Made It Quotes (page 121)
I rolled back onto the lawn and pressed my forehead to the ground again and made the noise that Father calls groaning. I make this noise when there is too much information coming into my head from the outside world. It is like when you are upset and you hold the radio against your ear and you tune it halfway between two stations so that all you get is white noise and then you turn the volume right up so that this is all can hear and then you know you are safe because you cannot hear anything...
Mark Haddon
One entered the world, Denis pursued, having ready-made ideas about everything. One had a philosophy and tried to make life fit into it. One should have lived first and then made one's philosophy to fit life...Life, facts, things were horribly complicated; ideas, even the most difficult of them, deceptively simple. In the world of ideas, everything was clear; in life all was obscure, embroiled. Was it surprising that one was miserable, horribly unhappy?
Aldous Huxley
If what you found was made from pure matter, it will never spoil. And you can come back one day. If it was just one moment of light, like the explosion of a star, you will find nothing on your return. But you would have seen an explosion of light. And that alone would already be worth the journey.
Paulo Coelho
One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washd it away: Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tide and made my pains his prey. Vain man (said she) that dost in vain assay. A mortal thing so to immortalise; For I myself shall like to this decay, And eke my name be wipd out likewise. Not so (quod I); let baser things devise. To die in dust, but you shall live by fame; My verse your virtues rare shall eternise, And in the heavens write your glorious name:...
Edmund Spenser
Nothing but the sight of blood upon his dark face would ease the pain in her heart. She lunged for him, swift as a cat, but with a light startled movement, he sidestepped, throwing up his arm to ward her off. She was standing on the edge of the freshly waxed top step, and as her arm with the whole weight of her body behind it, struck his out-thrust arm, she lost her balance. She made a wild clutch for the newel post and missed it. She went down the stairs backwards, feeling a sickening dart...
Margaret Mitchell
Should he make a note? He felt for the smooth shape of his pen in his pocket. 'Theme for a novel: The contrary pull ... " No. If this notion were real, he needn't make a note. A notion on which a note had to be made would be stillborn anyway, his notebook was a parish register of such, born and dead on the same page. Let it live if it can. ("Novelty")
John Crowley