Best 36 quotes of Nina George on MyQuotes

And yes, being lovesick is like being in mourning. Because you die, because your future dies and you with it...There is a hurting time. It lasts for so long. But it gets better. I know that now.

As long as she doesn't turn too smart for men For the stupid ones, she will, Madame. But who wants them anyway? A stupid man is every woman's' downfall.

Asking questions is an art.

A surprise visit? That's so romantic...but fairly risky." "If you don't take any risks, life will bass you by," Cunco shipped in.

A wood that smells of the sea.

Books aren’t eggs, you know. Simply because a book has aged a bit doesn’t mean it’s gone bad.” There was now an edge to Monsieur Perdu’s voice too. “What is wrong with old? Age isn’t a disease. We all grow old, even books. But are you, is anyone, worth less, or less important, because they’ve been around for longer?

Books can do many things, but not everything. We have to live the important things, not read them.

Everything was to be experienced at the highest pitch of passion and life. To expect something greater after life was to forget that life was the greatest thing of all. He had forgotten that, and now he wanted to live with all his strength and with no further dread.

Fear transforms your body like an inept sculptor does a perfect block of stone...It's just that you're chipped away at from within, and no one sees how many splinters and layers have been taken off you. You become ever thinner and more brittle inside, until eve the slightest emotion bowls you over. One hug, and you think you're going to shatter and be lost.

...having a child is like casting off your own childhood forever. It's as if it's only then that you really grasp what it means to be a man. You're scared too that all your weaknesses will be laid bare, because fatherhood demands more than you can give.... I always felt I had to earn your love, because I loved you so, so much.

He had barred himself from mourning because...because he had never been part of Manon's life. Because there was nobody to mourn with him. Because he was alone, totally alone with the burden of his love.

Hesse's Stage came to Perdu's mind. Most people were familiar with the first line, of course: "In all beginnings dwells a magic force..." but very few people know the ending: "For guarding us and helping us to live." And hardly anyone realized that Hesse wasn't talking about new beginnings. He meant a readiness to bid farewell. Farewell to old habits, Farwell to illusions. Farewell to a long-expired life, in which one was nothing but a husk, rustled by the occasional sigh.

He’s short, fat and, objectively speaking, not the most obvious choice of pin-up boy. But he’s smart, strong and he can probably do whatever’s necessary for a life of love. I think he’s the most beautiful man I will ever kiss,’ said Samy. ‘It’s strange that magnificent, good-hearted people like him don’t receive more love. Do their looks disguise their character so well that nobody notices how open their soul, their being and their principles are to love and kindness?

How strange, thought Perdu, that one laugh can wipe away so much hardship and suffering. A single laugh. And the years flow together and…away.

I don't believe that any question is too big, you simply have to tailor your answers.

I don't know how many years it's been since I last slept with my husband. I was faithful, stupid and so awfully lonely that I'll gobble you up if you're nice to me. Or kill you because I can't bear it.

I don't know why we women believe that sacrificing our desires makes us more attractive to men. What on earth are we thinking? That someone who goes without her wishes deserves to be loved more than she who follows her dreams?

It takes only one word to hurt a woman, a matter of seconds, one stupid, impatient blow of the crop. But winning back her trust takes years. And sometimes there isn't the time.

Loving or not loving should be like coffee or tea; people should be allowed to decide. How else are we to get over all our dead and the women we've lost?" Cunco whispered dejectedly. "Maybe we shouldn't." "You think so? Not get over it. but...then? What then? What task do the departed want us to do?" That was the question that Jean Perdu had been unable to answer for all these years. Until now. Now he knew. "To carry them within us—that is our task. We carry them all inside us, all our dead and shattered loves. Only they make us whole. If we begin to forget or cast aside those we've lost, then...then we are no longer present either. " Jean looked at the Allier River, glittering in the moonlight. "All the love, all the dead, all the people we've known. They are the rivers that feed our sea of souls. If we refuse to remember them, that sea will dry up too." He felt an overwhelming inner thirst to seize life with both hands before time sped past even faster. He didn't want to die of thirst, he wanted to be as wide and free as the sea—full and deep. He longed for friends. He wanted to love. He wanted to feel the marks that Manon had left inside him. He still wanted to feel her coursing through him, mingling with him. Manon had changed him forever—why deny it? That was how he had become the man whom Catherine had allowed to approach her. Jean Perdu suddenly realized that Catherine could never taken Mann's place. She took her own place. No worse, no better, simply different. He longed to show Catherine the full expanse of his sea!

Max caught the rapidly melting ice cream on his tongue. With his mouth half full, he said in a deliberately casual tone: "I'm going to write children's books. I've got a couple of ideas." [...] Max pulled his notebook from his back pocket and read aloud: "The old master magician was wondering when a brave girl might finally come along and dig him up from the garden where he had lain forgotten under the strawberries for a century and a half..." "Or the story of the little cow [...] the holy cow that always has to take the blame. I imagine that even the holy cow used to be a young calf once, before people started saying, 'holy cow, what did you say you want to be? A writer?' " Max grinned. "And another one about Claire, a girl who swaps bodies with her kitty cat." [...] "... and the one where little Bruno complains to the guardians of heaven about the family they lumbered him with... " [...] "... and when people's shadows go back to straighten their owners' childhoods out a bit..." Wonderful, thought Jean. I'll send my shadow back in time to straighten my life out. How tempting. How sadly impossible.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go out and greet those wonderful creatures and say a few nice words in a language invented by Tolkein. I've practiced, but I sound like Chewbacca making a New Year's speech.

Often it’s not we who shape words, but the words we use that shape us.

Oh no, she was never elitist. She said that far too many women are the accomplices of cruel, indifferent men. They lie for these men. They lie to their own children. Because their fathers treated them exactly the same way. These women always retain some hope that love is hiding behind the cruelty, so that the anguish doesn't drive them mad. Truth is, though, Max, there's no love there. Max wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

One might have to be a little ruthless to seize back control of one's life, don't you think?

Perdu and Cuneo gaped at creatures that seemed to have sprung from Middle Earth or Winterfell. Such is the power of books.

Samy was Samantha. She was wearing a white linen dress. She also had on hobbit feet, huge and extremely hairy ones.

Tango is a truth drug. It lays bare your problems and your complexes, but also the strengths you hide from others so as not to vex them. It shows what a couple can be for each other, how they can listen to each other. People who only want to listen to themselves will hate tango.

The more important a thing is, the slower it should be done.

The radiance of this beautiful scene shed a cruel light on every past horror, every insult tolerated, every unspoken retort, every gesture of rejection. Marianne was grieving, and her boundless grief made her regret every moment of cowardice in her life.

The reality of love is better than its reputation

There are women who only look at another woman's shoes and never at her face. And others who always look women in the face and only occasionally at their shoes.

The trouble is that so many people, most of them women, think they have to have a perfect body to be loved. But all it has to do is be capable of loving—and being loved.

Time. It rubs the rough edges that hurt us smooth.

We are loved if we love, another truth we always seem to forget. ...Loving requires so much courage and so little expectation.

What a hideous life he had chosen, how painful was the loneliness he endured because he didn't have the courage to trust someone again. To trust someone entirely because in love there is no other way.

Whenever Monsieur Perdu looked at a book, he did not see it purely in terms of a story, retail price and an essential balm for the soul; he saw freedom on wings of paper.