Best 5099 quotes in «literature quotes» category

Consciousness is reflected in the word like the sun in a drop of water. Lev Vygotsky--Thought and Language

Convention itself, like metaphor itself, is not dead; but it is always dying.

Cosmos is God, who whispered the syllable of life.

Create a world for yourself in which you can rest, until then stay restless.

Create a world in front of your readers where they can taste, smell, touch, hear, see, and move. Or else they are likely going to move on to another book.

Critical interventions around race did not destroy the women's movement; it became stronger . . . It shows us that no matter how misguided feminist thinkers have been in the past, the will to change, the will to create the context for struggle and liberation, remains stronger than the need to hold on to wrong beliefs and assumptions.

Culture is fundamental. Literature saves you. Cinema saves you.

Current "literature" [is] well-written books in which disgusting people do disgusting things to other disgusting people for no apparent reason and with no apparent resolution.

Dacă nu-i vezi lacrimile unui om, nu înseamnă că el nu plânge pe ascuns în sufletul lui.

Dakin: The more you read, though, the more you'll see that literature is actually about losers. Scripps: No. Dakin: It's consolation. All literature is consolation.

Dante is certainly not, as one sometimes hears said, vindictive, spiteful, sadistic. He is not merely engaged in score settling with old adversaries by assigning them to hell. The punishments in hell are horribly cruel, but the world in which he lived was horribly cruel. He had been sentenced to death both by burning and decapitation. Such sentences were almost routine. We think of the modern world as more civilised than his, but who could seriously argue that this is so, bearing in mind events on the world stage in the twentieth century?

Darkness crept through. Shadows pried at doors, teased dull edges of recollections that never quite took hold. Memories that would have shriveled under the blinding sun of daylight. And reason.

Darkness does not age; nothing is always nothing

Dear Literary World, Sorry for breaking down your door...I'll pay for that!!! Since I'm here and planning to stay a while, let me tell you some stories!!

Death has been said to be the leveller in that it does not recognize one’s class, race, ethnicity or nationality. Death does not look at the face before it strikes; it pays no attention to one’s beliefs or outlook to issues in life. Death has often been said to be inevitable. So it is glaring that for as long as people are born, people are bound to die someday but how man dies is a huge mystery.

Dear Natasha, It's the middle of the night. I can't sleep. Thoughts are creeping through my head like darkness slips around the bodies of sky scrapers in every city we've ever been to. From the bottom up, suffocating the life on the street first and then raising to the head and the brain, circling into smog and clouds until the black stretches up so high that nobody can even remember what the stars used to look like. This is how I feel when I lie awake and think of you. I miss you.

Death swallows death.

Death, like fiction, is brutal in its symmetry. Take this story and strip it down -all the way back- until you are left with two points. Two dots on a vast, blank canvas, separeted by a sea of white. Here, we have come to the first point, where the batj is drawn and the hand is reachinh for the razor blade. I will meet you at the next, by the axle of a screaming wheel, the revolution of a clock, the closing of an orbit.

Deceit dispels the boredom of the Absolute.

Decades after little Colleen’s death, my sister Kathy still loves her daughter dearly. Colleen was born with cerebral palsy. She died in Kath’s arms in a rocking chair at the age of six. They were listening to a music box that looked very much like a smiling pink bunny. The opening quote in this book, “I will love you forever, but I’ll only miss you for the rest of my life,” is from Kath’s nightly prayers to her child. Colleen couldn’t really talk or walk very well, but loved untying my mother’s tennis shoes and then laughing. When Mom died decades later we sent her off in tennis shoes so Colleen would have something to untie in Heaven. In the meantime, Dad had probably been taking really good care of her up there. He must have been aching to hug her for all of her six years on earth. Mom’s spirit comes back to play with great grandchildren she’d never met or had a chance to love while she was still – I almost said “among the living.” In my family, though, the dead don’t always stay that way. You can be among the living without technically being alive. Mom comes back to play, but Dad shows up only in emergencies. They are both watching over their loved ones. “The Mourning After” is dedicated to all those we have had the joy of loving before they’ve slipped away to the other side. It then celebrates the joy of re-unions.

Defining moment in new telepathist's life, moment when intuitive individual learns most of society isn't telepathic, doesn't see auras,doesn't know what life on ethereal astral plane is like.

Despite how lonely or broken down you might feel, we need you with us helping to make the world better, kinder and safer, especially for the little girls coming up.

Demka açık fikirli bir çocuktu; dinin kişiyi uyuşturan bir inanış olduğunu, yalnızca kötü kişilerin yararlanabileceği gerici bir öğretim niteliği taşıdığını kesinlikle, açıkça anlamıştı. Din yüzünden bazı bölgelerdeki işçiler sömürülmekten kurtulamıyorlardı. Oysa dinle ilişkilerini keser kesmez silahlara sarılıyor özgürlüklerine kavuşuyorlardı. Bu yüzden, gülünç takvimi, her cümlede Allah sözcüğü, bu uğursuz hastanede bile eksik etmediği kaygısız gülümsemesi ve ona ikram ettiği böreğiyle Stefa teyze gerici bir insandı.

Det er derfor Heart of Darkness står ved siden af Le Regard du Roi, og Wide Sargasso Sea står lige ovenover Jane Eyre. De to sidstnævnte stod før i tiden ved siden af hinanden, men så besluttede jeg, at det var bedre at rette op på den gamle koloniale ubalance ved at give Rhys overtaget – altså den øverste hylde

Die Bücher habe ich nach und nach gekauft von dem Geld, das ich mir Stundengeben verdiente. Viele davon antiquarisch, alle Klassiker zum Beispiel, ein Band kostete eine Mark und zwanzig Pfennig in steifem, blauem Leinen. Ich habe sie vollständig gekauft, denn ich war gründlich, bei ausgewählten Werken traute ich den Herausgebern nicht, ob sie auch das Beste genommen hatten. Deshalb kaufte ich mir "Sämtliche Werke". Gelesen habe ich sie mit ehrlichem Eifer, aber die meisten sagten mir nicht recht zu. Um so mehr hielt ich von den anderen Büchern, den moderneren, die natürlich auch viel teurer waren. Einige davon habe ich nicht ganz ehrlich erworben, ich habe sie ausgeliehen und nicht zurückgegeben, weil ich mich von ihnen nicht trennen mochte. […] Ich bin aufgeregt; aber ich möchte es nicht sein, denn das ist nicht richtig. Ich will wieder diese stille Hingerissenheit, das Gefühl dieses heftigen, unbenennbaren Dranges verspüren, wie früher, wenn ich vor meine Bücher trat. Der Wind der Wünsche, der aus den bunten Bücherrücken aufstieg, soll mich wieder erfassen, er soll den schweren, toten Bleiblock, der irgendwo in mir liegt, schmelzen und mir wieder die Ungeduld der Zukunft, die beschwingte Freude an der Welt der Gedanken wecken; – er soll mir das verlorene Bereitsein meiner Jugend zurückbringen.

Different languages, the same thoughts; servant to thoughts and their masters.

Did I know myself less, I might perhaps venture to handle something or other to the bottom, and to be deceived in my own inability; but sprinkling here one word and there another, patterns cut from several pieces and scattered without design and without engaging myself too far, I am not responsible for them, or obliged to keep close to my subject, without varying at my own liberty and pleasure, and giving up myself to doubt and uncertainty, and to my own governing method, ignorance.

Did you think of anything when Miss Marcy said Scoatney Hall was being re-opened? I thought of the beginning of Pride and Prejudice – where Mrs. Bennet says 'Netherfield Park is let a last.' And then Mr. Bennet goes over to call on the rich new owner.

Do not speak unflatteringly of Jane," Flora said, walking beside Chad. "She is the greatest writer to have ever lived." "I thought that was Shakespeare." "William was, or course, quite good," Flora said. "But no one can compare to Jane Austen.

Doğum yapalı bir saat bile olmamıştı. Tom'un nerede olduğunu Tanrı bilir. Narkozdan çıkınca yoğun bir terkedilmişlik hissi içimi kapladı ve hastabakıcıya kız mı oğlan mı diye sordum. Kız olduğunu öğrenince de, arkamı döndüm ve ağladım "pekala" dedim kendime "kız olduğuna sevindim. Umarım aptal olur. Çünkü bu dünyada bir kız için en iyisi aptal ve güzel olmak.

Do not look too far for you will see nothing.

Don Quixote is not an imaginary person; he is as real as Alexander the Great.

Dixon was alive again. Consciousness was upon him before he could get out of the way; not for him the slow, gracious wandering from the halls of sleep, but a summary, forcible ejection. He lay sprawled, too wicked to move, spewed up like a broken spider-crab on the tarry shingle of morning. The light did him harm, but not as much as looking at things did; he resolved, having done it once, never to move his eyeballs again. A dusty thudding in his head made the scene before him beat like a pulse. His mouth had been used as a latrine by some small creature of the night, and then as its mausoleum. During the night, too, he'd somehow been on a cross-country run and then been expertly beaten up by secret police. He felt bad.

Don Quixote is not just Don Quixote; La Mancha is not just geography; It is our personal territory— Terra Nostra.

Don’t break the rules when you haven’t fully figured them out yet.

Don't bother looking for the meaning of it all. There isn't one. Maybe not, but life compulsively dangled the possibility. Life, the dramatist on speed. Life, that couldn't stop with its foreshadows and ironies and symbols and clues, its wretched jokes and false endings and twists. Life with its hopeless addiction to plot.

Don’t interrupt when your characters take a flight of their own.

Don't for God's sake speak as saint to sinner, but as you yourself to me myself - poor me!

Don't starve an instinct with a lie on, Never hit or deceive a wounded lion. He heals faster than you can imagine And hurts even more when in famine.

Don’t look up to people, don’t be someone’s following. Now a days everything you see is just a lie, Instead be the person you want to follow.

Don’t just read me, listen to me.

Don't teach me the alphabet, I will teach you the literature

Dostoyevski okumaya başladığım o ilk gece, hayatımın en önemli olaylarından biriydi, ilk aşkımdan bile daha önemli.

Don't you think our society is designed to kill in that way? Of course, you've surely heard about those tiny fish in the rivers of Brazil which attack the swimmer by the thousands, eat him up in a few moments in quick little mouthfuls and leave only a perfectly clean skeleton behind? So, that's the way they're constituted. 'Do you want a clean life, like everyone else?' Of course the answer is yes. How could you not? 'Fine. We'll clean you up. Here's a job, here's a family, here's some organized leisure.' And the little teeth bite into the flesh, right down to the bone. But i'm being unfair. I shouldn't have said, 'the way they're constituted', because after all, it's our way, too: it's a case of who strips whom.

Do we take less pride in the possession of our home because its walls were built by some unknown carpenter, its tapestries woven by some unknown weaver on a far Oriental shore, in some antique time? No. We show our home to our friends with the pride as if it were our home, which it is. Why then should we take less pride when reading a book written by some long-dead author? Is it not our book just as much, or even more so, than theirs? So the landowner says, ‘Look at my beautiful home! Isn’t it fine?’ And not, ‘Look at the home so-and-so has built.’ Thus we shouldn’t cry, ‘Look what so-and-so has written. What a genius so-and-so is!’ But rather, ‘Look at what I have read! Am I not a genius? Have I not invented these pages? The walls of this universe, did I not build? The souls of these characters, did I not weave?

Do you know the feeling when you start reading a new book before the membrane of the last one has had time to close behind you? You leave the previous book with ideas and themes–characters even–caught in the fibers of your clothes, and when you open the new book, they are still with you

Do you believe that every story must have a beginning and an end? In ancient times a story could end only in tow ways: having passed all the tests, the hero and the heroine married, or else they died. The ultimate meaning to which all stories refer has two faces: the continuity of life, the inevitability of death.

Do you know why books such as this are so important? Because they have quality. And what does the word quality mean? To me it means texture. This book has pores. It has features. This book can go under the microscope. You’d find life under the glass, streaming past in infinite profusion. The more pores, the more truthfully recorded details of life per square inch you can get on a sheet of paper, the more ‘literary’ you are. That’s my definition anyway. Telling detail. Fresh detail. The good writers touch life often. The mediocre ones run a quick hand over her. The bad ones rape her and leave her for the flies. So now you see why books are hated and feared? They show the pores in the face of life.

Dream by making and make by dreaming.

Do you want to acquire God's own wisdom? Relate with the Holy Spirit. Be a seeker of divine guidance by the Holy Spirit. You can't be a man or woman of solution without God.