Best 1169 quotes in «novel quotes» category

It is a strange thing, looking at the sea. When it is calm, or with only gentle ripples, it gives an impression of being soft and kind. But often, on such a calm, the wind suddenly blows, thrusting the water back into angry waves. At such times, in a certain sense, one feels sorry for the sea. Never of itself offensive to others, it is all too often attacked by wind and rain, the rain falling densely upon it, shaming the beauty of its calm face with a million bouncing bubbles. Were the wind to stop blowing, the ocean, surely, would never afflict the land with any calamity, nor would any human beings suffer.

It is one of the great blessings of youth, this guiltlessness, the source of gentle sleep and peaceful days.

It is only a woman who can make a man feel like a 'superhero' or 'inadequate'. Its her attention and admiration that a man desperately seeks!

It is only the sudden and unpredictable appearance of comets that spoils the immutable celestial sphere.

It is the form that allows a writer the greatest opportunity to explore human experience...For that reason, reading a novel is potentially a significant act. Because there are so many varieties of human experience, so many kinds of interaction between humans, and so many ways of creating patterns in the novel that can’t be created in a short story, a play, a poem or a movie. The novel, simply, offers more opportunities for a reader to understand the world better, including the world of artistic creation. That sounds pretty grand, but I think it’s true.

It is too bad that most Olympians do not train as hard as the Lashkar jihadis whose main aim in life is to kill people.

It is usually unbearably painful to read a book by an author who knows way less than you do, unless the book is a novel.

It must take a lot of self-discipline,' she said. 'Oh, I don't know. I don't have much.' He felt himself about to say again, and unable to resist saying, that 'Dumas, I think it was Dumas, some terrifically prolific Frenchman, said that writing novels is a simple matter - if you write one page a day, you'll write one novel a year, two pages a day, two novels a year, three pages, three novels, and so on. And how long does it take to cover a page with writing? Twenty minutes? An hour? So you see. Very easy really.' 'I don't know,' she said, laughing. 'I can't even bring myself to write a letter.' 'Oh, now that's hard.' ("Novelty")

It seemed as if the mountains, wave after wave of them, were like the sea, going outward forever into distance, till, far away, they became engulfed in clouds, and joined—mountain and sky in one. Standing there on top, facing the enormity of the world, I thought of myself as a man. How boundlessly small we are…

It’s like returning to a familiar room and noticing objects had been moved while you were gone—a chair here, a picture frame there. Items that were once brand new were suddenly broken in and worn from age. It was all very subtle, but enough to suspect paranormal activity or a cruel practical joke. When no one else saw what you saw, the freak factor really kicked in, because you were singled out and left questioning reality." ~Ellia

It's like a nesting doll of imagination! It's like a painting of a painting! It's like the wind catching a chill from the wind, or a wave taking a dip in the ocean. It's like reading a novel that merely describes another novel. It's like music tapping its foot to a tune and saying 'Oh! I love this song!

It’s not about winning, it’s about doing what’s right. And yes, we will do what’s right.

It's more like how some people can't help but bring out the not necessarily righteous parts of your personality. Like how you meet someone and instantly know they're a full-time professional victim, and no matter how hard you try, something takes over and you can't help needling them.

It’s not that we have to leave this life one day, it's how many things we have to leave all at once: holding hands, hotel rooms, wine, summertime, drunkenness, and the physics of falling leaves, clothing, myrrh, perfumed hair, flirting friends, two strangers' glance; the reflection of the moon, with words like, 'Soon' ... 'do you want me?' ... '...to lie enlaced' ... 'and sleep entwined' thinking ahead, with thoughts behind...?' Ô, Why! Why can’t we leave this life slowly?

Its not over when the curtains come down, its over when YOU choose not to perform anymore.

It's strange but as I grow older, I find myself developing more optimism. I keep inching toward the point where I believe that it's more difficult to have hope than it is to embrace cynicism. In the deep dark end, there's no point unless we have at least a modicum of hope. We trawl our way through the darkness hoping to find a pinpoint of light. But isn't it remarkable that the cynics of this world—the politicians, the corporations, the squinty-eyed critics—seem to think that they have a claim on intelligence? They seem to think that it's cooler, more intellectually engaging, to be miserable, that there's some sort of moral heft in cynicism. But I think a good novel can be a doorstop to despair. I also think the real bravery comes with those who are prepared to go through that door and look at the world in all its grime and torment, and still find something of value, no matter how small.

I turned to her, my whole body hard with tiredness and regret.

It takes skill to win a battle, but brains to win a war.

It was a hymn with the force of a march, a march with the majesty of a hymn. It was the song of soldiers bearing sacred banners and of priests carrying swords. It was an anthem to the sanctity of strength.

It was almost as if she had willed him into existence, into standing before her at the precise moment she was willing to accommodate him, arriving not a minute too early or too late.

It was his experience that life worked under the same guidelines as a capitalistic society. In order to get what you wanted, it was usually necessary to give up something in return. Sometimes gaining what you defined as everything meant losing what you most needed.

It was late morning when he woke and found the telephone beside his bed in the hotel tolling frantically, and remembered that he had left word to be called at eleven. Sloane was snoring heavily, his clothes in a pile by his bed. They dressed and ate breakfast in silence, and then sauntered out to get some air. Amory's mind was working slowly, trying to assimilate what had happened and separate from the chaotic imagery that stacked his memory the bare shreds of truth. If the morning had been cold and gray he could have grasped the reins of the past in an instant, but it was one of those days that New York gets sometimes in May, when the air of Fifth Avenue is a soft, light wine. How much or how little Sloane remembered Amory did not care to know; he apparently had none of the nervous tension that was gripping Amory and forcing his mind back and forth like a shrieking saw.

It was past midnight. From the carpark of the apartment blocks, a human figure with an unsteady gait emerged.

I wanted to see the bullet coming, wanted to know the exact moment of my death.

I've learned that the most unbelievable is the most believable.

I've come to believe that all my past failure and frustration were actually laying the foundation for the understandings that have created the new level of living in me and now I enjoy ever bit of my life and hope best for rest... something beyond love lines from Love Vs Destiny...

I was happy but happy is an adult word. You don't have to ask a child about happy, you see it. They are or they are not. Adults talk about being happy because largely they are not. Talking about it is the same as trying to catch the wind. Much easier to let it blow all over you. This is where I disagree with the philosophers. They talk about passionate things but there is no passion in them. Never talk happiness with a philosopher.

I was a spectator who had gotten free admission to a freak show.

I was angry at myself for my inclination to vice. I longed for the day when a state of frenzy would lead my mind to sober pasture, just as it had for Saint Augustine. I longed for the day when the love of one woman would be sacred enough to forget all the rest.

I was somewhere between angry and turned-on.

I was told, and indeed I saw several examples, that neither time nor place was much minded, and that I might hazard being equally careless of chronology and geography; but I piqued myself on having studied Aristotle, and scrupulously attended to the probabilities of time and place.

I went mad before he did, you killed everything in me. Kiss me,will you. Stop defending yourself.

Looking back on my life, I sigh. The caprice of youth goes with the wind, I’ve no regrets.

I will not be a victim. I will not think like a victim. I am going to avenge all those little girls. I am going to win.

Look, I went to a lot of trouble to come here and try to help you. I’m in more trouble than I can guess, but if you don’t want my help… maybe I should have just stayed home.

Llegaron del salón las notas de un piano cansado: disolvían el tiempo, hasta hacerlo casi irreconocible.

Los siglos pasados tuvieron y siguen teniendo sus propios poderes que el "modernismo" no puede suprimir.

Love has different shape, like this falling snow in winter

...Love can give you the most exhilarating wonderful highs at times... ...Then there will be dives that will take all you have just to hold on... Quote on the Title Page of "Love TORN Asunder

Love is always about losing somethin

Love is God’s first word, the first thought that sailed through his mind. When he said: Let there by light! there was love. And he was well-pleased with what he had made, nor did he wish any of it unmade. And love was the world’s origin and the world’s ruler; but all its ways are filled with flowers and blood, flowers and blood.

Love is not for thrill-seekers, dreamers, or children with short attention spans. And you, son, fit into all three of those categories.

Love is something that is beyond us. We can't anticipate love. When, where and with whom we fall in love is coincidental and wonderful for the same reason.

Low and behold what comes of reading too many romance novels.

Love is the connection between souls synchronized through heart beats. Quote from my upcoming book 'Always Be MINE

Loyalty needn’t be outspoken, Uranda. Only the days will tell if you’re loyal enough to the King or not.” - The Exiled Angel.

Man can not jump out of his life, but perhaps a novel has more freedom.

Matt was almost completely naked. A tattered loincloth and an ugly chain with a yellow diamond were his only apparel.

Marian was suddenly overcome by an appalling crippling panic. She was very frightened at the idea of arriving. But it was more than that. She feared the rocks and the cliffs and the grotesque dolmen and the ancient secret things. Her two companions seemed no longer reassuring but dreadfully alien and even sinister. She felt, for the first time in her life, completely isolated and in danger. She became in an instant almost faint with terror. She said, as a cry for help, ‘I’m feeling terribly nervous’. ‘I know you are,’ said Scottow. (…) Marian was appalled at the sudden quietness. But the insane panic had left her. She was frightened now in an ordinary way, sick in her stomach, shy, tongue-tied, horribly aware of the onset of a new world.

Manusia menuntut manusia lain untuk punya drama. Itu syaratnya supaya kita kelihatan normal