Sent Quotes (page 14)
When I was a kid I believed everything I was told, everything I read, and every dispatch sent out by my own overheated imagination. This made for more than a few sleepless nights, but it also filled the world I lived in with colors and textures I would not have traded for a lifetime of restful nights.
Stephen King
Did you kiss?" asked Hermione briskly. Ron sat up so fast that he sent his ink bottle flying all over the rug. Disregarding this completely he stared avidly at Harry."Well?" he demanded. Harry looked from Ron's expression of mingled curiosity and hilarity to Hermione's slight frown, and nodded."HA!"Ron made a triumphant gesture with his fist an went into a raucous peal of laughter that made several timid-looking second years over beside the window jump. A reluctant grin spread over Harry's...
J. K. Rowling
Wolfe was drinking beer and looking at pictures of snowflakes in a book someone had sent him from Czechoslovakia......Wolfe seemed absorbed in the pictures. Looking at him, I said to myself, "He's in a battle with the elements. He's fighting his way through a raging blizzard, just sitting there comfortably looking at pictures of snowflakes. That's the advantage of being an artist, of having imagination." I said aloud, "You mustn't go to sleep, sir, it's fatal. You freeze to death."The...
Rex Stout
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer. Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor."Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee--Respite--respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"Quothe the Raven, "Nevermore.
Edgar Allan Poe
We knew that it would soon be over, and so we put it all into a poem, to tell the universe who we were, and why we were here, and what we said and did and thought and dreamed and yearned for. We wrapped our dreams in words and patterned the words so that they would live forever, unforgettable. Then we sent the poem as a pattern of flux, to wait in the heart of a star, beaming out its message in pulses and bursts and fuzzes across the electromagnetic spectrum, until the time when, on worlds a...
Neil Gaiman