know they will enjoy eternal bliss. Umberto Eco
Maybe you don't like your job. Maybe you didn't get enough sleep. Nobody likes their job; nobody got enough sleep. Maybe you just had the worst day of your life. You know there's no escape and there's no excuse, so just suck up and be nice. Ani DiFranco
Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run, but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant. Hunter S. Thompson
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rims at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? William Shakespeare
I know of no American who starts from a higher level of aspiration than the journalist. . . . He plans to be both an artist and a moralist -- a master of lovely words and merchant of sound ideas. He ends, commonly, as the most depressing jackass of his community -- that is, if his career goes on to what is called a success. H. L. Mencken

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