Likes Quotes (page 1106)
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Last night in the latrine. Didn't you whisper that we couldn't punish you to that other dirty son of a bitch we don't like? What's his name?"Yossarian, sir," Lieutenant Scheisskopf said."Yes, Yossarian. That's right. Yossarian. Yossarian? Is that his name? Yossarian? What the hell kind of a name is Yossarian?"Lieutenant Scheisskopf had the facts at his finger tips. "It's Yossarian's name, sir," he explained.
Joseph Heller
(James Joyce, in conversation with Carl Jung:)"Literary artists know more about the human mind than you fellers have a hope in hell of knowing. Ha. My craft is ebbing. I am yung and easily freudened. One of these days I'll show the lot of you what the unconscious mind is really like. I don't need any of you. In a sense I am Freud."Jung looked gloomily guilty at the name. "Yes?"What's Freud in English?"Joy."Joy and Joyce. There's little enough difference. Except that I add C and E for Creative...
Anthony Burgess
One word is too often profaned. For me to profane it, One feeling too falsely disdain'd. For thee to disdain it. One hope too like dispair. For prudence to smother, I can give not what men call love: But wilt thou accept not. The worship the heart lifts above. And heaven rejects not: The desire of the moth for the star, The devotion of something afar. From the sphere of our sorrow?
Percy Bysshe Shelley
It was another of Nostromo's triumphs, the greatest, the most enviable, the most sinister of all. In that true cry of undying passion that seemed to ring aloud from Punta Mala to Azuera and away to the bright line of the horizon, overhung by a big white cloud shining like a mass of solid silver, the genius of the magnificent Capataz de Cargadores dominated the dark gulf containing his conquests of treasure and love.
Joseph Conrad
We are served by organic ghosts, he thought, who, speaking and writing, pass through this our new environment. Watching, wise, physical ghosts from the full-life world, elements of which have become for us invading but agreeable splinters of a substance that pulsates like a former heart.
Philip K. Dick
The day has been so full of fret and care, and our hearts have been so full of evil and of bitter thoughts, and the world has seemed so hard and wrong to us. Then Night, like some great loving mother, gently lays her hand upon our fevered head, and turns our little tear-stained faces up to hers, and smiles; and though she does not speak, we know what she would say, and lay our hot flushed cheek against her bosom, and the pain is gone.
Jerome K. Jerome