More Quotes (page 602)
-
-
-
If our children are unable to voice what they mean, no one will know how they feel. If they can’t imagine a different world, they are stumbling through a darkness made all the more sinister by its lack of reference points. For a young person growing up in America’s alienated neighborhoods, there can be no greater empowerment than to dare to speak from the heart — and then to discover that one is not alone in ones feelings.
Rita Dove
Thou - why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more or a hair less in his beard than thou hast. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thow hast hazel eyes. What eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarreling. Thou hast quarreled with a man for coughing in the street because he hath wakened thy dog that hath...
William Shakespeare
The notions of a young man of one or two and twenty,' said he, 'as to what is necessary in manners to make him quite the thing, are more absurd, I believe, than those of any other set of beings in the world. The folly of the means they often employ is only to be equalled by the folly of what they have in view.
Jane Austen
A beautiful and binding morning. The world outside begins to breathe. See clouds arriving without warning. I need you here to shelter me. If I could make these moments endless. If I could stop the winds of change. If we just keep our eyes wide open. Then everything would stay the same. And I know that only time will tell me how. We'll carry on without each other. So keep me awake for every moment. Give us more time to be this way. We can't stay like this forever. But I can have you next to me...
Josh Groban
Thanks to art, instead of seeing one world only, our own, we see that world multiply itself and we have at our disposal as many worlds as there are original artists, worlds more different one from the other than those which revolve in infinite space, worlds which, centuries after the extinction of the fire from which their light first emanated, whether it is called Rembrandt or Vermeer, send us still each one its special radiance.
Marcel Proust
Yet nothing can to nothing fall, Nor any place be empty quite; Therefore I think my breast hath all. Those pieces still, though they be not unite; And now, as broken glasses show. A hundred lesser faces, so. My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore, But after one such love, can love no more.
John Donne