Moving In Quotes (page 48)
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I don’t remember waking up that Sunday morning —- perhaps I never slept. Iwas just sitting up in bed watching Sarah sleep. She’d slept naked in my bed but she hadn’t let me have sex with her. I didn’t care. I loved watching her sleep. The light was falling through my window, all over the blue sheets of my old bed, and onto her face. I lifted up the sheets and watched her breasts move with her breath. They seemed to be sleeping themselves.
I hoped that she wouldn’t wake up. I laid the sheet...
Ethan Hawke
Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle.'That's some catch, that Catch-22,' he observed.'It's the best there is,' Doc Daneeka agreed. Yossarian saw it clearly in all its spinning reasonableness. There was an elliptical precision about its perfect pairs of parts that was graceful and shocking, like good modern art, and at times Yossarian wasn't quite sure he saw it at all, just the way he was never quite sure about...
Joseph Heller
It is hard not to feel that there must be something very wrong with much of what we do in school, if we feel the need to worry so much about what many people call 'motivation'. A child has no stronger desire than to make sense of the world, to move freely in it, to do the things that he sees bigger people doing.
John Holt
Don't put down too many roots in terms of a domicile. I have lived in four countries and I think my life as a writer and our family's life have been enriched by this. I think a writer has to experience new environments. There is that adage: No man can really succeed if he doesn't move away from where he was born. I believe it is particularly true for the writer.
Arthur Hailey
I do not love you except because I love you; I go from loving to not loving you, From waiting to not waiting for you. My heart moves from cold to fire. I love you only because it's you the one I love; I hate you deeply, and hating you. Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you. Is that I do not see you but love you blindly. Maybe January light will consume. My heart with its cruel. Ray, stealing my key to true calm. In this part of the story I am the one who. Dies, the only...
Pablo Neruda
Perhaps I shall not write my account of the Paleolithic at all, but make a film of it. A silent film at that, in which I shall show you first the great slumbering rocks of the Cambrian period, and move from those to the mountains of Wales...from Ordovician to Devonian, on the lush glowing Cotswolds, on to the white cliffs of Dover... An impressionistic, dreaming film, in which the folded rocks arise and flower and grow and become Salisbury Cathedral and York Minster...
Penelope Lively
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it shows?”
Before Jude could answer, Brenna was up, pacing, knocking the heels of her hands against the sides of her, moaning out curses. “I’ll have to move away, leave my family. I can go to the west counties. I have some people, on my mother’s side, in Galway. No, no, that’s not far enough. I’ll have to leave the country entirely. I’ll go to Chicago and stay with your granny until I get on me feet. She’ll take me in, won’t she?
Nora Roberts
This is the creature there has never been. They never knew it, and yet, none the less, they loved the way it moved, its suppleness, its neck, its very gaze, mild and serene. Not there, because they loved it, it behavedas though it were. They always left some space. And in that clear unpeopled space they savedit lightly reared its head, with scarce a traceof not being there. They fed it, not with corn, but only with the possibilityof being. And that was able to confersuch strength, its brow...
Rainer Maria Rilke
It is as if the Photograph always carries its referent with itself, both affected by the same amorous or funereal immobility, at the very heart of the moving world: they are glued together, limb by limb, like the condemned man and the corpse in certain tortures; or even like those pairs of fish (sharks, I think, according to Michelet) which navigate in convoy, as though united by an eternal coitus.
Roland Barthes