Sharp Quotes (displaying: 1 - 30 of 355 quotes )
Sharp knives seemed to cut her delicate feet, yet she hardly felt them, so deep was the pain in her heart. She could not forget that this was the last night she would ever see the one for whom she had left her home and family, had given up her beautiful voice, and had day by day endured unending torment, of which he knew nothing at all. An eternal night awaited her.
Sharpe is my favorite role of all that I've played. He's a very complex character. He knows that he's a good soldier, but he will always have to fight the prejudice of aristocratic officers because of his rough working-class upbringing. On the battlefield, he's full of confidence - but off it, he is unsure, a bit shy and ill at ease.
Have done with learning, And you will have no more vexation. How great is the difference between "eh" and "o"? What is the distinction between "good" and "evil"? Must I fear what others fear? What abysmal nonsense this is! All men are joyous and beaming, As though feasting upon a sacrificial ox, As though mounting the Spring Terrace; I alone am placid and give no sign, Like a babe which has not yet smiled. I alone am forlorn as one who has no home to return to. All men have enough and to spare: I alone appear to possess nothing. What a fool I am! What a muddled mind I have! All men are bright, bright: I alone am dim, dim. All men are sharp, sharp: I alone am mum, mum! Bland like the ocean, Aimless like the wafting gale. All men settle down in their grooves: I alone am stubborn and remain outside. But wherein I am most different from others is In knowing to take sustenance from my Mother!
so evenly was strained their war and battle,till the moment when Zeus gave the greater renown to Hector, son ofPriam, who was the first to leap within the wall of the Achaians. In apiercing voice he cried aloud to the Trojans: "Rise, ye horse-tamingTrojans, break the wall of the Argives, and cast among the ships fierceblazing fire."So spake he, spurring them on, and they all heard him with their ears,and in one mass rushed straight against the wall, and with sharp spearsin their hands climbed upon the machicolations of the towers. AndHector seized and carried a stone that lay in front of the gates, thickin the hinder part, but sharp at point: a stone that not the two bestmen of the people, such as mortals now are, could lightly lift from theground on to a wain, but easily he wielded it alone, for the son ofcrooked-counselling Kronos made it light for him. And as when a shepherdlightly beareth the fleece of a ram, taking it in one hand, and littledoth it burden him, so Hector lifted the stone, and bare it straightagainst the doors that closely guarded the stubborn-set portals, doublegates and tall, and two cross bars held them within, and one boltfastened them. And he came, and stood hard by, and firmly plantedhimself, and smote them in the midst, setting his legs well apart, thathis cast might lack no strength. And he brake both the hinges, and thestone fell within by reason of its weight, and the gates rang loudaround, and the bars held not, and the doors burst this way and thatbeneath the rush of the stone. Then glorious Hector leaped in, with facelike the sudden night, shining in wondrous mail that was clad about hisbody, and with two spears in his hands. No man that met him could haveheld him back when once he leaped within the gates: none but the gods,and his eyes shone with fire. Turning towards the throng he cried to theTrojans to overleap the wall, and they obeyed his summons, and speedilysome overleaped the wall, and some poured into the fair-wroughtgateways, and the Danaans fled in fear among the hollow ships, and aceaseless clamour arose.
And who are you, the proud Lord saidthat I must bow so low? Only a cat of a different coat, that's all the truth I know. In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws. And, mine are as long and sharp, my Lordas long and sharp as yours. And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that Lord of Castamere, but now the rains weep o'er his hall, with no one there to hear. Yes, now the rains weep o'er his hall, and not a soul to hear.
How long your closet held a whiff of you, Long after hangers hung austere and bare. I would walk in and suddenly the true. Sharp sweet sweat scent controlled the air. And life was in that small still living breath. Where are you? since so much of you is here, Your unique odour quite ignoring death. My hands reach out to touch, to hold what's dear. And vital in my longing empty arms. But other clothes fill up the space, your space, And scent on scent send out strange false alarms. Not of your odour there is not a trace. But something unexpected still breaks through. The goneness to the presentness of you.
When I go away from you. The world beats dead. Like a slackened drum. I call out for you against the jutted stars. And shout into the ridges of the wind. Streets coming fast, One after the other, Wedge you away from me, And the lamps of the city prick my eyes. So that I can no longer see your face. Why should I leave you, To wound myself upon the sharp edges of the night?
Rats. They fought the dogs and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles. Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats. By drowning their speaking. With shrieking and squeaking. In fifty different sharps and flats.
I'll be sure to pass your comments along to the manager-after I fire him for letting you in."Don't be cranky, Josh." She slanted her most persuasive smile his way, only slightly annoyed when she saw it didn't make a dent. "I'm sorry I woke you up. I wasn't thinking about the time."Not thinking is one of your most highly honed skills."I'm not going to fight with you, and I'm not going to apologize for not sleeping with you just because your ego's bruised."His smile was thin and sharp as a scalpel. "Duchess, if I'd gotten your clothes off, you not only wouldn't have to apologize, you'd be thanking me."Oh, I see I'm mistaken. Your ego's not bruised, it's just painfully swollen.
let me tell you what happens when you cook down the syrup of loss over the open fire of sorrow: it solidfies into something wlaw. not grief, like you'd expect, or even regret. no, it gets thick as paste, black as ash; yet it isn't until you dip a finger in and feel that sharp taste dissolving on your tounge that you realize this is angel in its purest form, unrefined; a substance to be weighed and measyred and spread.
When Godric banished Fairweather and Tune, they all three bled for it, and part of Godric snaked off too, nevermore to come again. And it's Godric's flesh that Ailred's cough cleaves to like an axe. And when brave Mouse went down off Wales, he bore to the bottom the cut of Godric's sharp farewell. And when Gillian vanished in a Dover wood, she took with her all but the husk of Godric's joy.
By the time I left to go downtown for supper, I was at the high point just short of where intoxication begins to droop into clumsiness or melancholy; and the minute I was outdoors the streets, in the very beautiful late of afternoon weather, improved, that if it can be improved, with the feeling of being alone for a little while, and with the sharp, tender enjoyment of a city I am ordinarily tired in.
There is a sacred horror about everything grand. It is easy to admire mediocrity and hills; but whatever is too lofty, a genius as well as a mountain, an assembly as well as a masterpiece, seen too near, is appalling. Every summit seems an exaggeration. Climbing wearies. The steepnesses take away one's breath; we slip on the slopes, we are hurt by the sharp points which are its beauty; the foaming torrents betray the precipices, clouds hide the mountain tops; mounting is full of terror, as well as a fall. Hence, there is more dismay than admiration. People have a strange feeling of aversion to anything grand. They see abysses, they do not see sublimity; they see the monster, they do not see the prodigy.
..though Miss Rebecca Sharp has twice had occasion to thank Heaven, it has been, in the first place, for ridding her of some person whom she hated, and secondly, for enabling her to bring her enemies to some sort of perplexity or confusion; neither of which are very amiable motives for religious gratitude,
The life so brief, the art so long in the learning, the attempt so hard, the conquest so sharp, the fearful joy that ever slips away so quickly - by all this I mean love, which so sorely astounds my feeling with its wondrous operation, that when I think upon it I scarce know whether I wake or sleep.
Between the end of that strange summer and the approach of winter, my life went on without change. Each day would dawn without incident and end as it had begun. It rained a lot in September. October had several warm, sweaty days. Aside from the weather, there was hardly anything to distinguish one day from the next. I worked at concentrating my attention on the real and useful. I would go to the pool almost every day for a long swim, take walks, make myself three meals. But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drank, the very air I breathed, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o'clock in the morning.
Under the Mountain dark and tall. The King has come unto his hall! His foe is dead, the Worm of Dread, And ever so his foes shall fall. The sword is sharp, the spear is long, The arrow swift, the Gate is strong; The heart is bold that looks on gold; The dwarves no more shall suffer wrong. The dwarves of yore made mighty spells, While hammers fells like ringing bells. In places deep, where dark things sleep, In hollow halls beneath the fells.-from The Hobbit (Dwarves Battle Song)
Jacob caught my arm with a shivering hand. "Please, Bella. I'm begging." His dark eyes were glistening with tears. A lump filled my throat. "Jake, I have to" "You don't, though. You really don't. You could stay here with me. You could stay alive. For Charlie. For me." The engine of Carlisle's Mercedes purred; the rhythm of the thrumming spiked when Alice revved it impatiently. I shook my head, tears spattering from my eyes with the sharp motion. I pulled my arm free, and he didn't fight me. "Don't die Bella," he choked out. "Don't go. Don't." What if I never saw him again? The thought pushed me past the silent tears; a sob broke out from my chest. I threw my arms around his waist and hugged for one too-short moment, burying my tear-wet face against his chest. He put his big hand on the back of my hair, as if to hold me here. "Bye, Jake." I pulled his hand from my hair, and kissed his palm. I couldn't bear to look at his face. "Sorry," I whispered.
Why should a man marry and have children, study and build a career; why should he invent new techniques, build new institutions, and develop new ideas--when he doubts if there will be a tomorrow which can guarantee the value of human effort? Crucial here for nuclear man is the lack of a sense of continuity, which is so vital for a creative life. He finds himself part of a nonhistory in which only the sharp moment of the here and now is valuable. For nuclear man life easily becomes a bow whose string is broken and from which no arrow can fly. In his dislocated state he becomes paralyzed. His reactions are not anxiety and joy, which were so much a part of existential man, but apathy and boredom.