Quotes by Authors - Page 1179

Of course, even though Peter and I have had our disagreements, we share a bond I'd defend to the death if needs be. If all goes according to the natural order of things, siblings will know us longer than our parents, longer than our spouses and friends." Lord Westdale to Duncan

I think he's looking for comfort, but I don't have any to give.

I fell into a restless sleep in which my dreams carried me away over misty valleys and moonlit woodlands toward a fairy glen, where I watched their beautiful midnight revels in silent awe as I whispered the words of my favorite poem. " 'You shall hear a sound like thunder, / And a veil shall be withdrawn, / When her eyes grow wide with wonder, / On that hill-top, in that dawn.

You know children, always playing with the forces of darkness.

My Best Friend and I have spent plenty of time together, despite me being in my First Ever Relationship. This is because friends should always come first.

Travel is never a matter of money but of courage

You've got to show the world who you are before it tells you. Otherwise you become victim to someone you're not.

It was not in her nature to stop short at half-measures, not to pause when once she had fixed her purpose. If she ever trembled on looking forward to the utter ruin she was about to encounter, her second emotion was to despise herself for such pusillanimity, and to be roused to renewed energy.

If I love you more than you love me, I’m as good as dead. Yet I can’t make myself take it back. I can’t just walk away from you, because every time you pass by me without smiling, without touching my hand, or at least making eye contact, it feels like I’m dying inside.

Our senses are often the gateway to our stories.

Love it when a compelling new character kicks open your mental door, tracks mud across your brain, and props their feet up on your cerebrum.

...I have this one nasty habit. Makes me hard to live with. I write......writing is antisocial. It's as solitary as masturbation. Disturb a writer when he is in the throes of creation and he is likely to turn and bite right to the bone... and not even know that he's doing it. As writers' wives and husbands often learn to their horror......there is no way that writers can be tamed and rendered civilized. Or even cured. In a household with more than one person, of which one is a writer, the only solution known to science is to provide the patient with an isolation room, where he can endure the acute stages in private, and where food can be poked in to him with a stick. Because, if you disturb the patient at such times, he may break into tears or become violent. Or he may not hear you at all... and, if you shake him at this stage, he bites...

Fuck,” said Bernie. “Fuckwinky eyeballhead.” “No, Bernie. We don’t use those words.” “Which words?” “You know which words.” “You used them, Daddy.” “I made a mistake. I am sorry I said that word. It isn’t helping with our problem.” “What’s our problem?” “There may be no school today.” “That’s okay,” said Bernie. “It’ll be okay.” We weren’t sure where he had picked up that becalming phrase, probably from us, as we tried to talk ourselves out of the awful lucidity certain days afforded. The whole mirthless dwindle of things would suddenly pull into focus, the crabbed, moneyless exhaustion that stood in for our lives, and Maura and I would both start the chatter, the cheap pep: It’s okay, it’s going to be okay, we’ll get through this. When Bernie repeated these bromides, he sounded seventy years old. It broke your heart, as did about forty-three percent of the things Bernie said and did. About twenty-seven percent of the things he said and did made you want to scream and banish him to his childproofed room, or do much more heinous and ingenious things, just so he’d get the point, whatever the point could be with an almost-four-year-old, but still, to bury him alive and then save him at the last minute, or tell him that the state had passed a law against ice cream and he would go to prison if he even thought about it, because they now had the technology to detect illegal mint-chocolate-chip cogitation, had, in fact, the chips for it, seemed, if not conducive to his development, at least on some level deserved. Thirty percent of what Bernie said and did was either on the bubble or else utterly inscrutable, just the jolts and stutters of a factory-fresh brain working out the kinks.

Incredible how quickly a world can change. How my entire person, our friendship, can be reduced to nothing, with just one confession.

God has awesome plans for your life. So get excited!

No low-trust society will ever produce sustained innovation.

For most of history, man has had to fight nature to survive; in this century he is beginning to realize that, in order to survive, he must protect it.

Just because you disagreed with the Poll Tax and detested Margaret Thatcher—""Detest is a little inappropriate," Parlabane said. "Maybe closer to say I spent the entire Eighties wishing I was pissing on her rotting corpse.

I wanted him to declare in shock how overlooked and underestimated I had been ever since I was a child. How lucky he felt to be the one to have discovered me, to have me. I wanted him to look at me like maybe I was magic.

One day in your prayers, maybe once a month or week, lie back and thank God for the things not given to you.

There is nothing bigger and more important than a person’s calling

As long as there is greed (desire) for even a single situation, one will have to come back into the world and wandering will continue until then.

Coincidence is God's way of being anonymous.

We can never fully impact others to change if there is no evidence of change in our lives.

There’s nothing more powerful in “Your Moment of Truth” than people owning their truth, their part in a situation.

I'd come to see that home wasn't just about the place where you lived or the memories within the walls. It was the love you saw reflected in the eyes of the people around you, and the strength of your own feelings that made a place home.

Piety /pi•e•ty/ (modern definition)1. When you use Christ’s teachings to put someone in their place out of anger and self-righteousness. It is the number two reason people leave the faith. The first is pride.

Given a choice between goose egg and heartache, I would choose heartache.

You are not who you say you are but rather what you do. Look at what it is that you do. If you don't like what you see: decide what you would like to see instead. Make those changes. Realize your potential. Harness your power. Seize every opportunity and do what it is that allows you to be true to yourself. Don't deny yourself your path. Only YOU can decide! Only YOU have that power! Only YOU are living your life!

If the immutable character of sex is contested, perhaps this construct called ‘sex’ is as culturally constructed as gender; indeed, perhaps it was always already gender, with the consequence that the distinction between sex and gender turns out to be no distinction at all.

Think of something clever, witty or profound, keep it short and people may quote you.

don't let the pursuit of happiness stop you from being happy right here, right now.

Moaning, she melted into my arms and molded her body against mine as if giving me permission to take whatever I yearned for. And I will. I can’t think of anything else.The ocean waves crashed against us. That cool water rose up to our knees. All was forgotten in those sweet kisses—lips gliding against lips, wet tongues twisting and exploring, hungry hands and taunting fingers. Fireworks of lust and need exploded inside me.

A flicker of defiance flared very briefly in Rincewind's battered heart.

I never thought it was fair that anatomy decided what my brain was fit for.

Trust isn’t about having a spotless record and finding someone else who does. It’s about finding someone good-hearted enough not to hurt you on purpose, and knowing you’ll recover and carry on when pain inevitably comes.

Reason sits firm and holds the reins, and she will not let the feelings burst away and hurry her to wild chasms. The passions may rage furiously, like true heathens, as they are; and the desires may imagine all sorts of vain things: but judgment shall still have the last word in every argument, and the casting vote in every decision. Strong wind, earthquake-shock, and fire may pass by: but I shall follow the guiding of that still small voice which interprets the dictates of conscience.

What was he like afterwards?Totally adorable-he fell asleep right on top of me!What was he like afterwards?I thought he'd died. No, Really! He fell asleep-I had to roll him off of me so i could breathe

For every choice there is a tragedy

Fear can't be reasoned with. Neither can hate. They're like love. They're almost identical emotions.

We may indeed in counsel point to the higher road, but we cannot compel any free creature to walk upon it. That leadeth to tyranny, which disfigureth good and maketh it seem hateful.

My life's been defined by my actions. I've shaped my destiny through my battles. I would rather keep chasing after my dreams until I crumble into dust than sit around waiting for fate to show me mercy.

The ever-present macabre, a universal dance,You cannot hide, whether you wield crossbow or lance. Like the bones of the house in which you dwell, Death will come, to drag your soul to hell.

How do we regulate our emotions? The answer is surprisingly simple: by thinking about them. The prefrontal cortex allows each of us to contemplate his or her own mind, a talent psychologists call metacognition. We know when we are angry; every emotional state comes with self-awareness attached, so that an individual can try to figure out why he's feeling what he's feeling. If the particular feeling makes no sense—if the amygdala is simply responding to a loss frame, for example—then it can be discounted. The prefrontal cortex can deliberately choose to ignore the emotional brain.

Farewells can be shattering, but returns are surely worse. Solid flesh can never live up to the bright shadow cast by its absence. Time and distance blur the edges; then suddenly the beloved has arrived, and it's noon with its merciless light, and every spot and pore and wrinkle and bristle stands clear.

If you were writing a book to be published, you might be restrained by the fear that your wild imaginings might drive some people crazy. As it is, you are free, you can go off in any direction whatsoever, so long as the flame in your mind burns that way.

I hate to be what is called a clever girl—there are too many of that sort now!

Change doesn’t always mean instability, you know. Being dormant? Now that’s crippling, much worse than change.

If I had known what trouble you were bearing;What griefs were in the silence of your face;I would have been more gentle, and more caring,And tried to give you gladness for a space.I would have brought more warmth into the place,If I had known.If I had known what thoughts despairing drew you;(Why do we never try to understand?)I would have lent a little friendship to you,And slipped my hand within your hand,And made your stay more pleasant in the land,If I had known.

Imagine a man who doesn't believe in anything, hope for anything, doesn't love anyone. This is a description of a dead or paralyzed soul. This happens from great grief, or from an unhappy upbringing when parents make from their children's souls paralytics.

You can't rush art." I crumpled another lost attempt and tossed it behind me. "Besides, patience is a virtue.""It's a virtue until it's a waste of time," he pointed out.The cello unleashed a few notes that sounded strangely bright for such an instrument, and Hal nodded in its direction. "See; even a musical instrument agrees with me.

Some people are agents from birth, Monsignors -- he told them -- appointed to the work by the period of history, the place, and their own natural dispositions. In their cases, it was simply a question of who got to them first, Your Eminences: 'Whether it's us, whether it's the opposition, or whether it's the bloody missionaries.

I walked past her, thinking: Is this what happens to the youth of women? Those whom we have met in the past, if suddenly we desire to see them again, have they become old? Is the young woman whom we desire like a character on the stage, when, unable to secure the actress who created the part, the management is obliged to entrust it to a new star? But then it is no longer the same.

And anything that might hurt me would just make me stronger in the end.

I pray that the world never runs out of dragons. I say that in all sincerity, though I have played a part in the death of one great wyrm. For the dragon is the quintessential enemy, the greatest foe, the unconquerable epitome of devastation. The dragon, above all other creatures, even the demons and the devils, evokes images of dark grandeur, of the greatest beast curled asleep on the greatest treasure hoard. They are the ultimate test of the hero and the ultimate fright of the child. They are older than the elves and more akin to the earth than the dwarves. The great dragons are the preternatural beast, the basic element of the beast, that darkest part of our imagination.The wizards cannot tell you of their origin, though they believe that a great wizard, a god of wizards, must have played some role in the first spawning of the beast. The elves, with their long fables explaining the creation of every aspect of the world, have many ancient tales concerning the origin of the dragons, but they admit, privately, that they really have no idea of how the dragons came to be.My own belief is more simple, and yet, more complicated by far. I believe that dragons appeared in the world immediately after the spawning of the first reasoning race. I do not credit any god of wizards with their creation, but rather, the most basic imagination wrought of unseen fears, of those first reasoning mortals.We make the dragons as we make the gods, because we need them, because, somewhere deep in our hearts, we recognize that a world without them is a world not worth living in.There are so many people in the land who want an answer, a definitive answer, for everything in life, and even for everything after life. They study and they test, and because those few find the answers for some simple questions, they assume that there are answers to be had for every question. What was the world like before there were people? Was there nothing but darkness before the sun and the stars? Was there anything at all? What were we, each of us, before we were born? And what, most importantly of all, shall we be after we die?Out of compassion, I hope that those questioners never find that which they seek.One self-proclaimed prophet came through Ten-Towns denying the possibility of an afterlife, claiming that those people who had died and were raised by priests, had, in fact, never died, and that their claims of experiences beyond the grave were an elaborate trick played on them by their own hearts, a ruse to ease the path to nothingness. For that is all there was, he said, an emptiness, a nothingness.Never in my life have I ever heard one begging so desperately for someone to prove him wrong.This is kind of what I believe right now… although, I do not want to be proved wrong…For what are we left with if there remains no mystery? What hope might we find if we know all of the answers?What is it within us, then, that so desperately wants to deny magic and to unravel mystery? Fear, I presume, based on the many uncertainties of life and the greatest uncertainty of death. Put those fears aside, I say, and live free of them, for if we just step back and watch the truth of the world, we will find that there is indeed magic all about us, unexplainable by numbers and formulas. What is the passion evoked by the stirring speech of the commander before the desperate battle, if not magic? What is the peace that an infant might know in its mother’s arms, if not magic? What is love, if not magic?No, I would not want to live in a world without dragons, as I would not want to live in a world without magic, for that is a world without mystery, and that is a world without faith.And that, I fear, for any reasoning, conscious being, would be the cruelest trick of all.-Drizzt Do’Urden

I used to wonder why I had hair on my legs, but now I know it's for my toddler sons and daughters to pull themselves up off the ground with as I scream in pain.

Passion stimulates you, love intoxicates you, marriage sobers you, and parenthood tries you.

Yet the organic label itself—like every other such label in the supermarket—is really just an imperfect substitute for direct observation of how a food is produced, a concession to the reality that most people in an industrial society haven’t the time or the inclination to follow their food back to the farm, a farm which today is apt to be, on average, fifteen hundred miles away.

Maybe I’d lost something. Maybe I’d lost a lot—more, even, than I could suffer—but I still had my own self. And lonesome as I might be, wasn’t no force on Earth or from above what could make me less.

There are such a lot of things that have no place in summer and autumn and spring. Everything that’s a little shy and a little rum. Some kinds of night animals and people that don’t fit in with others and that nobody really believes in. They keep out of the way all the year. And then when everything’s quiet and white and the nights are long and most people are asleep—then they appear.