Best 3514 quotes in «fate quotes» category

In that instant it all seemed to come clear to him- it came in a grisly flash of light, and he realized that the vote they had taken as children was a joke. There was no turning back, never had been. They were on a track as preordained as the memory-track which had caused him to look up when he passed under the stairway leading to the stacks. There was an echo here in Derry, a deadly echo, and all they could hope for was that the echo could be changed enough in their favor to allow them to escape with their lives.

In the back of your hypnotic mind Hidden behind your fears Lost between your dreams … Bewitched by the scent of your soul Lured in the ash of your fate … Hanged in the delirium of your whispers Graced by your immortal beauty within … Agonized in your chaotic universe Vanished in your far away sights … Deceived in your fanatical passion Injured by the perfection of your brain … Denuded of fears in front of your judging Kidnapped by your timeless appearance...to the end of love (fragments from I'll be there, chapter Passion)

In the centre of Bond was a hurricane-room, the kind of citadel found in old-fashioned houses in the tropics. These rooms are small, strongly built cells in the heart of the house, in the middle of the ground floor and sometimes dug down into its foundations. To this cell the owner and his family retire if the storm threatens to destroy the house, and they stay there until the danger is past. Bond went to his hurricane room only when the situation was beyond his control and no other possible action could be taken. Now he retired to this citadel, closed his mind to the hell of noise and violent movement, and focused on a single stitch in the back of the seat in front of him, waiting with slackened nerves for whatever fate had decided for B. E. A. Flight No. 130.

In the end, I believe these pages and the Book of Records return to the persistence of this desire: to know the times in which we are alive. To keep the record that must be kept and also, finally, to let it go.

In the first play, the crisis is Thomas More. In the second it’s Anne Boleyn. In the third book, and the third play, it’s crisis every day, an overlapping series of only just negotiable horrors. It’s climbing and climbing. Then a sudden abrupt fall - within days.

In the forty minutes I watched the muskrat, he never saw me, smelled me, or heard me at all. When he was in full view of course I never moved except to breathe. My eyes would move, too, following his, but he never noticed. Only once, when he was feeding from the opposite bank about eight feet away did he suddenly rise upright, all alert- and then he immediately resumed foraging. But he never knew I was there. I never knew I was there, either. For that forty minutes last night I was as purely sensitive and mute as a photographic plate; I received impressions, but I did not print out captions. My own self-awareness had disappeared; it seems now almost as though, had I been wired to electrodes, my EEG would have been flat. I have done this sort of thing so often that I have lost self-consciousness about moving slowly and halting suddenly. And I have often noticed that even a few minutes of this self-forgetfulness is tremendously invigorating. I wonder if we do not waste most of our energy just by spending every waking minute saying hello to ourselves. Martin Buber quotes an old Hasid master who said, “When you walk across the field with your mind pure and holy, then from all the stones, and all growing things, and all animals, the sparks of their souls come out and cling to you, and then they are purified and become a holy fire in you.

In the grand scheme of things, everything has a tendency to fall back in place eventually. So just trust the process and know that when it seem to be falling apart, it is actually falling in place.

In the meantime, Charlie learnt to fly. Dorothea fell in love. Peter discovered a new star. And a great number of things happened to Justin. Hundreds of millions of ordinary, unexpected, and occasionally quite astonishing things. And that was his fate.

In the moonlight and under the stars Somehow your face seems clearer I revere your presence and remember We are warriors Thrusted onto this plane We are strong We must use our strength While bearing compassion It's easy to get lost This place makes it so easy to get lost But- In the moonlight and under the stars Somehow your presence seems clearer And I remember We are warriors

In the old days, when travelers would get lost, they would follow the stars and I love that idea. I wish that I could rely on something as simple and magnificent as a star for all of my aching questions.

In the race of life, what matters is to complete your race.

In the quantum multiverse, every choice, every decision you've ever and never made exists in an unimaginably vast ensemble of parallel universes.

In this game against fate, I am losing. Miserably.

In this life at least, Our fate is rarely epic. Maybe just as well, Impervious heroes we are not…

In this arid wilderness of steel and stone I raise up my voice that you may hear. To the East and to the West I beckon. To the North and to the South I show a sign proclaiming: Death to the weakling, wealth to the strong! Compton

In this way Fate outplayed the efforts of mortals-simply to amuse itself, one might think.

In time you shall see Fate approach you In the shape of your own image in the mirror.

In twenty-one years, I have not considered changing to Todd. The bizarre course of my life suggests that Odd is more suited to me, whether it was conferred by my parents with intention or fate.

Io non discuto di filosofia. Io non studio storia. So solo che il passato è passato e ciò che sta davanti è davanti e si chiama ka e bada a se stesso.

I personally find the whole destiny thing to be overrated. It rarely ends well and involves extensive death and sacrifice for the greater good. None of which is really my thing.

I raise up in stern invasion the standard of the strong! Compton

I question all things. As I stand before the festering and varnished facades of your haughtiest moral dogmas, I write thereon in letters of blazing scorn: Lo and behold; all this is fraud! Compton

I really believe that there is an invisible red thread tied between him and me, and that it has stretched and tangled for years — across oceans and lifetimes. I know that it won’t break because our souls are tied.

I realize we all walk around pretending we have some control over our fate, because to recognize the truth--that no matter what we do, the bottom will fall out when we least expect it--is just too unbearable to live with.

I request reason for your golden rule and ask the why and wherefore of your commandments. Compton

I said I liked sunsets and he said “you should see the sunrise,” and told me about open fields in Canada, where he’d been. I listened and he talked and my broken heart ached a little lower and not so hard, and I never told him about it, but I think he knew, for by the end of the night he said he liked that I finally smiled and told me to do so more often, and that was just one of many days that didn’t turn out the way I had planned, but just like I needed it to, and that’s where I’d like to live. So it’s about the endless possibility of every single day. Be always on your way.

I ruin everything. I think that a bullet must have passed through my heart when I was very young, causing me to bleed out slowly, over things and people and every white surface that I’d ever come across.

Is all ordained? Foreknowledge is not fate, and we may choose our paths, yet fate says we may not choose them. So if fate is real, do we have a choice?

I saw you and i knew, more or less, now or in far away time you would shape a chapter in my story that i would spend a lifetime trying to forget.

I see it in your eyes as I see it in hers. Remember, there is always light where there is love and if that is what is meant to happen between the two of you, then it was destined.

Isn't that the way everything begins? A night, a love, a once and for all.

Is not an event in fact more significant and noteworthy the greater the number of fortuities necessary to bring it about? ... Everything that occurs out of necessity, everything expected, repeated day in and day out, is mute. Only chance can speak to us.

Is life a fantasy or fairy tales?

I spent so much time thinking about regret. Regret and its accompanying conviction that there is a perfect, placid life, one's own alternate existence, pristine and simple, existing in a neighboring reality in which certain turns in the road were never set upon. And it isn't true. Any of it. I knew that. I had learned it. But it is an irresistible fantasy, if only because it implies we have some control over our fates.

Is there something like fate? Or is it a key role in our lives? Or have we forgotten to look in ourselves? As the struggle continues, we know, there's no fate.

I stepped out and the sun was shining. And the birds were chirping. It was the nicest day we'd had in ages. A couple of bunnies scampering about. It could have been the start of a Disney flick.

. . . is it better to throw yourself head first and laughing into the holy rage calling your name?

Is not our capacity to choose, to chase, to dream of becoming other than we are, more powerful then the patterns of the stars?

I spoke of the tragic illusion of perpetuity, but, no, my friends, it is a comic one. The ludicrous plot in which we are all trapped. The ancient Greeks referred to plot as mythos, attributing the random drift of human affairs to some sort of unknowable but glimpsable divine motion, attempting to attach a certain grandeur to it, the delusion of meaning. But we are characters who do not exist, in a story composed by no one from nothing. Can anything be more pitiable? No wonder we all are grieving.

Is there any teacher better, more patient, more determined than fate?

I still believed firmly in chance at that time.

I suppose I hadn't believed in Fate until that point. But it's hard not to [...] when you think that there was no way, across miles, continents, vast ocean, we were meant to see each other again.

It all seems like a horrible tragedy, with fate pressing on relentlessly to some destined end. Everything that one does seems, no matter how right it may be, to bring on the very thing which is most to be deplored.

It cleaves our hearts apart but it stitches them back together just as easily. It is the language of the eyes for they speak it more eloquently than words will ever do. You fall in it and it may heave you higher than the seventh sky. Nothing makes sense without it despite its senselessnness. It comes in different shades and colors and if you're fortunate yours would be that of blood but it won't have you bleeding. You're a fool for trying to eschew its hold for it is everywhere but if you don't you may wind-up feeling like a fool. Good luck

It doesn't matter if we don't mean to do the things we do. It doesn't mean if it was an accident or a mistake. It doesn't even matter if we think this is all up to fate. Because regardless of our destiny, we still have to answer for our actions. We make choices, big and small, every day of our lives, and those choices have consequences.

I taught I had to be good to walk with God. And God said, “My grace is what you need to walk with me, than you will be good.

It does not matter how much we distance ourselves, how far we run - the past always shadows us.

It had a little to do with fate, suffering and what becomes of the broken hearted. Resilience is the main characteristic of champions, strength wasn’t build in a day.

It felt like fate. That if Gray Shadow and Caius could not find their way to each other, their bloodlines eventually did.

I think sometimes, despite our good intentions and wise choices, something's are up to fate and we learn to play our part the best we can.