Take Me Quotes (page 48)
Your favorite colour . . . it's green?"That's right." Then I think of something to add. "And yours is orange."Orange?" He seems unconvinced."Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset," I say. "At least, that's what you told me once."Oh." He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. "Thank you."But more words tumble out. "You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always...
Suzanne Collins
Narcissus does not fall in love with his reflection because it is beautiful but because it is his. If it were his beauty that enthralled him, he would be set free in a few years by its fading.
"After all," sighed Narcissus the hunchback, "on me it looks good.
The contemplation of his reflection does not turn Narcissus into Priapus: the spell in which he is trapped is not a desire for himself but the satisfaction of not desiring the nymphs.
"I prefer my pistol to my p…," said Narcissus; "it...
W. H. Auden
I smil'd to my self at the sight of this money, O drug! said I aloud, what art thou good for? Thou art not worth to me, no not the taking off of the ground, one of those knives is worth all this heap, I have no manner of use for thee, e'en remain where thou art, and go to the bottom as a creature whose life is not worth saving. However, upon second thoughts, I took it away...
Daniel Defoe
Those people were pushing life and night and day in front of them. Life hides everything from people. Their own noise prevents them from hearing anything else. They couldn't care less. The bigger and taller the city, the less they care. Take it from me. I've tried. It's a waste of time.
Louis-Ferdinand Celine
Poem Written in a Copy of BeowulfAt various times, I have asked myself what reasonsmoved me to study, while my night came down, without particular hope of satisfaction, the language of the blunt-tongued Anglo-Saxons. Used up by the years, my memoryloses its grip on words that I have vainlyrepeated and repeated. My life in the same wayweaves and unweaves its weary history. Then I tell myself: it must be that the soulhas some secret, sufficient way of knowingthat it is immortal, that its vast,...
Jorge Luis Borges
The Red God takes what is his, lovely girl. And only death may pay for life. You saved me and the two I was with. You stole three deaths from the Red God. We have to give them back. Speak three names and the man will do the rest. Three lives I will give you - no more, no less, and we're done.
George R. R. Martin