Best 19526 quotes in «book quotes» category

God takes us through life`s journey. Always nudging our Spirits to go for plus and shun the minus.

Go for it because for all those moments that you would make up your mind the other might have already rushed for it.

Great books live longer than people. They are gonna bury us all.

Great books make a great life.

GREAT THINGS COME OUT OF LONELINESS; LIKE INSPIRATION THAT BRINGS PEOPLE TOGETHER!

Great souls encouraged us to be great.

Hatred is a nightmare from which you can't wake up.

Hair the color of lemons,'" Rudy read. His fingers touched the words. "You told him about me?" At first, Liesel could not talk. Perhaps it was the sudden bumpiness of love she felt for him. Or had she always loved him? It's likely. Restricted as she was from speaking, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to drag her hand across and pull her over. It didn't matter where. Her mouth, her neck, her cheek. Her skin was empty for it, waiting. Years ago, when they'd raced on a muddy field, Rudy was a hastily assembled set of bones, with a jagged, rocky smile. In the trees this afternoon, he was a giver of bread and teddy bears. He was a triple Hitler Youth athletics champion. He was her best friend. And he was a month from his death. Of course I told him about you," Liesel said.

Hatred, like a bush fire, ultimately consumes those who propagate it, leaving nothing but scorched, barren earth behind in their hearts. Love, the greatest of reckless endeavours, inspires men to greatness in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds... Maybe this book is just that, a reckless endeavour of the heart.

Happy be the reader plunged into her book who forgot the world and whom world forgot.

Haven't you ever happened to come across in a book some vague notion that you've had, some obscure idea that returns from afar and that seems to express completely your most subtle feelings?

Have the best course for all your actions.

Have you never picked up a book you've read before, and found it speaks to you in a new way?

He clearly suffers from some past traumas too, so hopefully he'll understand why I was untruthful to him about mine.

He'd failed them, the swimming goldfish of his life's tiny existence whom he held so dear in his heart; he'd turned his muses into mistakes and no one knew the difference but him.

heeping (noun): a state of mindlessly following others when in fact you know the truth and the right actions you must take, but you don’t want to overcome social resistance, accept the brief emotional pain of going against social pressure, and assume full responsibility for your life.

He failed to see that it contained at once all of Djuna's wishes which had been denied, and these wishes had flown from all directions to meet at this intersection and to plead once more for understanding.

He has the etiquette of a frog

He always had a song to dictate to me. He did simple things, which meant the world to me.

He lived like a devil and died like a saint. Life is paradoxical, but I believe that I could also be the person I am today, if life would have cut me with happiness, instead of pain. I would be the same. I didn’t need the pain to grow, or be who I really am inside of me. Because life, life cuts you like a precious stone and shows the brilliance of your essence…but maybe we can learn also with joy and happiness, and turn into the same persons, just happier. We don’t need pain to learn

He realised war was not against an enemy. War is against everything – you never know who is the friend or foe. For Pierre, this bookshop was war.

Heavy rains and a good book. A perfect extravagance.

He lived like a devil and died like a saint

Here I was, seeing you almost every week, and talking with you, and knowing that the only one in your heart was Kizuki. It hurt. It really hurt. And I think that's why I slept with girls I didn't know.

Her hands moved up his arms and tried to ignore the tingling zapping her skin like the metal edges of the Operation game.

Her gaze wavered towards one of the books on the sales counter beside the register, a hardcover copy of Shakespeare’s Hamlet with many of the pages dog-eared and stained with coffee and tea. The store owner caught her looking at it and slid it across the counter towards her. “You ever read Hamlet?” he questioned. “I tried to when I was in high school,” said Mandy, picking up the book and flipping it over to read the back. “I mean, it’s expected that everyone should like Shakespeare’s books and plays, but I just….” her words faltered when she noticed him laughing to himself. “What’s so funny, Sir?” she added, slightly offended. “…Oh, I’m not laughing at you, just with you,” said the store owner. “Most people who say they love Shakespeare only pretend to love his work. You’re honest Ma’am, that’s all. You see, the reason you and so many others are put-off by reading Shakespeare is because reading his words on paper, and seeing his words in action, in a play as they were meant to be seen, are two separate things… and if you can find a way to relate his plays to yourself, you’ll enjoy them so much more because you’ll feel connected to them. Take Hamlet for example – Hamlet himself is grieving over a loss in his life, and everyone is telling him to move on but no matter how hard he tries to, in the end all he can do is to get even with the ones who betrayed him.” “…Wow, when you put it that way… sure, I think I’ll buy a copy just to try reading, why not?” Mandy replied with a smile.

Her presence had awakened in him a man suddenly whipped by his earlier ideals, whose lost manhood wanted to assert itself in action.

He snatched up the reins again, holding her tight. There was nothing affectionate or remotely romantic about the gesture; it was desperation, like a man clinging to a ledge. "We run.

He loved books, those undemanding but faithful friends.

He stood there watching for a moment, not able to move. Even with her mascara running down her face and her hair beginning to frizz, she was still by far the most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on. It was quite simple, wasn’t it? This great affection he had for Olivia was so overwhelming he chose to walk away instead of being brutally honest with himself.

He swatted at her with his book. "Shut up and read, will you?" He lay back down and closed his eyes. Emma glanced over to check that he was smiling, and smiled too.

He was a far more voracious reader than me, but he made it a rule to never touch a book by any author who had not been dead at least 30 years. "That's the only kind of book I can trust," he said. "It's not that I don't believe in contemporary literature," he added, "but I don't want to waste valuable time reading a book that has not had the baptism of time. Life is too short.

He was angry with himself for having kissed her and enjoyed it, only to be disappointed by her in the end. He knew that love was never simple, but it was even less so for a vampire. He shook his head in disbelief as he walked away. He had really thought that she was the one for him and had genuinely believed that he was going to spend the rest of his life with her, but now, he knew better.

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

Holy Bible is a sacred book.

Her dad must be a big guy. He pictured a muscular man with a baseball hat on backwards, smoking a cigarette, and drinking a bottle of Wild Turkey while watching underground cockfighting tapes.

her dream was dipped in honey; of a girl with hair like fire and eyes like the night sky

He took my hand, made me stand on the branch and asked, "What can you see from here?" "Nothing" I said, "Know what I can see? From this distance everything is so bloody perfect".

He turned to see three kids at his side. Tish and the two little boys. He had to admit the boys looked pretty normal to him — apart from the fact that they were both laden down with armour and weapons, and the dark harked one appeared to be wearing a dress, like they were on their way to a fancy-dress party.

He was a lawyer and he knew that it would be best to trust his journalist friend, but not to tell his own lawyer

He went through rooms he named as he discovered them, and which he hardly had time to appreciate before he'd flung open a door at the far end and plunged through. . . . and in the Library of All the Same Book he actually stopped to examine a few of the volumes, all titled Various, that lined the shelves.

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 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!