Late Quotes (page 30)
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A land not mine, stillforever memorable, the waters of its oceanchill and fresh. Sand on the bottom whiter than chalk, and the air drunk, like wine, late sun lays barethe rosy limbs of the pinetrees. Sunset in the ethereal waves: I cannot tell if the dayis ending, or the world, or ifthe secret of secrets is inside me again.
Anna Akhmatova
Men!"At least we don't fake it."Listen, it was your uncle. And we were late, remember? So I made the sacrifice and got us there in time for dessert. You should be thanking me."Morelli's mouth was open slightly and his face was registering a mixture of astonished disbelief and wounded, pissed-off male pride. Okay, it wasn't that much of a sacrifice at the time, and I knew he shouldn't be thanking me, but give me a break here... this wasn't famine in Ethiopia
Janet Evanovich
I had it together on Sunday.By Monday at noon it had cracked.On Tuesday debrisWas descending on me.And by Wednesday no part was intact.On Thursday I picked up some pieces.On Friday I picked up the rest.By Saturday, late,It was almost set straight.And on Sunday the world was impressedWith how well I had got it together.
Judith Viorst
Introduction to bits. Things are going up on the curb, every few months. Maybe. Bottle of the inside of the lines of the landing, not as we can set of brightness. But the houses get repayed, man. Anywhere. There’s nowhere else to be late at a number of me? But it’s visible from the house. It’s early evening, but it crackles and perhaps they own. It means that perhaps the result of bubbly waiting for a few moments. I have to flinch at the forthcoming disaster strikes. Nathan: He travels. While...
Neil Gaiman
So we'll go no more a-rovingSo late into the night, Though the heart still be as loving, And the moon still be as bright. For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul outwears the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest. Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a-rovingBy the light of the moon.
George Byron
They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld. Of Paradise, so late their happy seat, Waved over by that flaming brand, the gate. With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms: Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon; The world was all before them, where to choose. Their place of rest, and Providence their guide; They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, Through Eden took their solitary way.
John Milton
quite simply, I was in love with New York. I do not mean “love” in any colloquial way, I mean that I was in love with the city, the way you love the first person who ever touches you and you never love anyone quite that way again. I remember walking across Sixty-second Street one twilight that first spring, or the second spring, they were all alike for a while. I was late to meet someone but I stopped at Lexington Avenue and bought a peach and stood on the corner eating it and knew that I had...
Joan Didion
All I know is that I've wasted all these years looking for something, a sort of trophy I'd get only if I really, really did enough to deserve it. But I don't want it anymore, I want something else now, something warm and sheltering, something I can turn to, regardless of what I do, regardless of who I become. Something that will just be there, always, like tomorrow's sky. That's what I want now, and I think it's what you should want too. But it will be too late soon. We'll become too set to...
Kazuo Ishiguro
