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Perhaps Quotes (page 66)

Men not men, but animas of coal and iron and clay. Fauna of the elements, carbon, iron, silicon: elementals. They had perhaps some of the weird inhuman beauty of minerals, the lustre of coal, the weight and blueness and resistance of iron, the transparency of glass. David Herbert Lawrence
At best you can hold death at bay, you can pretend it isn't there; but to deny it totally is a sickness. And I think that horror fiction is one of the ways to approach these problems, and, perversely perhaps, to enjoy a vicarious confrontation with them. Clive Barker
Literature has been our salvation, literature has inspired and guided lovers, routed despair and can perhaps in this case save the world. John Cheever
Little bits of things make me do it;? perhaps a word that I said and ought not to have said ten years ago;? the most ordinary little mistakes, even my own past thoughts to myself about the merest trifles. They are always making me shiver. Anthony Trollope
Give me a man or woman who has read a thousand books and you give me an interesting companion. Give me a man or woman who has read perhaps three and you give me a very dangerous enemy indeed. Anne Rice
What a frightening thing is the human, a mass of gauges and dials and registers, and we can only read a few and those perhaps not accurately. John Steinbeck
Hollis thought he looked like William Burroughs, minus the bohemian substrate (or perhaps the methadone). Like someone who'd be invited quail shooting with the vice-president, though too careful to get himself shot. William Gibson
I can tell by my own reaction to it that this book is harmful." But let him only wait and perhaps one day he will admit to himself that this same book has done him a great service by bringing out the hidden sickness of his heart and making it visible.— Altered opinions do not alter a man’s character (or do so very little); but they do illuminate individual aspects of the constellation of his personality which with a different constellation of opinions had hitherto remained dark and... Friedrich Nietzsche
Antonio: Will you stay no longer? nor will you not that I go with you? Sebastian: By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of them on you. William Shakespeare
Good sense tells us that earthly things are rare and fleeting, and that true reality exists only in dreams. To draw sustenance from happiness- natural or artificial - you must first have the courage to swallow it; and those who perhaps most merit happiness are precisely those on whom felicity, as mortals conceive it, always acts as a vomitive. Charles Baudelaire
Henry David Thoreau quote: "If a man does not keep pace with his companion, perhaps it is..."
If a man does not keep pace with his companion, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Henry David Thoreau
After us they'll fly in hot air balloons, coat styles will change, perhaps they'll discover a sixth sense and cultivate it, but life will remain the same, a hard life full of secrets, but happy. And a thousand years from now man will still be sighing, "Oh! Life is so hard!" and will still, like now, be afraid of death and not want to die. Anton Chekhov
Losing you is most difficult for me, but the nature of my love for you is what matters. If it distorts into half-truth, then perhaps it is better not to love you. I must keep my mind but loose you. Haruki Murakami
I Need a Good Book I need a good story. I need a good book. The kind that explodes. Off the shelf. I need some good writing, Alive and exciting, To contemplate all by myself. I need a good novel, I need a good read. I probably need. Two or three. I need a good tale. Of love and betrayal. Or perhaps an adventure at sea. I need a good saga. I need a good yarn. A momentous and mightily. Or slight one. But with thousands and thousands. And thousands of books, I need someone to tell me. The right... John Lithgow
I suppose it is submerged realities that give to dreams their curious air of hyper-reality. But perhaps there is something else as well, something nebulous, gauze-like, through which everything one sees in a dream seems, paradoxically, much clearer. A pond becomes a lake, a breeze becomes a storm, a handful of dust is a desert, a grain of sulphur in the blood is a volcanic inferno. What manner of theater is it, in which we are at once playwright, actor, stage manager, scene painter and audience? W. G. Sebald

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