Me Quotes (page 249)
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With every morn my life afresh must break. The crust of self, gathered about me fresh; That thy wind-spirit may rush in and shake. The darkness out of me, and rend the mesh. The spider-devils spin out of the flesh-Eager to net the soul before it wake, That it may slumberous lie, and listen to the snake. George Mac. Donald
George MacDonald
You don't know the difference between truth and make-believe. You never stop acting. It's second nature to you. You act when there's a party here. You act to the servants, you act to father, you act to me. To me you act the part of the fond, indulgent, celebrated mother. You don't exist, you're only the innumerable parts you've played. I've often wondered if there was ever a you or if you were never anything more than a vehicle for all these other people that you've pretended to be. When I've...
W. Somerset Maugham
One of the best guides to how to be self-loving is to give ourselves the love we are often dreaming about receiving from others. There was a time when I felt lousy about my over-forty body, saw myself as too fat, too this, or too that. Yet I fantasized about finding a lover who would give me the gift of being loved as I am. It is silly, isn't it, that I would dream of someone else offering to me the acceptance and affirmation I was withholding from myself. This was a moment when the maxim...
Bell Hooks
And long afterwards, in moments of the greatest merriment, there would rise before him the figure of the little clerk with the balding brow, uttering his penetrating words: "Let me be. Why do you offend me?" --and in these penetrating words rang other words: "I am your brother." And the poor young man would bury his face in his hands, and many a time in his life he shuddered to see how much inhumanity there is in man, how much savege coarseness is concealed in refined, cultivated manners, and...
Nikolai Gogol
But, Bill, old scout, your sister says there's a most corking links near here."He turned and stared at me, and nearly ran us into the bank."You don't mean honestly she said that?"She said you said it was better than St. Andrews."So I did. Was that all she said I said?"Well, wasn't it enough?"She didn't happen to mention that I added the words, 'I don't think'?"No, she forgot to tell me that."It's the worst course in Great Britain.
P. G. Wodehouse
I mean, what kind of literature do you think ants would make if they could read? Not F. Scott Fuckin’ Fitzgerald, not Joyce or D-D—D-Dostoyevsky, not even friggin’ Steinbeck. Wouldn’t make any sense to ’em. You ever read Nabokov’s Lolita? Best book of the twentieth century, but old-fashioned my friend, old fuckin’ fashioned. Same old story over and over again, one more guy mesmerized by his own dick, wandering around the wreckage of his life. Who the fuck cares about that? Give me the Knights...
Eric Bogosian
