Famous Quotes Ipsum

All art is quite useless. art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. we turn, not older with years, but newer every day. so much of what i see reminds me of something i read in a book, when shouldn't it be the other way around? when i get a little money, i buy books; and, if any is left, i buy food and clothes. do not the most moving moments of our lives find us all without words? i am woman, hear me roar! tomboy. alright, call me a tomboy. tomboys get medals. tomboys win championships. tomboys can fly. oh, and tomboys aren't boys. in our struggle for freedom, truth is the only weapon we possess. truth indeed rather alleviates than hurts, and will always bear up against falsehood, as oil does above water. drop the question what tomorrow may bring, and count as profit every day that fate allows you. the mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n. the people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and if they can't find them, make them. if you have only one smile in you, give it to the people you love. don't be surly at home, then go out in the street and start grinning ''good morning'' at total strangers. the whole difference between construction and creation is this; that a thing constructed can only be loved after it is constructed, but a thing created is loved before it exists. it's really a wonder that i haven't dropped all my ideals, because they seem so absurd and impossible to carry out. yet i keep them, because in spite of everything i still believe that people are really good at heart. i simply can't build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery, and death. fame lost its appeal for me when i went into a public restroom and an autograph seeker handed me a pen and paper under the stall door. surely a king who loves pleasure is less dangerous than one who loves glory. perfection is terrible; it cannot have children. if i had a formula for bypassing trouble, i wouldn't pass it around. wouldn't be doing anybody a favor. trouble creates a capacity to handle it. i don't say embrace trouble. that's as bad as treating it as an enemy. but i do say, meet it as a friend, for you'll see a lot of it and had better be on speaking terms with it. music is well said to be the speech of angels; in fact, nothing among the utterances allowed to men is felt to be so divine. it brings us nearer to the infinite. moonlight is sculpture; sunlight is painting. footfalls echo in the memory / down the passage we did not take / towards the door we never opened / into the rose garden some things are true whether you believe them or not. if any individual live too much in relations, so that he becomes a stranger to the resources of his own nature, he falls, after awhile, into a distraction, or imbecility, from which he can only be cured by a time of isolation, which gives the renovating fountains time to rise up. a life of self-indulgence, if led with a whole heart, may also bring a certain wisdom. no man's life is ordinary to himself. is not life a hundred times too short for us to bore ourselves? hope is a dangerous thing. drive a man insane..

In tereza's eyes, books were the emblems of a secret brotherhood. for she had but a single weapon against the world of crudity surrounding her: the books she took out of the municipal library, and above all, the novels. she had read any number of them, from fielding to thomas mann. they not only offered her the possibility of an imaginary escape from a life she found unsatisfying; they also had a meaning for her as physical objects: she loved to walk down the street with a book under her arm. it had the same significance for her as an elegant cane for the dandy a century ago. it differentiated her from the others. we do not write in order to be understood, we write in order to understand. when i get a little money, i buy books; and, if any is left, i buy food and clothes. words mean more than what is set down on paper - it takes the human voice to infuse them with shades of deeper meaning. a day is a miniature eternity. it's at night, when perhaps we should be dreaming, that the mind is most clear, that we are most able to hold all our life in the palm of our skull. i don't know if anyone has ever pointed out that great attraction of insomnia before, but it is so; the night seems to release a little more of our vast backward inheritance of instincts and feelings; as with the dawn, a little honey is allowed to ooze between the lips of the sandwich, a little of the stuff of dreams to drip into the waking mind. i wish i believed, as j. b. priestley did, that consciousness continues after disembodiment or death, not forever, but for a long while. three score years and ten is such a stingy ration of time, when there is so much time around. perhaps that's why some of us are insomniacs; night is so precious that it would be pusillanimous to sleep all through it! a "bad night" is not always a bad thing. who shall measure the heat and violence of the poet's heart when caught tangled in a woman's body? it's amazing the clarity that comes with psychotic jealousy. the cure for everything is salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea. interesting that the beliefs of others are labeled mere superstitions, mr. todd. ours we call religion. religion is a daughter of hope and fear, explaining to ignorance the nature of the unknowable. under every deep, a lower deep opens. even for me life had its gleams of sunshine. you know that place between sleep and awake? where you still remember dreaming? that's where i'll always think of you. loneliness is the first thing which god's eye named, not good. are there not chapters in everybody's life that seem to be nothing, and yet affect all the rest of history?.

The individual is born of nature, but the artist is born of that individual, yearning to transcend the merely "natural" and to make complete that which, existentially, is forever incomplete, unrealized. the one way of tolerating existence is to lose oneself in literature as in a perpetual orgy. when i dare to be powerful / to use my strength / in the service of my vision / then it becomes / less and less important / whether i am afraid. can't say fairer than that. but i always think that the best way to know god is to love many things. i love the man that can smile in trouble, that can gather strength from distress and grow brave by reflection. the street corner where always, for years, in passing you felt, unexplained, a pang of despair, like nausea, till one night, late, late, on that spot you were struck, struck still, and again felt how her head had thrust to your shoulder. footfalls echo in the memory / down the passage we did not take / towards the door we never opened / into the rose garden a memory without a blot of contamination must be an exquisite treasure, an inexhaustible source of pure refreshment nothing revives the past so completely as a smell that was once associated with it. no man's life is ordinary to himself..