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Old Quotes (page 182)

Jake went in, aware that he had, for the first time in three weeks, opened a door without hoping madly to find another world on the other side. A bell jingled overhead. The mild, spicy smell of old books hit him, and the smell was somehow like coming home. Stephen King
Oh for a book and a shady nook, Either indoors or out, with the green leaves whispering overhead, or the street cries all about. Where I may read at all my easeboth of the new and old, For a jolly good book whereon to lookis better to me than gold John Wilson
Want of imagination makes things unreal enough to be destroyed. By imagination I mean knowledge and love. I mean compassion. People of power kill children, the old send the young to die, because they have no imagination. They have power. Can you have power and imagination at the same time? Can you kill people you don’t know and have compassion for them at the same time? Wendell Berry
We're so old that the winds of age echo along our ribs and pick at our eye sockets. We could be gone tomorrow. A chill, say, or a little slip on the cliff side. I feel as fragile as a dried flower. I rattle a little in the moving air, but I'm only coherent dust-a shape of what once was. My essence is going. Sheri S. Tepper
William Shakespeare quote: "one pain is cured by another. catch some new infection in your..."
one pain is cured by another. catch some new infection in your eye and the poison of the old one would die. William Shakespeare
Even though you may want to move forward in your life, you may have one foot on the brakes. In order to be free, we must learn how to let go. Release the hurt. Release the fear. Refuse to entertain your old pain. The energy it takes to hang onto the past is holding you back from a new life. What is it you would let go of today? Mary Manin Morrissey
William Butler Yeats quote: "I whispered, 'I am too young,' and then, 'I am old enough';..."
I whispered, 'I am too young,' and then, 'I am old enough'; wherefore I threw a penny to find out if I might love. William Butler Yeats
Sylvia Day quote: "Why can men be boys all of their lives, but we women must grow..."
Why can men be boys all of their lives, but we women must grow old while we are yet young? Sylvia Day
...afterward he remembered only the feeling that he was about to leave somewhere small and rational - a place that made sense - for somewhere huge and old that didn't; Neil Gaiman
Helene Cixous quote: "Love is when you suddenly wake up as a cannibal, and not just..."
Love is when you suddenly wake up as a cannibal, and not just any old cannibal, or else wake up destined for devourment. Helene Cixous
He meant you no harm?" said Omoro. "He acted very friendly," said the old man, "but the cat always eats the mouse it plats with. Alex Haley
Nature repairs her ravages, but not all. The uptorn trees are not rooted again; the parted hills are left scarred; if there is a new growth, the trees are not the same as the old, and the hills underneath their green vesture bear the marks of the past rending. To the eyes that have dwelt on the past, there is no thorough repair. George Eliot
Then as I was getting up to the Closerie des Lilas with the light on my old friend, the statue of Marshal Ney with his sword out and the shadows of the trees on the bronze, and he alone there and nobody behind him and what a fiasco he'd made of Waterloo, I thought that all generations were lost by something and always had been and always would be and I stopped at the Lilas to keep the statue company and drank a cold beer before going home to the flat over the sawmill. Ernest Hemingway
in the high, old tottering voice that seemed to have been tuned and broken at the capstan bars. Then he rapped on the door with a bit of stick like a handspike that he carried, and when my father appeared, called roughly for a glass of rum. This, when it was brought to him, he drank slowly, like a connoisseur, lingering on the taste and still looking about him at the cliffs and up at our signboard. Robert Louis Stevenson
often she had seemed to herself to be moving among those vanished figures of old books and pictures, an invisible ghost among the living, better acquainted with them than with her own friends. she very nearly lost consciousness that she was a separate being, with a future of her own. Virginia Woolf

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