Best 2427 quotes in «drama quotes» category

Naturalists tell of a noble race of horses that instinctively open a vein with their teeth, when heated and exhausted by a long course, in order to breathe more freely. I am often tempted to open a vein, to procure for myself everlasting liberty. Cento volte ho impugnato una lama per conficcarmela nel cuore. Si dice di una nobile razza i cavalli,che quando si sentono accaldati e affaticati, si aprono istintivamente una vena, per respirare più liberamente. Spesso anche io vorrei aprirmi una vena che mi desse libertà eterna.

Never confuse lust for anything other than what it is. There isn't a man alive that wouldn't gladly take what you are so willing to offer." "Any but you, apparently." -Eric to Camile, Pawn of Innocence

Never give up no matter how tough the road seems,keep going and visualize yourself in the realm of what you are going to achieve.

Never let the story beat you home.

Never worry what others say when you walk away from all the drama. Be grateful you had the strength and courage to stay out of the conflict and be at peace with your choices.

Next to God, Family is the best thing.

No actor is a success unless he feels inside himself, as long as he lives, that he is good.

No contesten alaridos del monte porque pueden ser del Enrabiado.

No drama, we had agreed. No broken hearts. No crying in our cars. No radio silence where once we had exchanged hilarious daily text messages.

No one needs to look beyond their walls to find monsters.

No puedes enfadarte con un final real. Algunos de ellos son feos, son los falsos felices para siempre los que deberían enojarte.

No, she's been killing me with kindness." She pointed her finger in his face. "There's a difference, and if you didn't have her on a pedestal, you could tell the difference.

Not only these were new kinds of stories, they were being told with a new kind of formal structure. [...] The result was a storytelling architecture you could picture as a colonnade - each episode a brick with its own solid, satisfying shape, but also part of a season-long arc that, in turn, would stand linked to other seasons to form a coherent, freestanding work of art. [...] The new structure allowed huge creative freedom: to develop characters over long stretches of time, to tell stories over the course of fifty hours or more, the equivalent of countless movies.

O, thou art fairer than the evening air      Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars;      Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter      When he appear'd to hapless Semele;      More lovely than the monarch of the sky      In wanton Arethusa's azur'd arms Excerpt From: Christopher Marlowe. “The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus

Oh, this tormenting concern that your neighbor’s life might be better than yours! And how great it feels when you realize that the truth is exactly the opposite; and we’re not so different after all. Nоthing brings true neighbors together like a little friendly competition.

Once upon a time there was a child who had a golden brain. His parents only discovered this by chance when he injured his head and gold instead of blood flowed out. They then began to look after him carefully and would not let him play with other children for fear of being robbed. When the boy was grown up and wanted to go out into the world, his mother said: “We have done so much for you,we ought to be able to share your wealth.” Then her son took a large piece of gold out of his brain and gave it to his mother. He lived in great style with a friend who, however, robbed him one night and ran away. After that the man resolved to guard his secret and to go out to work, because his reserves were visibly dwindling. One day he fell in love with a beautiful girl who loved him too, but no more than the beautiful clothes he gave her so lavishly. He married her and was very happy, but after two years she died and he spent the rest of his wealth on her funeral, which had to be splendid. Once, as he was creeping through the streets,weak,poor, and unhappy, he saw a beautiful little pair of boots that would have been perfect for his wife. He forgot that she was dead- perhaps because his emptied brain no longer worked- and entered the shop to buy the boots. But in that very moment he fell, and the shopkeeper saw a dead man lying on the ground. This story sounds as though it were invented, but it is true from beginning to end. There are people who have to pay for the smallest things in life with their very substance and their spinal cord. That is a constantly recurring pain, and then when they are tired of suffering… Does not mother love belong to the ‘smallest’, but also indispensable, things in life, for which many people paradoxically have to pay by giving up their living selves?

One of the earliest and most vivid memories of Robin’s childhood was of the day that the family dog had been put down. She herself had been too young to understand what her father was saying; she took the continuing existence of Bruno, her oldest brother’s beloved Labrador, for granted. Confused by her parents’ solemnity, she had turned to Stephen for a clue as to how to react, and all security had crumbled, for she had seen, for the first time in her short life, happiness and comfort drain out of his small and merry face, and his lips whiten as his mouth fell open. She had heard oblivion howling in the silence that preceded his awful scream of anguish, and then she had cried, inconsolably, not for Bruno, but for the terrifying grief of her brother.

O que a gente geralmente faz é usar todas as nossas emoções para exagerar todas as situações que aparecem na nossa frente. Quando bota um relacionamento no meio, o troço consegue piorar. Mas existe uma saída secreta, muitas vezes ignorada, que poucos conhecem e que, se não for usada com sabedoria, pode acabar em desgraça: é preciso não dar corda. Tudo que nosso drama emocional precisa é não ser incentivado de forma alguma. É tão simples, mas tão, tão simples, que a gente custa a acreditar.

Not to be too dramatic about it, that night I slept the sleep of the damned. I dreamt of turrets and craggy ledges where the windswept rain blew in from the ocean with the odor of violets. A pale woman in Elizabethan dress stood beside my bed and whispered in my ear that the bells would ring. An old salt in an oilcloth jacket sat atop a piling, mending nets with an awl, while far out at sea a tine aeroplane winged its way towards the setting sun.

Oh, where is it, where did my past go, when I was young, happy and intelligent, when my dreams and thoughts had some grace, and the present and future were lit up with hope? Why is it, that when we've just started to live, we grow dull, gray, uninteresting, lazy, useless, with flattened-out souls?

Oliver knocked on the door, trying to keep his fear in check. Dominic didn't answer. Oliver looked around the porch for a hidden key, frantically searching under the welcome mat, but to no avail.

Once the egoism has gone (stopped), all the worldly ‘matter’ of the body-complex [pudgal] are renounced! Where there is egoism, there is my-ness and where there is my-ness, there is a hidden egoism. When ‘Knowledge of the Self’ is attained, egoism and my-ness goes away. Only the dramatic (discharge) ‘egoism’ and ‘my-ness’ will remain.

Organizing your emotions reclaims your power over any given drama. Nothing is stronger than your own mind.

Our brains are constantly, exhaustively working overtime to deliver the illusion that we’re in control, but we’re not. The brain builds a narrative to steady us from moment to moment, but it’s ultimately an illusion. There is no me, there is no you, and there is certainly no self; we are divided and discontinuous and constantly being duped.

Over the years Breece had lectured that truth was liquid. That it evaporated in the heat of passion, froze in the cold of fear, and bent itself around virginous, unpurposeful fibs. It could churn and pull you under, drown you in itself, or let you ride upon it like a surf. But truth was always relfective. It showed blackheads and blemishes, fat rolls and sags, scabs and scars. Truth was fearful, angry and dangerous, and that was why so many people did their utmost to avoid it.

Penso agli uri e agli angeli, al segreto dei pigmenti duraturi, ai sonetti profetici, al rifugio dell'arte. E questa è la sola immortalità che tu e io possiamo condividere, mia Lolita.

Parenthood doesn’t improve one’s character, it exposes it.

Pay attention... When a person is gossiping, you are learning more about them and their character than anything they are gossiping about.

People have no limits either in love or in hatred. But is it their fault? They despise us because they are afraid, for we remind them that getting crippled or sick might happen to anyone; or, perhaps, the true reason of their hatred lies much deeper inside, stemming from the hidden ugliness of their own souls?

People who have double standards are bullies who always play victim.

People! Please. Listen. Our life, our bodies are the most authentic clinical record ever! Why do you have to ask for any other one, alien, fake, distorted by illegible handwriting belonging to someone who has never been us and has never tried to understand us? Do you think that is right?

People spend way too much time with hatred, jealousy, and drama when kindness is so easy. Grab a hold of the good things in life; they’ll take you to places you’ve never been.

People will think what they want to think, not because they believe they are right, but because it’s in their nature to maintain that they are. By defending yourself, you feed the appetite for drama. By not, you’ve ended the conversation. You. Not them

Perché mi hai tradito?

Perhaps one of the chief distinctions between a Drama for Marionnettes and a Proper Drama is this ... that whereas a Proper Drama has to be vague and roundabout in its movements, a Marionnette Drama had always better be direct and rapid and even obvious ... A Marionnette is not at all clever -- not subtle. He must fit the characte rlike a hand fits a glove, or all is undone. Therefore when we make a character in one of our Dramas we make the Marionnette to fit it. And so it comes about that a Marionnette does not play a number of parts, he plays only one... that is himself.

Perhaps the only thing worse than learning a secret is being kept from you is knowing you aren't the type to let it go.

Peter sat as powerless as an overwhelmed female character in a Victorian drama.

Pertemuan mendedahkan diri kita kepada nilaian orang lain. Kita akan saling mencari kekurangan diri masing-masing.

Poe, come on. Don't be like this." She avoided his gaze, and that was killing him. He'd rather she yell at him than give him nothing at all.

Poets must be grounded in the education of the arts, drama, history, mysticism, esotericism, and philosophy. To gain knowledge and become learned of the above is easy - read. Poets should apply this knowledge to their work, so a poet will advance to the next level, to their next phase of their emotional, psychological and spiritual development, growing in years in a short space of time, in hours or months if he or she is an avid reader. This knowledge will birth work that is not meretricious but of noble parentage.

Probably, sooner or later every person founds oneself to be needless.

Quise apretar mi cuerpo por completo contra él. Quise inspirarle un deseo. Quise entregarle toda la vida que sentía y obligarle a vivir. Comprendí que tenía miedo de vivir sin él ¿Cómo es que tienes el derecho a destrozarme la vida, quise preguntrale, pero yo no tengo ningún poder en la tuya?

Prot: I'm not tired. Brewer: I am. Prot: Perhaps you're getting too much sleep. All your beings seem to sleep a lot. Is that because it's so awful to be awake?

Quit pretending to be humble when you are really just a self-abusing, emotional, drama junkie.

Quería que la incineraran y que la echaran allí arriba. Sabía que nadie subiría con frecuencia y eso era lo que buscaba: que la sacudieran pronto, que su recuerdo no se convirtiera en una excusa lamentable para dar sentido a la existencia de los vivos".

Quizá, durante sus breves meses de amor, nunca vio la belleza de los ojos con tanta emoción, ni pudo compararlos, como ahora, con sus gemelos brillantes; joyas negras, hondo de mar quieto bajo el sol, fondo de arena mecida en el tiempo, cerezas oscuras del árbol de carne y entrañas calientes. Nunca dijo eso. No hubo tiempo.

Read this first volume and you'll want to finish the next two--300,000 words in total--with the first 90,000 setting the stage for a life-affirming masterpiece, and characters you will never forget!

Sad, slow music in the small hours of the morning isn't just sad and slow music. It's a narration. And through the myriad of morning dew, we are the twinkling stars that fade with the rising sun.

Revenge never ends until everything and everyone around it is destroyed. A vengeful heart never rests.

Romance is everything to turn it into a cause for given is priceless