Best 1003 quotes in «memoir quotes» category

Anger tried to help me feel better about myself by pushing the blame onto someone else.

An intensely gripping narrative...expertly crafted and totally addictive...a must read!

Another note to self; turn cellphone to silent when you’re trying to be sneaky.

Answering the question 'How would you like to smell?' by saying 'I'd rather I didn't' is also no longer acceptable. It's not playing the game. Men are expected to put some cash into the cosmetic pot too - it's seen as almost un-feminist not to. What a uniquely capitalist response to that gender inequality: women have been forced by convention for generations - millennia - to spend money on expensive clothes and agonising shoes, to daub themselves with reality-concealing slap, to smell expensively inhuman, to self-mutilate in pursuit of eternal youth; and this, quite rightly, has come to be deemed unfair. But how do we end this hell? We make men do it too. Well done everyone.

Anyone can choose to have success, but only the patient ones will get rewarded by it. Be relentless in chasing your dreams.

Anyone who thinks he's too small to make a difference has never been bit by a mosquito", I'd tell people.

Anyone with an autobiography is almost definitely an evil piece of shit.

As a dyslexic with rapid thought, my hands often fly over the page way too fast, and my typing isn’t much better.

(As an adult, it will stun you that most bizarre encounters with virtual strangers from this period could have ended by your simply leaving, walking away—an option you exercised by running off from various buys but that never occurred to you in real time).

As an adult, getting paid thousands of dollars a week to say, “Aye, Sir. Course laid in” is a seriously sweet gig, but when I was a teenager, it sucked.

...A secure future seemed mapped out for me. Too secure, too mapped out. If I carried on in medicine, I realized I'd have a pretty good idea exactly what I'd be doing ten, twenty and even thirty years from that moment. It struck me like a halibut from the North Sea that that was not the way my life should go at all. What was the point of working on through the age of sixty-five and taking a chance on a better reincarnation next time?

As if violence could make light. Maybe violence could make light.

As I travelled south through Europe everything got bigger. This applied to nice things like fruit-the nectarines and tomatoes were about six times as large in Greece as they were in Britain for example. But the principle also applied to unpleasant things, like spiders, and worms, and all other nameless and horrifying insects and arachnids of Greece.

As I searched for food perfection, and as I gained weight, I began to realize that the race for perfection in anything was the path to destruction.

As well as writing, 2004 saw my first attempt at wine making: the elixir of life. Unfortunately, my effort tasted more like the elixir of death.

As Samson demonstrated, going bald ruins lives.

As the silence returned, I sat back and felt the tension ease away; I hadn’t even known I was tense. A few moments passed and once again the cycling fan laced in with the clanging chains and mixed with the rumbling mower and the buzzing insects.

Ask not what your Joe Montaperto can do for you, but rather what YOU can do for your Joe Montaperto.

A speedball hits you like a huge, warm wave. The back of your neck throbs, your ears ring, and everything inside of you muffles while everything outside of you sharpens. The initial rush of it doesn't last long, a minute, maybe two. Then it's a downward slide into a normal high. Only the first one can be perfect. After that, you need more of everything. (128)

A sunset, almost formidable in its splendor, would be lingering in the fully exposed sky. Among its imperceptibly changing amassments, one could pick out brightly stained structural details of celestial organisms, or glowing slits in dark banks, or flat, ethereal beaches that looked like mirages of desert islands. I did not know then (as I know perfectly well now) what to do with such things—how to get rid of them, how to transform them into something that can be turned over to the reader in printed characters to have him cope with the blessed shiver—and this inability enhanced my oppression.

At a crucial point in my early twenties, being able to end a pregnancy had restored to me what I regarded as a normal life. I remember that it saved me.

A writer’s highest calling: to listen well, write creatively, teach to influence, stir the glowing embers of their peers, and leave the Light on for the next generations.

At times I feel as if I am spread out over the landscape and inside things, and am myself living in every tree, in the splashing of the waves, in the clouds and the animals that come and go, in the procession of the seasons. There is nothing in the Tower that has not grown into its own form over the decades, nothing with which I am not linked. Here everything has its history, and mine; here is space for the spaceless kingdom of the world's and the psyche's hinterland.

A word of warning here. The events as you remember them will never be the same in your memory once you have turned them into a memoir. For years I have worried that if I turn all of my life into literature, I won't have any real life left - just stories about it. And it is a realistic concern: it does happen like that. I am no longer sure I remember how it felt to be twenty and living in Spain after my parents died; my book about it stands now between me and my memories. When I try to think about that time, what comes to mind most readily is what I wrote.

autism is more like retina patterns than measles

Back at the Davydokovo apartment, we sat mesmerized in front of Grandad's Avantgard brand TV. It was all porn all the time. Porn in three flavors: 1)Tits and asses; 2) gruesome close-ups of dead bodies from war or crimes; 3) Stalin. Wave upon wave of previously unseen documentary footage of the Generalissimo. Of all the porn, number three was the most lurid. The erotics of power.

Banyak hal yang dapat dipelajari di jalan dan tidak pernah diajarkan di sekolah formal manapun. Traveling adalah tentang pelajaran hidup untuk membuka mata mengamati dari perspektif yang berbeda, melihat dari sudut pandang yang bukan biasa digunakan.

Bart ended our relationship with a shoddy email, void of the romantic twaddle he spouted several months before. Like a jilted teenager, once again I tried to find a small slice of regret in his words, a tiny piece of salvation to clutch on my way down, Alas, Bart left no soft place for my heart to land.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but the only beholder that matters is you.

Be a team player, not a bandwagon jumper.

Because I feared I couldn't walk to Newton Centre without her, I needed to hike through desert, snow and woods alone. Childhood is a wilderness.

Be good, or good at it.

Because when you’re a 23-year old party girl who has to pee you don’t really think about the possibility that your nerdy bouncer friend might suddenly start acting like a trench-coated pedophile who flashes kids at the park.

Benar atau tidak, jujur atau tidak, memoir ialah sebuah prosa peribadi, karya bukan cereka yang mesti dibaca secara kritis untuk menentukan kebenarannya.

Being a maverick traveller, one would like to place oneself in the place of a local; just listen without judgement.

Being broken isn't the worst thing. We can be mended and put together again. We don’t have to be ashamed of our past. We can embrace the history that gives us value, and see our cracks as beautiful.

Beneath hot sun, desert roses bloomed. Under cold moon, I still refused to.

Bersama siapapun kita berpetualang, traveling adalah salah satu sekolah dengan guru terbaik untuk menjadikan diri kita tumbuh menjadi manusia yang lebih baik.

Besides, we were fifteen, and we couldn't get our feelings to match up with our brains. So we went with our feelings.

But the truth was stranger than an aimless road, it always was.

Blocking our feelings and pretending they aren’t there doesn’t mean they don’t exist.

Breathe in the small things

But instability like mine needs considerable distance to pass for mere quirkiness.

But our eyes know to find each other and they do. And it reminds me of the way the ocean breaks: Blue turning blue again. Blue meeting land. Collapsing there, deeply. It reminds me of nothing else. And that means we are safe.

But then we did not think ever of ourselves as poor. We did not accept it. We thought we were superior people and other people that we looked down on and rightly mistrusted were rich. It had never seemed strange to me to wear sweatshirts for underwear to keep warm. It only seemed odd to rich. We ate well and cheaply and drank well and cheaply and slept well and warm together and loved each other.

But that's hindsight for you: never there when you need it.

But you have to remember...that you can't run from unhappiness. You just take it with you.

Betrayal is sacred when the heart can encompass the whole.

Bonding through caregiving..I don't think I'd ever realized until then that so much affection, so much heart connect, happens when we take care of someone.

But I couldn’t say any of this yet. No one answer felt it could contain anything close to the truth about her. My thoughts of my mother were wild chaos, I didn’t know how to tell him we’d been enmeshed for as long as I could remember.