Stills Quotes (page 11)
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In fact no one recognizes the happiest moment of their lives as they are living it. It may well be that, in a moment of joy, one might sincerely believe that they are living that golden instant "now," even having lived such a moment before, but whatever they say, in one part of their hearts they still believe in the certainty of a happier moment to come. Because how could anyone, and particularly anyone who is still young, carry on with the belief that everything could only get worse: If a...
Orhan Pamuk
So, you’re hitting on Clare the Fair.”
“I’m not hitting on her. I’m exploring the possibility of seeing her on social terms.”
“He’s hitting on her,” Owen said around a mouthful of chips. “You’ve still got that thing you had for her back in high school. Are you still writing bad song lyrics about heartbreak?”
“Suck me. And they weren’t that bad.”
“Yeah, they were,” Ryder disagreed. “But at least now we don’t have to listen to you playing your keyboard and howling them down the hall.
Nora Roberts
Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see a shadow."One can never consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar."I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something; and because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do something that I can do."The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched - they must be felt with the heart." "The most pathetic person in the world is someone who has sight, but has no vision.
Helen Keller
Like all who are impassioned, I take blissful delight in losing myself, in fully experiencing the thrill of surrender. And so I often write with no desire to think, in an externalized reverie, letting the words cuddle me like a baby in their arms. They form sentences with no meaning, flowing softly like water I can feel, a forgetful stream whose ripples mingle and undefine, becoming other, still other ripples, and still again other. Thus ideas and images, throbbing with expressiveness,...
Fernando Pessoa
December stillness, teach me through your trees. That loom along the west, one with the land, The veiled evangel of your mysteries. While nightfall, sad and spacious, on the down. Deepens, and dusk embues me where I stand, With grave diminishings of green and brown, Speak, roofless Nature, your instinctive words; And let me learn your secret from the sky, Following a flock of steadfast-journeying birds. In lone remote migration beating by. December stillness, crossed by twilight roads, Teach...
Siegfried Sassoon
A friend came to visit James Joyce one day and found the great man sprawled across his writing desk in a posture of utter despair.
James, what’s wrong?' the friend asked. 'Is it the work?'
Joyce indicated assent without even raising his head to look at his friend. Of course it was the work; isn’t it always?
How many words did you get today?' the friend pursued.
Joyce (still in despair, still sprawled facedown on his desk): 'Seven.'
Seven? But James… that’s good, at least for you.'
Yes,'...
Stephen King
Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was going to be sick-he hit the field on all fours-coughed-and something gold fell into his hand.'I've got the snitch!' he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.'He didn't catch it, he nearly swalloed it,' Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference-Harry hadn't broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the...
J. K. Rowling
...you, the privileged, the chosen, the pampered, with nothing to do but go to school, hang out, do a little studying, go to college, get into a money-making racket, grow into your fat forties, still whining, still complaining, when there are millions around the world who'd offer fingers and toes to be in your seats, nicely clothed, well fed, with the world by the balls.
Frank McCourt
If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent. If the unheard, unspoken. Word is unspoken, unheard; Still is the spoken word, the Word unheard, The Word without a word, the Word within. The world and for the world; And the light shone in the darkness and. Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled. About the center of the silent Word. Oh my people, what have I done unto thee. Where shall the word be found, where shall the word. Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence
T. S. Eliot
Some things you forget. Other things you never do. But it's not. Places, places are still there. If a house burns down, it's gone, but the place--the picture of it--stays, and not just in my remory, but out there, in the world. What I remember is a picture floating around out there outside my head. I mean, even if I don't think if, even if I die, the picture of what I did, or knew, or saw is still out there. Right in the place where it happened.
Toni Morrison