Story Quotes - Page 6

The story will reach an end and yeah fucking hell yeah I fucking did it.

It will be worth it if I am remembered, if not flatteringly, then at least with some small amount of accuracy.

The stories you believe to be true are the ones your life will become.

Anything which you have in profusion is poison

We write from soul of the heart.

It was years ago now, on a warm summer night,When the boy came out of the sea.His skin was blue and his hair was white,And he was in love with me.He was wild and true, and right then I knewThat he was in love with me.In our ship we sailed for years on the ocean,Unfettered and totally free.And he gave all his days to his endless devotion,For he was in love with me.I called it a phase and made endless delays,Though he was in love with me.One day the waves swept him right off the shipAnd dropped him into the blue.As his skin turned to water, his hair into fish,He asked if I loved him too.Too late I called through the wind and the water,'I was always in love with you.'I was always in love with you.

I know have lived, so many times, that the only thing I have left to remember is my writing, cause every single moment in life it's already written.

In my heaven sweet melodies of the skies ripple pool of the sea playing sweet song to me, sharing tales of the past, blending with mine as mirage, painting new...I breathe in, am in love and alive...

IF I can do it and you can do it, if I have a story and you have story.

Oh, how scary and wonderful it is that words can change our lives simply by being next to each other.

...Tolstoy said, happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story - then what does that make us?...

The whole of eternity is present now. We apprehend eternity through our senses and mental imagination. We can never recapture lost time. Memory allows us to taste the scintillating experience of living by recollecting our past in a series of sequential personal events and an orderly arrangement of a linked series of cultural happenings. Writing our personal story calls for us to remember the sensation of what it entails to live tactilely before losing lucidity of the mind.

When I read the ghastly lines of tragedy darkly penned into my life, I turn and notice that the pen in my hand is wet.

It’s a question of wanting to know how the story turns out. And one can only know that about one story, ever.

The strangest thing about demons is that they come to love you. As much as they try to murder the very core of you when you first meet, they become your closest companions. I never asked for this devil on my shoulder. But my eyes are burning and I’m not alone. If you see a red gaze at midheaven, look away. It’s exactly as they say: hell is a hungry place.

I tell the story to you now, but in each telling the story itself changes a little, changes direction, and that in turn changes you and me. So be very careful not only in how you repeat it but in how you remember it, goslings. More often than you realize it, the world is shaped by two things -- stories told and the memories they leave behind.

One’s options in this world are as vast as the horizon, which is technically a circle and thus infinitely broad. Yet we must choose each step we take with utmost caution, for the footprints we leave behind are as important as the path we will follow. They’re part of the same journey — our story.

Epiphanies awaken the soul.

Look upon the world with wonder.

Come closer, and I will tell you."But he forgot. He kissed her, and became lost in the exquisite sensation of his skin becoming too tight for his body. He murmured other things instead. A secret, a want, a promise. A story, in its own way.

She said, I'm going to miss you when you when I wake up.Don't wake up, he answered.But he did.Kestrel, beside him on the grass, said. "Did I wake you? I didn't mean to."It took him a velvety moment to understand that this was real. The air was quiet. An insect beat it's clear wings. She brushed hair from his brow. Now he was very awake."You were sleeping so sweetly," she said."Dreaming" He touched her tender mouth."About what?""Come closer, and I will tell you."But he forgot. He kissed her, and became lost in the exquisite sensation of his skin becoming too tight for his body. He murmured other things instead. A secret, a want, a promise. A story, in its own way.She curled her fingers into the green earth

And so to tame Christmas we spin myths to temper the story, we create our own caricatures to speak our own lines into the script, we gift ourselves to enhance an adventure now lagging, and we think we’re on a grand adventure when we’ve completely forgotten what an adventure is.

Only write a story that only you can write.

When all your efforts are channeled through a common canal for progress, no condition can alter a single sentence of your success story! Dream it; Drive it; Be in focus!

I was walking around in an almost blind, crazy rage of madness. There was a story burning a hole in my brain, and it was dying to come out on paper. It was begging of me to create it, but I didn’t know where to begin. A month after giving birth to the idea, I felt like I was losing my mind. Ideas would pop into my head in the middle of the night, or during a midterm, and I missed them, quite narrowly, almost every time. Every time an idea left my mind without taking the shape of a word on paper, my mind would automatically begin to churn something just as impressive, or at least close to it. I was digging myself into a shallow grave, and I was getting nowhere. And this was even before the thoughts were committed to paper.

Life is like a story, when all the resolution is resolved, you heave a sigh of relief.

When a day passes, it is no longer there. What remains of it? Nothing more than a story. If stories weren't told or books weren't written, man would live like the beasts, only for the day. The whole world, all human life, is one long story.

It is usually unbearably painful to read a book by an author who knows way less than you do, unless the book is a novel.

You cannot choose your face but you can choose your dress.

A story knows its way.

If where you are is worthwhile then where you are from doesn't matter.

Some of these things are true and some of them lies. But they are all good stories.

Everything you do is connected to who you are as a person and, in turn, creates the person you are becoming. Everything you do affects those you love. All of life is covenant.Imbedded in the idea of prayer is a richly textured view of the world where all of life is organized around invisible bonds or covenants that knit us together. Instead of a fixed world, we live in our Father's world, a world built for divine relationships between people where, because of the Good News, tragedies become comedies and hope is born.

Just imagine the existence of a man - let us call him A - who has left youth far behind, and of a woman whom we may call B, who is young and happy and has seen nothing as yet of life or of the world. Family circumstances of various kinds brought them together, and he grew to love her as a daughter, and had no fear that his love would change its nature. But he forgot that B was so young, that life was still a May-game to her and that it was easy to fall in love with her in a different way, and that this would amuse her. He made a mistake and was suddenly aware of another feeling, as heavy as remorse, making its way into his heart, and he was afraid. He was afraid that their old friendly relations would be destroyed, and he made up his mind to go away before that happened.

People didn’t know everything then. There were things people had never seen before. Places nobody had ever been. You could make up a story and people would believe it...also maybe it seems like it would be okay not to be perfect. Nobody was perfect back then. Just about everyone was defective, and most people had no choice except to stay that way.

The decision is your own voice, an opinion is the echo of someone else's voice.

conversion stories are one of the classic Western narratives about the self.

All grown-ups were once children... but only few of them remember it.” ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Once you know you are worthy and your story is worthy, you fight for other stories.

Once upon a time, there had been a seventeen-year-old assassin who had never let anyone get closer to her. Then, with the turning of a page, her story changed forever.

It's not about people believing the story. It's about you knowing and holding it to be true.

Civilians enjoy their time because soldiers sacrifice their time.

Stains tell a story,” Zac said, waving his arms as he spoke. “My car is full of random stains.

Read sometimes for the story, Bobby. Don't be like the book-snobs who won't do that. Read sometimes for the words - the language. Don't be like the play-it-safers that won't do that. But when you find a book that has both good story and good words, treasure that book.

What happened?" Bailey asks."That is somewhat difficult to explain," Tsukiko answers. "It is a long and complicated story.""And you're not going to tell me, are you?"She tilts her head a bit ... "No, I am not," she says."Great," Bailey mutters under his breath... "The bonfire exploded? How?""Remember when I said it was difficult to explain? That has not changed.

Different narrative forms naturally lend themselves to different aspects of existence. The novel is ideal for presenting the inner lives of its characters, the play is ideal for showing people in a room talking and movies are ideal for showing large metal objects hurtling through the air.

Think like magician, present like magician and perform like magician.

Other people's stories may become part of your own, the foundation of it, the ground it goes on.

Nine days after Perreault first saw the woman in black, an Indonesian mother of four came out of her tent long enough to claim that the mermaid had risen, fully-formed, from the very center of the quake.One of her boys, hearing this, said that he'd heard it was the other way around.

The heart of a story gives it life.

It is, I think, the rarest of leisure, hard work mixed with hard pleasure, to refine one's time of deep thought or light regard into the utterly self-absorbed and equally and abundantly outward-seeking shape of the personal essay -- a story comprised of found fact, of analyzed emotion, of fictive memory.

Every story needs some sort of secret that impels it forward. Otherwise why would the reader bother to keep on turning the pages?

Though the heart may be cracked wide, pain can still seep in.

You ought to the read stories of how people have endured the worst situation. You will find the strength to survive life.

As you begin to look deeply into the mystery of your own evolution, in place of good and evil you will find only stories, finished or unfinished.

Worry notif you are in darknessand the void sucks you in further.This is not the place we go to die.It’s where we are bornand our stories begin.

In your name, the family name is at last because it's the family name that lasts.

all we have is the story we tell. Everything we do, every decision we make, our strength, weakness, motivation, history, and character--what we believe--none of it is real; it's all part of the story we tell. But here's the thing: it's our goddamned story!

Skill alone cannot teach or produce a great short story, which condenses the obsession of the creature; it is a hallucinatory presence manifest from the first sentence to fascinate the reader, to make him lose contact with the dull reality that surrounds him, submerging him in another that is more intense and compelling.

My scars tell a story. They are a reminder of times when life tried to break me, but failed. They are markings of where the structure of my character was welded.