Lovingly Quotes (page 713)
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The suspense: the fearful, acute suspense: of standing idly by while the life of one we dearly love, is trembling in the balance; the racking thoughts that crowd upon the mind, and make the heart beat violently, and the breath come thick, by the force of the images they conjure up before it; the desperate anxiety to be doing something to relieve the pain, or lessen the danger, which we have no power to alleviate; the sinking of soul and spirit, which the sad remembrance of our helplessness...
Charles Dickens
Hosts loved to detain the dry lawyer, when the light-hearted and loose-tongued had already their foot on the threshold; they liked to sit awhile in his unobtrusive company, practicing for solitude, sobering their minds in the man's rich silence after the expense and strain of gaiety.
Robert Louis Stevenson
I love the performance of a craft, whether it is modest or mean-spirited, yet I walk away when discussions of it begin - as if one should ask a gravedigger what brand of shovel he uses or whether he prefers to work at noon or in moonlight. I am interested only in the care taken, and those secret rehearsals behind it. Even if I do not understand fully what is taking place.
Michael Ondaatje
You don't like it?" asked Luca, who loves this stuff. I bet Gandhi never ate lamb intestines in his life," I said. He could have."No, he couldn't have, Luca. Gandhi was a vegetarian."But vegetarians CAN eat this," Luca insisted. "Because intestines aren't even meat, Liz. They're just shit.
Elizabeth Gilbert
Beauty, midnight, vision dies: Let the winds of dawn that blow. Softly round your dreaming head. Such a day of welcome show. Eye and knocking heart may bless, Find our mortal world enough; Noons of dryness find you fed. By the involuntary powers, Nights of insult let you pass. Watched by every human love.
W. H. Auden
The sun goes down long and red. All the magic names of the valley unrolled - Manteca, Madera, all the rest. Soon it got dusk, a grapy dusk, a purple dusk over tangerine groves and long melon field; the sun the color of pressed grapes, slashed with burgundy red, the fields the color of love and Spanish mysteries. I stuck my head out the window and took deep breaths of the fragant air. It was the most beautiful of all moments.
Jack Kerouac