Yours Quotes (page 683)
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Tell me one last thing," said Harry. "Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?"Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry's ears even though the bright mist was descending again, obscuring his figure."Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean it is not real?
J. K. Rowling
Grief causes you to leave yourself. You step outside your narrow little pelt. And you can’t feel grief unless you’ve had love before it - grief is the final outcome of love, because it’s love lost. […] It’s the cycle of love completed: to love, to lose, to feel grief, to leave, and then to love again. Grief is the awareness that you will have to be alone, and there is nothing beyond that because being alone is the ultimate final destiny of each individual living creature. That’s what death...
Philip K. Dick
Belief sloshes around in the firmament like lumps of clay spiralling into a potter's wheel. That's how gods get created, for example. They clearly must be created by their own believers, because a brief resume of the lives of most gods suggests that their origins certainly couldn't be divine. They tend to do exactly the things people would do if only they could, especially when it comes to nymphs, golden showers, and the smiting of your enemies.
Terry Prachett
You are going, Jane?"I am going, sir."You are leaving me?"Yes."You will not come? You will not be my comforter, my rescuer? My deep love, my wild woe, my frantic prayer, are all nothing to you?"What unutterable pathos was in his voice! How hard was it to reiterate firmly, "I am going!"Jane!"Mr. Rochester."Withdraw then, I consent; but remember, you leave me here in anguish. Go up to your own room, think over all I have said, and, Jane, cast a glance on my sufferings; think of me."He...
Charlotte Bronte
Let my heiress have full rights, Live in my house, sing songs that I composed. Yet how slowly my strength ebbs, How the tortured breast craves air. The love of my friends, my enemies' rancor. And the yellow roses in my bushy garden, And a lover's burning tendernessall this. I bestow upon you, messenger of dawn. Also the glory for which I was born, For which my star, like some whirlwind, soared. And now falls. Look, its falling. Prophesies your power, love and inspiration. Preserving my...
Anna Akhmatova
Come, my child," I said, trying to lead her away. "Wish good-bye to the poor hare, and come and look for blackberries."Good-bye, poor hare!" Sylvie obediently repeated, looking over her shoulder at it as we turned away. And then, all in a moment, her self-command gave way. Pulling her hand out of mine, she ran back to where the dead hare was lying, and flung herself down at its side in such an agony of grief as I could hardly have believed possible in so young a child."Oh, my darling, my...
Lewis Carroll
