Best 5099 quotes in «literature quotes» category

... endowing the imperfect and the preterite with all the sweetness which there is in generosity, all the melancholy which there is in love; guided the sentence that was drawing to an end towards that which was waiting to begin, now hastening, now slackening the pace of the syllables so as to bring them, despite their difference in quantity, into a uniform rhythm, and breathed into this quite ordinary prose a kind of life, continuous and full of feeling.

Energy manipulation took place completely in mind,same way believing in telepathy caused telepathic abilities to grow STRONGER.

English is the language through which I reach hearts from various corners of the world. English is the language through which I flirt with my species. English is the language through which I make my species think.

. . . enjoying literature as those alone enjoy it who have little else to enjoy.

En sonra, birinci savaş konseyini, bir sanığa gizli kalan bir belgeye dayanarak hüküm giydirdiği için hukuku çiğnemekle suçluyorum. İkinci savaş konseyini de üstten gelen emre uyarak, bir suçluyu, suçunu bile bile temize çıkarıp ağır adli suç işlemekle, böylece birinci konseyin yasaya aykırı davranışını örtbas etmekle suçluyorum.

En uzun yaşayan, en çok yaşayan değildir.

En yakın arkadaşım, Matriyona yoktu artık... Son gününde bir kazak yüzünden nasılda azarlamıştım!

Era crédula, aunque lo negara, seguía creyendo en cuentos de hadas, por más que la vida trataba de decirme a gritos que las cosas no funcionaban de esa manera.

Esteem him! Like him! Cold-hearted Elinor! Oh! worse than cold-hearted! Ashamed of being otherwise. Use those words again, and I will leave the room this moment.

è sterile ricondurre l’opera a qualcosa di puramente esplicito, perché allora non c’è, immediatamente, più nulla da dirne e perché la funzione dell’opera non può consistere nel chiudere le labbra di coloro che la leggono

Estragon: You see, you feel worse when I'm with you. I feel better alone, too. Vladmir: Then why do you always come crawling back? Estragon: I don't know.

Even if a poem is beautiful and memorable, it’s not like an advertising jingle or propaganda, which attempt to convince and control. Poems seek to confuse, disabuse, enlarge understanding, and make people ask questions and think for themselves.

Even before I have uttered a word of prayer from my lips, you have already answered me. You are so beautiful and caring. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to have communion with you father God. The wisdom and knowledge and understanding you bestow in my life has changed me, I have come to a complete realization that you have given me complete dominion over all Earth.

Even if we try to conform to ideals and strive for perfection, we will always be pulled back to our core identity because it’s the path of least resistance for our souls – an energy force that wants nothing more than for us to honor and accept who we are and discover what we’re meant to do in the world.

Even in school, children get subtle messages about whose stories matter. Literature classes routinely feature literature written by women and men of color as exceptional (one among many white male writers) or available for study in some schools as elective classes only. A recent global review found that gender bias is also "rife in textbooks." The result of pedagogical choices like these shape self-esteem, empathy, and understanding. They also shape resentment, confusion, and anger.

Even the new things that I less than know, I keep trying, did again until perfect.

Even though it may look like the wicked is gaining ground, God is still in control. We need to pray for our nations, pray for others, pray for forgiveness and mercy over people. We need to love no matter who we are talking to, whether they are Atheist, Moslems, Lesbians, Homosexuals or Pagans. We need to love them and share the love of God with them and not judge and see if we can rebuild our broken nations.

Even with fasting and prayers you still need wisdom. At the root of every great accomplishment is wisdom. In all your getting get wisdom first.

Everybody talks, but there is no conversation.

Every book has to wait for the right time to be read and understood.

Every category has its snobs: music, books, movies. There are so many things a man is only pressured into liking or disliking.

Every child deserves to be a boat cast out in a sea of books.

Every day in my consultancy, I meet men and women who are out of their minds. That is, they have not the slightest idea who they really are or what it is that matters to them. The question 'How shall I live?' is not one I can answer on prescription.

Every crisis is a wisdom crisis. If you have no peace around you then you lack wisdom.

Every day I would run to the library to get new books. Reading was a passion: I wanted to understand life. I read Dostoevsky and Brehm, Jules Verne and Turgenev, Dickens and the Zhivopisnoye Obozreniye; and the more I read, th emore I doubted everything. Lies surrounded me on all sides; one moment I wanted to run off to the Indian jungle, the next to throw a bomb at the governor-general's house on Tverskaya, the next to hang myself.

Every healthy person at some period must feed on fiction as well as fact; because fact is a thing which the world gives to him, whereas fiction is a thing which he gives to the world.

Every kingdom has three pillars: Poet, Sword and Law.

Every movement, every glance, every low-pitched word is a work of art. Yes, they are performers, too, like me.

Every language has a grammar, a set of rules that govern usage and meaning, and literary language is no different. It’s all more or less arbitrary of course, just like language itself.

Everyone in this tale has a rock-solid hamartia: hers, that she is so sick; yours, that you are so well. Were she better or you sicker, then the stars would not be so terribly crossed, but it is the nature of stars to cross, and never was Shakespeare more wrong than when he had Cassius, "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.

Every page should explode, either because of its staggering absurdity, the enthusiasm of its principles, or its typography.

Everyone makes mistakes, but only a few could forgive. Padahal ada banyak kesalahan yang hanya perlu dimaafkan, bukan dihukum. An eye for an eye will make us all blind.

Every soul that existed on earth is part of earth human history.

Everything is still everything. The Poem Remains.

Every star was once darker than the night, before it awoke.

Everything seems impossible And everything seems possible.

everything that is scattered comes together in words everything that is lost comes back in poetry.

Every time you open a book for the first time, there is something akin to safe-breaking about it. Yes, that's exactly it: the frantic reader is like a burglar who has spent hours digging a tunnel to enter the strongroom of a bank. He emerges face to face with hundreds of strongboxes, all identical, and opens them one by one. And each time a box is opened, it loses its anonymity and becomes unique: one is filled with paintings, another with a bundle of banknotes, a third with jewels or letters tied in ribbon, engravings, objects of no value at all, silverware, photos, gold sovereigns, dried flowers, files of paper, crystal glasses, or children’s toys--and so on. There is something intoxicating about opening a new one, finding its contents and feeling overjoyed that in a trice one is no longer in front of a set of boxes, but in the presence of the riches and wretched banalities that make up human existence.

Evidently, I'd suffered an epiphany: the subconscious realization that when it comes to coolness, nothing the human race has ever invented is more cool than a book.

Evet! Bu utanç verici gösteriyi izliyoruz, borçlar ve suçlar altında ezilmiş kişiler suçsuz ilan ediliyor; buna karşılık onurun ta kendisi, yaşamı lekesiz bir adam cezalandırılıyor. Bir toplum bu noktaya geldiği zaman, artık çürümeye başlamış demektir.

Faith is a question of eyesight; even the blind can see that.

Existence is the end of endless eternity without a beginning or an end.

Expansion History, and you came to the description of the triple sunrises you can see when you're hanging in Lsel Station's Lagrange point, and you thought, At last, there are words for how I feel, and they aren't even in my language―> Yes, Mahit says. Yes, she does. That ache: longing and a violent sort of self-hatred, that only made the longing sharper.

Fall into the cavern of my mind, and together there, we will dine.

Expansion History, and you came to the description of the triple sunrises you can see when you're hanging in Lsel Station's Lagrange point, and you thought, At last, there are words for how I feel, and they aren't even in my language―> Yes, Mahit says. Yes, she does. That ache: longing and a violent sort of self-hatred, that only made the longing sharper. We felt that way.

Experience, then, was something that enabled you to do nothing with a clear conscience. Experience was an overrated quality.

Families start out, most of the time, with unconditional acceptance of one another. That acceptance starts in childhood and continues into adulthood. Somewhere in there, between childhood and adulthood, the ability to distinguish right versus wrong is born.

Fantastic literature has been especially prominent in times of unrest, when the older values have been overthrown to make way for the new; it has often accompanied or predicted change, and served to shake up rational Complacency, challenging reason and reminding man of his darker nature. Its popularity has had its ups and downs, and it has always been the preserve of a small literary minority. As a natural challenger of classical values, it is rarely part of a culture's literary mainstream, expressing the spirit of the age; but it is an important dissenting voice, a reminder of the vast mysteries of existence, sometimes truly metaphysical in scope, but more often merely riddling.

Far from being opposed to the truth, fiction is only its by-product.

Feeling its power, one Civil War paper trumpeted that Milton and Homer were for another age but for this one was the New York Herald.