Best 19526 quotes in «book quotes» category

Hey, GreenHollyWood ruin my vision. I don't want to be gay... because what's shown in Mr.Robot it's geysish, mother fucker!

hic sacra domus carique penates, hic mihi Roma fuit.

His chief form of entertainment was reading. The last moments he was in a cabin were usually spent scanning bookshelves and nightstands. The life inside a book always felt welcoming to Knight. It pressed no demands on him, while the world of actual human interactions was so complex. Conversations between people can move like tennis games, swift and unpredictable. There are constant subtle visual and verbal cues, there's innuendo, sarcasm, body language, tone. Everyone occasionally fumbles an encounter, a victim of social clumsiness. It's part of being human. To Knight, it all felt impossible. His engagement with the written word might have been the closest he could come to genuine human encounters. The stretch of days between thieving raids allowed him to tumble into the pages, and if he felt transported he could float in bookworld, undisturbed, for as long as he pleased.

His fingers unhooked from hers, following that same path up her arm, and then back down it again. The feeling was so distracting, so good, so sweet against her clammy skin. She didn't choose a piece from her repertoire; Etta gave herself over to the notes that started streaming through her mind, rising from somewhere deep inside of her. The melody of her heart had no name; it was quick, and light. It rolled with the waves, falling as the breath left his chest, rising as he inhaled. It was the rain sliding down the glass; the fog spreading its fingers over the water. The creaking of a ship's great body. The secrets whispered by the wind, and the unseen life that moved below. It was the flame against the candle. Nicholas's arm was a map of hard muscles and delicate sinews, heartbreakingly perfect. She wondered if he could hear her humming the piece against his skin over the droning roars overhead. Maybe. His free hand skimmed up her skin, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. With the world blacked out around them, she could catalog all over her senses, capture this moment in the warm darkness forever. He brushed back the loose hair across her forehead, cheek, the corner of her lips, her jaw, and she knew it had to be the same for him, that they'd never been so aware of another person in their entire lives. She released his arm, and he drew it up around her, guiding both of them down so they were on their sides, their heads cushioned by the bag, his jacket drawn over them. Etta understood that here, in the darkness, they'd found a place beyond rules; a place that hung somewhere between the past and the future. This was a single moment of possibility. The clattering of the attack from above faded as he rested his forehead against hers, his thumb lightly stroking a bruise on her cheek. She traced his face - the straight nose, the high, proud cheekbones, the full curve of his lips. His hand caught her there, taking it in his own; he pressed a hard, almost despairing kiss to it. But when she tilted her face up, half - desperate with longing, her blood racing, Nicholas pulled back; and although Etta could feel him beside her, his heart pounding, his ragged breath, it was as if he had disappeared into the thundering dark.

His features made him look striking, and I wondered if that was actually his personality.

His face clouded over when Calvin and Peachy tried to explain women. Peachy pressed on bravely. “Now, the purpose of the vagina,” he was saying. He stopped and said to Calvin, “Why can’t we just buy him a book?

His real name is A.J., but he is known in Heaven as Armor because of how resilient he is in his faith and how persistent he is with his prayers.

Historia to najcenniejszy skarb każdego narodu. Należy strzec jej z mądrą troską

Ho il cuore pesante, mi sembra di avere dentro di me un alieno che vuole aprirmi il petto e venire fuori. Il ricordo di Giulia che mi guarda con amore infinito e mi bacia per ore non vuole proprio andare via. La fine di un amore rende impotenti e i ricordi sembrano fatti apposta per metterti davanti tutto ciò che vorresti invece dimenticare. Sembra quasi che esista uno spazio nel cervello che si aziona con un input involontario e ti fa rivivere tutte quelle situazioni che vorresti cancellare con un click. I ricordi possono essere invadenti e più vorresti allontanarli più rimangono lì, come un corvo sulla spalla, facendoti sentire un totale cretino

His weary life gave him a crown of thorns, for he must abide its strangeness through the heavy hours, as of fear and dismay—a nip of bitter-sour ache,gives him a secret revival, by the lute he has!

Holy Bible is a sacred book.

Horror story is not result of accident.

How can I survive without a book to read?

How could we love books more than money? This is the state of book lovers.

How could she ever know that someone would pick her story up and carry it with him everywhere?

How do text messages make you feel existential? I start thinking about exactly that: how people can edit a thought before sending it out to the world. They can make themselves seem more well spoken than they are, or funnier, smarter. I start thinking that no one in the world is who they say the are, then my mind goes to how I also edit myself, not just online but in real life, except for those rare instances like right now where I'm ranting- even though that's a lie because I've had this train of thought before and damned if I didn't tweak it in my head a few times to make it sound better- and then my mind starts racing so furiously I can't control my thoughts, and I start thinking about robots and wondering if I'm even a real person.

How do you feel when you read stuff written by dead authors? A visit by a ghost?

How far you go in life and in your career is dependent on how far you can think good thoughts!

How the story will end, no one knows? We can only envisage.

I always looked for a place where I could sit in solace and read, and you know what offered me that comfortable solitude? Books.

How you spend your time when you are not working or studying says everything about who you are and what is motivating your life.

I always have enjoyed people to read for me or to have the chace to listen of how they narrate a book.

i am a girl with the devil in my eyes and hades as my lover, dancing our way to an underworld, where he pins me against the wall and fingers out of me a silent confession

I am a book lover. I buy, collect and read books.

I am a deeply uncertain individual. I often find myself acting like a fool to make the people around me laugh. When they’re laughing, they’re not watching me quite as closely. I smile to put people at ease. But what if I opened my mouth one day, spoke my actual thoughts, and the people glared at my opinions? What if they thought me disgusting or frightening or ugly because of my words? Would you keep your lips shut for the rest of your life to not face that judgment? Just for the sake of someone else’s comfort? For these strangers, who I will never know? If I can’t speak then I’ll write. These strangers, whose opinions crush me, will be forced to listen. Because when they read my words those words will make a home within their heads. They may even end up using my own opinions against me. But at least I’ll be hidden behind the pages of a book.

I am a wildflower in your perfect bed of roses.

I am in all truthfulness attempting to be cheerful about this whole topic, though most people find themselves hindered in believing me, no matter my protestations. Please, trust me. I most definitely can be cheerful. I can be amiable. Agreeable. Affable. And that's only the A's. Just don't ask me to be nice. Nice has nothing to do with me.

I always thought 'love at first sight' was silly and incredibly irresponsible. Then, you came along and you flipped it on me. I understand it now. I do! ~Sheriff Derrick Decker

I am afraid” can be the end or the beginning: “I am afraid, so I will run away,” or “I am afraid, and I will embrace my fear and do it regardless.

I am a passionate reader. New interested books keep adding on my reading list. My wildest dream is to complete reading all the books.

I am Cinna's bird, ignited, flying frantically to escape something inescapable. The feathers of flame that grow from my body. Beating my wings only fans the blaze. I consume myself, but to no end. Finally, my wings begin to falter, I lose height, and gravity pulls me into a foamy sea the color of Finnick's eyes. I float on my back, which continues to burn beneath the water, but the agony quiets to pain. When I am adrift and unable to navigate, that's when they come. The dead. The ones I loved fly as birds in the open sky above me. Soaring, weaving, calling to me to join them. I want so badly to follow them, but the seawater saturates my wings, making it impossible to lift them. The ones I hated have taken to the water, horrible scaled things that tear my salty flesh with needle teeth. Biting again and again. Dragging me beneath the surface. The small white bird tinged in pink dives down, buries her claws in my chest, and tries to keep me afloat. "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!" But the ones I hated are winning, and if she clings to me, she'll be lost as well. "Prim, let go!" And finally she does.

I am filled with conviction that the interests of humanity would be best served if the United States remained true to its traditions and kept out of “entangling alliances.

I am happy to have all the books I need to read.

I am lost in the world of books. So many books to read.

I am just one heartbreak away from my next book.

I am no one's to be claimed, I belong to me.

I am not a Books warm, but I like Books too much.

I am obsessed with books. I am a book collector.

I am not sad anymore. I am not weak or tender or quiet like you remember because the second you said those words and closed that door, I sold my soul to the part of myself I had buried in order to love you, to let you touch every inch of my rotten body, for I wanted to be touchable and not so strange. Not so sad and tender, like I’ve always been, they say, so I changed. And then your glances and words throwing knives with no return about my change of habits and ways of living, being, and I nodded and smiled, dying silently a little bit inside.

I am speaking like a book, but I believe that what I am saying is true.

I am trying to sell beauty. Worst that you can do to me is not buy it!

I balk. I lazy the bed. I wallow when I write. I truth when I lie. I throw a book when a poem undoes me.

I beg your pardon?” Catherine interrupted. “Are you implying that women have poor judgment?” “In these matters, yes.” Leo gestured to Christopher. “Just look at the fellow, standing there like a bloody Greek god. Do you think she chose him because of his intellect?” “I graduated from Cambridge,” Christopher said acidly. “Should I have brought my diploma?” “In this family,” Cam interrupted, “there is no requirement of a university degree to prove one’s intelligence. Lord Ramsay is a perfect example of how one has nothing to do with the other.

I believe being a ‘gentleman’ goes well beyond holding the door for a girl and letting her go before you. It’s about being vulnerable for her. I think that when it comes to the way we treat women, it’s a good idea to look to the way Jesus treated women. He laid His life down for His bride, He sacrificed for her, He lowered Himself for her, He was vulnerable for her. We must love women vulnerably in the same way that Jesus loved His bride vulnerably. Being a gentleman is far more than being caring and thoughtful, it’s about possessing sacrificial and vulnerable Christ-like characteristics. I don’t know if it’s possible to be a gentleman without knowing and representing the character of Jesus.

I believe that the choice of a first book, the book that opens your eyes and quickens your soul, is as involuntary as a first crush.

I can lend you my money not my books.

I can't imagine it's easy to like someone, hate them, and then lose them before any of those feelings are resolved.

I can’t!” Maggie was now standing on the wall. “Past the boundary wall is a bad place. I’m not allowed in the bad place.

I chew the inside of my lip, considering for a second what it would be like to slap this skinny little witch right across her tight-lipped little face. ~Kelly about Suni

I choose to write because it's perfect for me. It's an escape, a place I can go to hide. It's a friend, when I feel out casted from everyone else. It's a journal, when the only story I can tell is my own. It's a book, when I need to be somewhere else. It's control, when I feel so out of control. It's healing, when everything seems pretty messed up. And it's fun, when life is just flat-out boring.