Story Quotes - Page 9

The life of the spirit is enfold in great literature.

Do you believe that our stories were written from before that we are but actors performing on the stage called life with neither rehearsals nor retakes, the dialogues of our own and a fleeting audience or are you someone who pens down his own story?

He shook his head and thought about it for a second. “Maybe I'm not straight? Can I still be straight when I'm sitting here looking into your eyes?” he asked. Maybe it was the alcohol talking or maybe he wasn't as straight as he thought he was.“Yes. Absolutely.” Cormag nodded and watched him closely.“Even when I think they're so pretty? They are, you know. So many different shades of brown…and a little green. Just a touch; not a lot. So pretty.” He sighed happily, watching those dark eyes staring back at him in surprise. He lay his head on his arms, smiling at the way Cormag flushed in embarrassment and turned his full attention onto his bottle of beer.“Wow, you are super drunk.

Confrontation affords you the opportunity to hear the other side of the story.

Her body was rounded like earth. Stories. Breath. . . . Her eyes have been painted closed. I understand. To tell a story you must travel inward.

We all have the time we need to tell our stories.

I need to tell you a story, a tale of fate and emergence.

All of our lives are a living, breathing story, and each heartbeat means a new page has been turned; chapters don't close, they continue.

Take a deep breath. Inhale peace. Exhale happiness.

Being captain of such a vessel was not a stressful job, despite the sheer size of the thing. Everything was automated, and this meant that this behemoth could be efficiently handled by a far less seasoned captain. Besides, hiring mature skippers with actual experience would cost real money. And hey, the computers ran everything anyway – and that’s how Bran Johannsen enters this story – as a fine young inexperienced graduate of the Merchant Space Academy in Mars City, who only got his Executive Officer’s ticket four short years ago.

Writing a story, regardless of length, begins always with a single word.

Respect cannot be inherited, respect is the result of right actions.

A story only matters, I suspect, to the extent that the people in the story change.

A quote is a story, suspended in a sentence and treasured through time.

No book can be written till it wants to be written, till it shouts to be written, and raises up a persistent din in the writer's head. And then, if you want peace, you just have to pull it out and freeze it in print. Nothing less would do.

The story of your past doesn’t have to become the story of your life.

Music is the fastest motivator in the world.

Tell, tell more sounds interesting and little familiar...

People who are left alone tell the story but are never a part of it; those who are a part of the crowd, are story bound, acting upon the role assigned to them in the theater of living, loving and longing.

Some writers might tell you that writing is like a piece of magic - a process of creating something out of nothing, and I guess I used to think about it that way too a long long time ago. But as I've lived my life and loved and lost friends and family, and seen dreams smashed and resurrected, and marveled at the pettiness, drear ambition and ignorance of the herd of which I am a part, I can no longer say that a poem or a story or a script comes from nothing. If it's any good, if it has any power, any potent emotional body, then it's something that a writer has paid for, not only in time, but in all the anxiety that accompanies living and those small fret-filled acts of becoming present that make it possible for us to see beyond our little patch of immediacy. It's not just a reaching out, but a reaching in, into the depths of our being from whence we've sprung.

He would reach for me in the middle of the night, nearly every single night, wrapping one of those solid arms around my waist and pulling me in close. So. Close.

The way you live your day is a sentence in the story of your life. Each day you make the choice whether the sentence ends with a period, question mark, or exclamation point.

I'd prefer her story than history.

I see a broken shell and I remind myself that something might have needed setting free. See, broken things always have a story, don't they?

If you wait, your heavenly Father will pick you up, carry you out into the night, and make your life sparkle. He wants to dazzle you with the wonder of his love.

We’re the villains you root for in the story.

some stories are sudden like an inhale, some are overcoming like the tides, some, we name mistake, some are called lessons. Stories...tragic, romantic, comedy. We make them, they make us .

He. Does there have to be a he? It seems weak and unoriginal doesn’t it, for stories told by girls to always have a he?

What's important is that a story changes every time you say it out loud. When you put it on paper, it can never change. But the more times you tell it, the more changes will occur. A story is a living thing; it moves and shifts

Once you realize your past is just a story, it no longer has any power over you.

I am content when writing short stories.

Because you came into lifeBecause I liked to get your sightBecause we were awake on the hill that nightBecause we roamed sitting side by sideBecause you slept on shoulder for a whileBecause you talked like a childBecause you made me smileBecause of your coffee bitesBecause your aroma made me flyBecause we shared in nightsBecause I read you line by lineBecause we sang old timesBecause we became crazy mindsBecause we criedBecause we poured our heart out – couldn’t hide.Because we drank and got highBecause you looked me that way that nightBecause you caressed my hair – love thrivedBecause we walked hand in hand for milesBecause you hold me tight before sunriseBecause you gave me reason to live lifeBecause you left me to surviveBecause I am just alive~Emptiness~

Hunger gives flavour to the food.

Write about us,” Robinson urged. “Tell our story.” And I did it; I told our story. You hold it in your hands.

If the stones that we walked on could talk, they would surely tell our story." - Magnetic Reverie

Always follow your dreams. Never give up. If you have a thought in your mind write it down. If you have a desire in your heart to write, then write. Tell your story. Make a difference. Touch someone’s heart.

Soft on the neck of either dove love's hands let slip the reins: and while we look for light of love, love's twilight wanes...

A night of full moon is favourable to tales of apparitions.

How could people not believe in magic when the whole world is made of it?

Your story is the greatest legacy that you will leave to your friends.It's the longest-lasting legacy you will leave to your heirs.

Is there anyone’s life story you don’t want to know?”“Not really.” His expression was unexpectedly serious. “Because people make a story of their lives.Gains, losses, tragedy and triumph—you can tell a lot about someone simply by what they put into eachcategory. You can learn a lot about what you put into each category by your reaction to them. Theyteach you about yourself without ever intending to do it—and they teach you a lot about life.

Welcome to Book-a-holic Anonymous.Hi, I'm Jazz and I am addicted to the written word. I love the smell of the blackest ink sliding across texture paper. My eyes squint against the loss of time within the pages of story. I don't think there's a cure for my compulsion to lose myself within life and times of those characters bound between the covers.

Rewriting is the crucible where books are born.

No word matters. But man forgets reality and remembers words.

Truly, there is magic in fairy

Because every story is a ghost story, even mine.

to love is to destroy and that to be loved is the one to be destroyed

Be what the world needs.

What immense satisfaction it must be to fashion a story like [Maupassant's]! One must say 'fashion' because it is not merely writing, but massing and cutting away like a sculptor, chiseling lean and clear. And to put one's work confidently in the crucible of Time; to know that in six perfect pages is the finest form of one's idea: This satisfaction is the only true reward of the artist, and this his highest possible joy on Earth.

What would behoove me to instantly declare God not to be God unless He followed my script in some tediously exacting manner? I must confess that I am less likely to believe that it’s a matter of some narcissistic demand that I freely pen my own script. Rather, I think it’s fear that I’m too inadequate to follow God’s.

Every story is us

When you know how, it's a pleasure to burn.

A powerful process automatically takes care of progress, productivity and profits.

Villainessa Tittel was a hired killer, an assassin by trade. She had enjoyed the best education and had been trained by assassins who had (until then at least) been considered the best in the business. She had turned to ‘cleaning’ as an occupation because she really enjoyed endings more than beginnings – and anyway, she didn’t need to know her mark’s entire pedigree or life’s story, or to have some kind of facetious moral justification just to collect her fee. Unsurprisingly, when she did read – on those rare occasions – her books were always dog-eared from the back.

Pour your heart onto the page.

If sacrifice is not the theme of my life, there’s no sense telling the story.

Curiosity is the intellectual need to answer questions and close open patterns. Story plays to this universal desire by doing the opposite, posing questions and opening situations.

The monkey liked most humans. They left food cans outside their homes for his family to rummage through in the morningsun. Some yelled and threw sticks, but were slow and didn’t bite. Humans were mostly harmless.

Right now universes are being created thrown together and destroyed the world over. Seven billion souls, each preoccupied with their own unique reality, each with a head full of memories, plans, learned knowledge and accumulated trivia; birthdays, telephone numbers, bus routes, passwords. Each one with somewhere to go, something they need to get done. They all have birth certificates and shoe sizes. Every single one has a story.

I was starting to believe I was a character in a greater story, which is why the elements of story made sense in the first place.