Quotes by Illustrators - Page 5

. . . she is our dog. And because she is our dog, we can pick out the tiny, almost imperceptible good qualities from the ocean of terrible qualities, and we can cling to them. Because we want to love our dog.

Not belonging is a terrible feeling. It feels awkward and it hurts, as if you were wearing someone else's shoes.

Her library is a meeting place for all who love books. They discuss matters of the world and matters of the spirit.

I believe dreams connect us to our ancestors and it is through creativity that we can tap into this in the conscious state. Creativity is a sort of trance that we have as artists that erases time and space.

A wedding is allegedly one of the most wondrous experiences in a woman’s life. All attending her presence are to make the occasion completely about her. Her beauty in that sliver of time is to be suspended in eternity so that ten years, thirty pounds and two kids later, she may sigh at the princess she once was.

The happiest people don’t bother about whether life is unfair. They just concentrate on what they have.

I have nothing now but praise for my life. I'm not unhappy. I cry a lot because I miss people. They die and I can't stop them. They leave me and I love them more...

I'm the first to admit that I don't write right. Now, relax and enjoy the show! The sideshow, that is.

During relaxation we drop our guard. Particularly in conversation. Relaxed conversation leads to openness. And in openness we often reveal what should never be revealed.

Have you ever wondered What happens to all the poems people write?The poems they neverlet anyone else read?Perhaps they are Too private and personalPerhaps they are just not good enough.Perhaps the prospect of such a heartfeltexpression being seen as clumsyshallow sillypretentious saccharineunoriginal sentimentaltrite boringoverwrought obscure stupidpointless or simply embarrassingis enough to give any aspiringpoet good reason to hide their work frompublic view.forever.Naturally many poems are IMMEDIATELY DESTROYED.Burnt shredded flushed awayOccasionally they are folded Into little squaresAnd wedged under the corner of An unstable piece of furniture(So actually quite useful)Others are hidden behind a loose brickor drainpipe or sealed into the back of an old alarm clockor put between the pages of AN OBSCURE BOOKthat is unlikely to ever be opened.someone might find them one day, BUT PROBABLY NOTThe truth is that unread poetry Will almost always be just that. DOOMED to join a vast invisible river of waste that flows out of suburbia.wellAlmost always.On rare occasions,Some especially insistentpieces of writing will escapeinto a backyard or a lanewaybe blown along a roadside embankmentand finally cometo rest in a shopping centerparking lotas so many things doIt is here that something quite Remarkabletakes placetwo or more pieces of poetry drift toward each otherthrough a strange force of attractionunknown to scienceand ever so slowlycling togetherto form a tiny, shapeless ball.Left undisturbed,this ball graduallybecomes larger and rounder as otherfree versesconfessions secrets stray musings wishes and unsentlove lettersattach themselvesone by one.Such a ball creeps through the streetsLike a tumbleweed for months even yearsIf it comes out only at night it has a goodChance of surviving traffic and childrenand through a slow rolling motionAVOIDS SNAILS(its number one predator)At a certain size, it instinctivelyshelters from bad weather, unnoticedbut otherwise roams the streetssearching for scraps of forgottenthought and feeling.Given time and luckthe poetry ball becomes large HUGE ENORMOUS:A vast accumulation of papery bitsThat ultimately take to the air, levitating byThe sheer force of so much unspoken emotion.It floats gentlyabove suburban rooftops when everybody is asleepinspiring lonely dogsto bark in the middle of the night.Sadlya big ball of papernot matter how large and buoyant, is still a fragile thing.Sooner or LATERit will be surprised bya suddengust of windBeaten by driving rainand REDUCEDin a matter of minutesto a billionsoggy shreds.One morningeveryone will wake upto find a pulpy messcovering front lawnsclogging up guttersand plastering carwindscreens.Traffic will be delayedchildren delightedadults baffledunable to figure outwhere it all came fromStranger stillWill be the Discovery that Every lump of Wet paperContains variousfaded words pressed into accidentalverse.Barely visiblebut undeniably presentTo each reader they will whisper something different something joyfulsomething sadtruthful absurdhilarious profound and perfectNo one will be able to explain the Strange feeling of weightlessnessor the private smilethat remainsLong after the street sweepers have come and gone.

We are not entitled to ALL of anything, not even ourselves... and rightfully so.

Is the Starwife a witch?" asked Firgil. "Is any wise female a witch? Just because they have been blessed by the Green and given strange and beautiful gifts, does not mean they use them for evil purposes.

A Rough GuideBe polite at the reception desk.Not all the knives are in the museum.The waitresses know that a nice boyis formed in the same way as a deckchair.Pay for the beer and send flowers.Introduce yourself as Richard.Do not refer to what somebody didat a particular time in the past.Remember, every Friday we used to gofor a walk. I walked. You walked.Everything in the past is irregular.This steak is very good. Sit down.There is no wine, but there is ice cream.Eat slowly. I have many matches.

To truly fail in life is to never try. When you fall on your face, it is an opportunity for you to find the road again. It may remind you how hard the road is, but you will never forget its presence once you make contact.

I don't want to leave.

I can't be yours forever, Mab," I told her, the words flying into my mouth as if by magic. "I already belong to someone else. I belong to Alice!

Nothing is what one thinks it is. Cloth is stone and circus is an art. There are no certainties.

I no longer believe that the current education system is able to equip our children for a fast-moving future. Technology has evolved so rap-idly in the last five years that to put a child in an education system that was designed for a future that will most likely no longer exist for the majority, seems almost absurd.

dont be afraid of death, be afraid of the unlived life.

The hard part is putting one word after another.

And now he was dead, his soul fled down to the Sunless Country and his body lying cold in the cold mud, somewhere in the city's wake.

An uncorked kid to me is an expression as to who they truly are and isn't it that that as adults we strive to achieve throughout our whole lives?

Sticks and stones may break your bones, but I will surely kill you.

He wished he was with his mom in her library, where everything was safe and numbered and organized by the Dewey decimal system. Ben wished the world was organized by the Dewey decimal system. That way you'd be able to find whatever you were looking for, like the meaning of your dream, or your dad.

Siobhan said that when you are writing a book you have to include some descriptions of things. I said that I could take photographs and put them in the book. But she said the idea of a book was to describe things using words so that people could read them and make a picture in their own head.

Miss, I'd gladly pay you to remove your clothes.

Making a whole is very important. Most people paint things and forget the whole.

Woah,' I said, blocking the doorway. 'You can't come in here. This is the girls' r

Courage is like a muscle. We strengthen it by use.

I think people believe in heaven because they don't like the idea of dying, because they want to carry on living and they don't like the idea that other people will move into their house and put their things into the rubbish.

You have two choices... You can make the BEST of IT or you can let IT get the BEST of you!

When I grow up I mean to beA Lion large and fierce to see.I'll mew so loud that Cook in fright Will give me all the cream in sight.And anyone who dares to say'Poor Puss' to me will rue the day.Then having swallowed him I'll creepInto the Guest Room Bed to sleep.

And it is through fantasy that children achieve catharsis. It is the best means they have for taming wild things.

Where there is evil, brutality and hatred, there is overwhelming courage, strength and kindness. Focus on the good.Stay positive.Stay together.Stay peaceful.Stay strong.

He pinched the remaining chapters’ pages delicately between his fingers and sighed. He always hated reaching the end of a good book.

I want to be your personal penguin.Please?

Sejal had not thought of her home, or of India as a whole, as cool. She was dimly aware, however, of a white Westerner habit of wearing other cultures like T-shirts—the sticker bindis on club kids, sindoor in the hair of an unmarried pop star, Hindi characters inked carelessly on tight tank tops and pale flesh. She knew Americans liked to flash a little Indian or Japanese or African. They were always looking for a little pepper to put in their dish.

Yours is a true heart, Vespertilio. Beware of it, for it is surely too large for thy chest to contain.

What fearful shapes and shadows beset his path amidst the dim and ghastly glare of a snowy night!

Raising a child is a time of RAPID CHANGE! From the ages of 0 to 19, a PARENT can age over 30 years!

Ohh,' said the girl with a sad tilt of her

Why can't I just Google it like everything else?! I hate you public library system!

Mom always taught me not to use the word hate. As if it were profanity.

The thing is, and here we come to E. Gorey's Great Simple Theory About Art (which he has never tried to communicate to anybody else until now, so prepare for Severe Bafflement), that on the surface they are so obviously those situations that it is very difficult to see that they really are about something else entirely. This is the theory, incidentally, that anything is art, and it's the way I tell, is presumably about some certain thing, but is really always about something else, and it's no good having one without the other, because if you have the something it is boring and if you just have the something else it's irritating.

The room had lost its morning light, the glow of expectation and potential. The daylight was now gray, and the new day was already used, a little soiled by mistaken thoughts and makeshift undertakings.

Do you think someone can change? Like maybe in a year or two? Like, do you think if maybe two people aren't right for each other right now, maybe they could be later?

Appalling things can happen to children. And even a happy childhood is filled with sadnesses. Is there any other period in your life when you hate your best friend on Monday and love them again on Tuesday? But at eight, 10, 12, you don't realise you're going to die. There is always the possibility of escape. There is always somewhere else and far away, a fact I had never really appreciated until I read Gitta Sereny's profoundly unsettling Cries Unheard about child-killer Mary Bell.At 20, 25, 30, we begin to realise that the possibilities of escape are getting fewer. We begin to picture a time when there will no longer be somewhere else and far away. We have jobs, children, partners, debts, responsibilities. And if many of these things enrich our lives immeasurably, those shrinking limits are something we all have to come to terms with.This, I think, is the part of us to which literary fiction speaks.

The hemulen woke up slowly and recognised himself and wished he had been someone he didn't know.

I ate a lot of candy and engaged in light stalking: I prowled Blythe’s Instagram and Twitter, I read her reviews, considered photos of her baked goods and watched from a distance as she got on her soapbox – at one point bragging she was the only person she knew who used her real name and profession online. As my fascination mounted, and my self-loathing deepened, I reminded myself that there are worse things than rabid bloggers (cancer, for instance) and that people suffer greater degradations than becoming writers. But still, I wanted to respond.

Take a look and pick up a book, you never know what you might just find.

So they went running together, silent, toward the vast wastes of snow where no living thing but they two moved under the stars of night.

The places and people in the following stories have been represented accurately to the best of my ability; yet my writing is supposed to be a tale, and as in any historical novel, my own imagination has blended with fact to create poetical reality.

Summer was over in twenty minutes that day. Finished. At four o'clock in the afternoon the roses were quiet on their stems, full-blown, fulfilled; the water in the pool was warm; the leaves on the trees quiet, too, and green. The cat lay with his belly to the sun, steeped in heat.

Winter is the time for stories, staying fast by the glow of fire. And outside, in the darkness, the stars are brighter than you can possibly imagine.

It’s quite simple. Death isn’t what we think it is. It isn’t life which ends but time which stops.

Ladies glisten, men perspire, horses sweat.-Early Nun Quote, The Old Ursuline Convent (1727) New Orleans, LA

The world was all magic, and he had a special bottle of it in his right hand.

Boy! There are times when I get the feeling that science develops things that are supposed to be good for us, but that just make trouble.”Dr. Tresselt’s blue eyes seemed to throw out sparks of amusement. “I know how you feel, Joe,” he said. “But my stars, boy, nobody can be alive and never have any trouble! Being alive is just meeting troubles every day and overcoming them. Just to stand up straight against the pull of gravity is a fight, isn’t it?

MOMBIE - noun - Suffers from forgetfulness, fatigue, exhaustion, moodiness, sleeplessness, confusion and moments of insanity!Has difficulty eating or drinking anything while it’s still hot and peeing alone.

It [advanced technology] had isolated the people of the old world from nature, shielding them from the consequences of imbalance, and yet they’d believed, right up until the very end, that it would save them. But…advances in technology could never compensate for failures in empathy.