Best 324 quotes in «thoughtful quotes» category

Before opening your mouth to talk, you should open your mind to think.

Before you speak "THINK" T- Is it "True"? H- Is it "Humble"? I- Is it "Inspirational"? N- Is it "Natural"? K- Is it "Knowledgeable"?

Being bored is the price we pay for not being insane.

Being rich or famous is the only profound thing that some people have ever said.

Being thoughtful about the comfort and needs of the people who work in your home is a characteristic of a great Home Care CEO.

Boredom is probably more frequent and more tormenting if you do not have sight or hands.

Catherine drew out an object wrapped in soft cloth. Gently she unwrapped a new pair of spectacles made of silver... gleaming and perfect, the oval lenses sparkling. Marveling at the workmanship, she drew a finger along one of the intricate filigreed earpieces, all the way to the curved tip. "They're so beautiful," she said in wonder. "If they please you, we'll have another pair made in gold. Here, let me help you..." Leo gently drew the old spectacles off her face, seeming to savor the gesture. She put the new ones on. They felt light and secure on the bridge of her nose. As she looked around the room, everything was wonderfully detailed and in focus. In her excitement, she jumped up and hurried to the looking glass that hung over the entryway table. She inspected her own glowing reflection. "How pretty you are," Leo's tall, elegant form appeared behind hers. "I do love spectacles on a woman." Catherine's smiling gaze met his in the silvered glass. "Do you? What an odd preference." "Not at all." His hands came to her shoulders, lightly fondling up to her throat and back again. "They emphasize your beautiful eyes. And they make you look capable of secrets and surprises- which, as much as we know, you are." His voice lowered. "Most of all I love the act of removing them- getting you ready for a tumble in bed." She shivered at his bluntness, her eyes half closing as she felt him pull her back against him. His mouth went to the side of her neck. "You like them?" Leo murmured, kissing her soft skin. "Yes." Her head listed to the side as his tongue traced a subtle path along her throat. "I... I don't know why you went to such trouble. It was very kind." Leo's dark head lifted, and he met her drowsy gaze in the looking glass. His fingers went to the side of her throat, stroking as if to rub the feel of his mouth into her skin. "I wasn't being kind," he murmured, a smile touching his lips. "I merely wanted you to see clearly." I'm beginning to, she was tempted to tell him, but Poppy returned to the apartment before she was able.

But by the grace of God I am what I am: and his grace which was bestowed upon me was not in vain; but i laboured more abundantly than they all: yet not I, but the grace of God which was with me.

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

Eli knew stuff about buildings and architecture and the history of squatters’ rights. In fact, he seemed to know something about everything. He didn’t lecture or flaunt. Rather, it was as though his whole life he’d been quietly gathering treasures. Little nuggets and gems of things he had heard or seen or read, and he was just uncurling his fingers to share them.

Don’t be proud of only liking realism. It is like being proud of not having an imagination.

Do you know how wind and water are unstoppable? The smallest cracks give wind and water all they need to creep through and make it chilly and wet. Well, I am also kind of drafty and leaky. I cannot stop up my fissures with purchases at the mall. Neither can I hold back the wind and the water with my expectations of living a spartan life.

Do you love?

Despite your best efforts, not everyone wants to be helped. Make a difference where you can and be at peace with the rest.

Doing the right for the wrong reasons is right and Doing the wrong thing for the right reasons is wrong

Each positive thought is your refuge and your sanctuary, where in that thoughtful moment, you are safe.

Elimde bu denizkabuğuyla ona gideceğim. Denizkabuğunu uzatacağım. Bak, diyeceğim, sen benden daha güçlüsün; benim gibi astımın da yok. Sen görebiliyorsun, diyeceğim; iki gözün de görebiliyor. Bana bir iyilik yap da, gözlüğümü geri ver demiyorum, diyeceğim. Sen güçlüsün diye efendice davranmanı da rica etmiyorum, diyeceğim. Doğru olan doğrudur. Doğruyu yapman için sana bunu söylüyorum diyeceğim. Gözlüğümü bana ver, Gözlüğümü bana vermek zorundasın diyeceğim.

Era o odor composto pelos materiais do edifício em chamas, por corpos queimados e por vampiros em desintegração. Era o cheiro do ódio.

Even those novelists most commonly deemed “philosophical” have sometimes answered with an emphatic no. Iris Murdoch, the longtime Oxford philosopher and author of some two dozen novels treating highbrow themes like consciousness and morality, argued that philosophy and literature were contrary pursuits. Philosophy calls on the analytical mind to solve conceptual problems in an “austere, unselfish, candid” prose, she said in a BBC interview broadcast in 1978, while literature looks to the imagination to show us something “mysterious, ambiguous, particular” about the world. Any appearance of philosophical ideas in her own novels was an inconsequential reflection of what she happened to know. “If I knew about sailing ships I would put in sailing ships,” she said. “And in a way, as a novelist, I would rather know about sailing ships than about philosophy.

Even playing game you have to be serious.

Even when we do not actively participate in our destiny, we are still on a chosen path. Life has a way of making decisions for us.

Famine sometimes increases the number of people who are overweight.

Every morning and every night, I pause for just a minute and express my gratitude for all that I have in my life and all that I have experienced.

Everything that looks good may not be good for you. In life, we all take chances. You must carefully examine the pros and cons. People often times have certain hidden agendas. And, you might not realize until you're in too deep.

For me, personally, the point of writing is to connect me to this world, to my fellow humans. We are all miles apart. We have no real means of connecting except via language. And the deepest form of language is storytelling.

For a minute, we're just two people wondering why things are the way they are.

For a sane person to sincerely be happy that someone has succeeded, they have to either be profiting or likely to profit from that person’s success, or be that person.

He's really so adorable. The dog, I mean. Did you know he's a rescue beagle?" I'd remembered Frank and Sam had used the term the day I'd first encountered Bandit, but I'd just assumed it meant that he'd come from the pound. Rachel had set me straight. "They use them to experiment on. You know, in laboratories. Sam says they use beagles because they're so gentle and sweet-tempered they won't even bite you when you're hurting them. And after a few years when they 'retire' the dogs, some labs give them to rescue groups who try to find them homes. Sam says that Bandit didn't even know what grass was when he got him. It's his second rescue beagle. He had one before, a girl dog, but she ended up with cancer and he had to put her down. So he got Bandit." "Beagles," Sam said now, as he stood squarely on the scaffolding, "don't like to be alone. So she'll be doing me a favor." "What about the doggie day-care place?" "Nah. There's a Labradoodle there that's always picking on him. He'll be better hanging out with Rachel." I was not completely fooled. I knew he'd talked to Rachel for a while, because she'd told me that he had. "He's really nice," she'd said. "He listens." So I knew he knew that Rachel wasn't finding this an easy time, and I suspected Sam just figured she and Bandit were a lot alike in needing some companionship from somebody who understood and didn't push their boundaries. Whatever his true motivations, it was an inspired move.

Greed is a contagious mental illness without which civilization as we know it would not have been possible.

He had pulled out of that grief, eventually – out from under the suffocating weight of it. Suffering had formed him: made him silent and deliberate, thoughtful: deep.

He thought the library door would never open again, but that he would be left to live out the rest of his life rooted to the spot on the library carpet, afraid to move a muscle lest the house fall upon his shoulders. He deliberately shrugged them and shuffled his feel just to prove to himself that it could be done.

Having unthoughtful thoughts for me is unthinkable, so much so that I cannot even think about that.

Hector was a fool when he thought he had killed Achilles. God will fool your enemies who thought of destroying you.

How can you know if you’re normal when you’re always alone? You have no one to compare yourself to. I mean, I have my mom and dad, and I’m pretty normal compared to them. But then… a lot of people are normal compared to them

How could God design millions of new faces each day, keeping in mind the resemblance to the progenitor, who in turn was His genesis?

If we were not impressed by job titles, suits, and jargon, we would demand that financial advisors show us their personal bank statements before they tell us what we could or should do with our own money.

Ich war durch meine fürchterliche Situation gezwungen, diese Spaltung in ein Ich Schwarz und ein Ich Weiß zumindest zu versuchen, um nicht erdrückt zu werden von dem grauenhaften Nichts um mich.

I'd laugh, only my stupid lizard brain has disabled the laugh button for now. I'm too frozen up with tension. I am owed so much laughter. Sometimes I hope I'm building up a stockpile of missing laughs, and when I've recovered, they'll all come exploding out in one gigantic fit that last twenty-four hours.

If the food that one ate the night before were somehow able to be seen and identified through one’s clothes throughout the day, millions of employees would each fast ten or so days before their payday.

If you are writing and no-one reads it, are you a writer, or you just writing?

How many little kids were being orphaned or killed, right that minute, while I was sitting there watching TV?

I am so tired. I have grown old from being serious. I have grown ill from being serious. I want to laugh at myself. I want to forget myself. I am so tired.

Idols must never be touched: the gilt will come off on our hands.

I don’t know if I will have the time to write any more letters, because I might be too busy trying to participate. So, if this does end up being the last letter, I just want you to know that I was in a bad place before I started high school, and you helped me. Even if you didn’t know what I was talking about, or know someone who’s gone through it, you made me not feel alone. Because I know there are people who say all these things don’t happen. And there are people who forget what it’s like to be sixteen when they turn seventeen. I know these will all be stories some day, and our pictures will become old photographs. We all become somebody’s mom or dad. But right now, these moments are not stories. This is happening. I am here, and I am looking at her. And she is so beautiful. I can see it. This one moment when you know you’re not a sad story. You are alive. And you stand up and see the lights on the buildings and everything that makes you wonder. And you’re listening to that song, and that drive with the people who you love most in this world. And in this moment, I swear, we are infinite.

If you say something once, it means. If you say the same thing thrice, it becomes an obligation.

If you knew in advance that something momentous and terrible would happen you’d make an effort to imprint it all in your mind, wouldn’t you, every detail. But of course you don’t know. And perhaps that’s just as well.

If you open the flood gates of thought you do not know what may come. You may discover that you are better than you thought or worse than the devil himself

"Have you ever considered simply exploring and looking for the place where the sun shines over the moon?" It suggested.

I lay in bed and thought about how easy it was to hurt a person. It didn't have to be physical. All you had to do was take a good hard kick at something they cared about.

I love both The Dark and The Light, Evil and Angel, Good as well as Bad, because they all are incomplete without each other!