Best 126 quotes in «roman quotes» category

Ne çok hata değil mi, ne çok şeyi göremedik sadece tek bir doğrultuya baktığımızdan, ne kadar çok fırsatı kaçırdık ellerimizden… Yaşam denen hediye bize yalnız bir kez bahşedilmişken, bir daha asla sahip olamayacağımız şeyleri kaybettik…

No power on earth, if it labours beneath the burden of fear, can possibly be strong enough to survive.

She wakes in a puddle of sunlight. Her hands asleep beside her. Her hair draped on the lawn like a mantle of cloth.

Ohnehin waren die wenigsten Romanfiguren so detailliert beschrieben, dass Leser und Autor dasselbe Bild vor Augen hatten.

Ô, Muse of the Heart’s Passion, let me relive my Love’s memory, to remember her body, so brave and so free, and the sound of my Dreameress singing to me, and the scent of my Dreameress sleeping by me, Ô, sing, sweet Muse, my soliloquy!

Our lips were for each other and our eyes were full of dreams. We knew nothing of travel and we knew nothing of loss. Ours was a world of eternal spring, until the summer came.

Ô, Wanderess, Wanderess When did you feel your most euphoric kiss? Was I the source of your greatest bliss?

Savaş şöyle bir dokunup geçmişti bize. Bir ufak tırmık yarasıydı bu henüz. Sırada hançer vardı. Böyledir yüreği insanoğlunun: Küçücük bir felakette duracak gibi olur, sonuna kadar dayanır büyük felaketlere

Sie kannst du vielleicht täuschen, aber mich nicht." Er sah mich von der Seite an. Offenbar hatte er meine schlechte Laune bemerkt. "Tatsächlich?", murmelte er. "Mmmhmm. Sie tuscheln alle hinter deinem Rücken, wie gefährlich du bist und wie skrupellos und aufregend. Sie kichern wie dummer Hühner. Aber ich weiß etwas, was sie nicht wissen." Jetzt wandte Cain sich vollständig zu mir um. "Und das wäre?", frage er herausfordernd. Traurigkeit ergriff mein Herz wie eine eiserne Hand. "Du wirkst gefährlich, weil du gefährlich bist. Du bewegst dich wie ein griesgrämiger Tiger, und alle anderen sind für dich bloß Beute zwischen deinen Pranken. Sie sind so sehr damit beschäftigt, dich anzuhimmeln und darüber ui reden, wie umwerfend du doch aussiehst, dass sie gar nicht merken, dass sie gleich von dir gefressen werden. Dass du sie kaust und dann ausspuckst.

Nur weil mein Leben unlogisch ist, heißt das nicht, dass es nicht funktioniert.

Ô, the wine of a woman from heaven is sent, more perfect than all that a man can invent. When she came to my bed and begged me with sighs not to tempt her towards passion nor actions unwise, I told her I’d spare her and kissed her closed eyes, then unbraided her body of its clothing disguise. While our bodies were nude bathed in candlelight fine I devoured her mouth, tender lips divine; and I drank through her thighs her feminine wine. Ô, the wine of a woman from heaven is sent, more perfect than all that a man can invent.

Peki, biz şimdi ne yapacağız? Biz ne zaman uyanacağız, ey insanlar ey müslümanlar? Ne zaman birlik olup bunların hepsini topraklarımızdan kovacağız? Merhamet ve haysiyet sahibi herkesi yerinden sıçratacak böyle bir felaket döneminde, göz kapaklarımız nasıl bu kadar uzun kapanabiliyor? Zillet ve gaflet giysisi nasıl oluyor da bu kadar çok müşteri bulabiliyor? Bazı kardaşlarımız şimdi ancak küheylanların sırtında ya da akbabaların karnında uyuyabiliyor. Frenkler, dört bir yanımızda boyunlarımıza ve boyunlarımıza indirilmeye hazır kılıçlarıyla bekliyor. Peygamberimizin ve güzide arkadaşlarının şehirlerimizdeki mirası, hatıraları, hürmetleri kirletilip çiğneniyor. Kadınlarımıza tecavüz ediliyor ve gençlerimiz esir alınıp köle pazarlarında satılıyor. Bu müşrikler, dehşet saçıcı bir tufan halinde hiç durmadan buraya gelmeye devam ediyor. Frenk diyarından ard arda yollara düşen dağ gibi orduları görenler kaçıp saklanıyor. Onlarla dövüşmeye çalışanların bir kısmı, kendi kardaşlarının ihmali ve ihaneti yüzünden imha ediliyor, bir kısmı da rüşvetle ele geçiriliyor. Ey Allah'a iman ettiğini söyleyen insanlar! Allah aşkına düşünün! Kadınlarımızı, çocuklarımızı, yaşlılarımızı çaresizlerimizi koruma konusunda Allah'a ve İslama karşı bir vecibemiz yok mudur? Bunun çok ağır bir vebali, çetin ve kaçınılmaz bir hesabı yok mudur? Bu hâlimiz, ahireti yalanlamaktan başka bir şey midir? Cihad, sadece bir avuç maaşlı askerin işi midir? Müslumanlar arasinda, bir arzuyu tatmin etmek, şöhret kazanmak ya da ganimete sahip olmak için değil; aynı sahabenin cenk ettiği gibi Allah rızası ve cennete girme umuduyla savaşacak kimsr kalmamış mıdır? Siz Allah'a, Allah'ın dinine yardım ettiğinizde Allah da sizi yüzüstü bırakmaz! Siz O'nun yolunda sebatla durduğunuzda Allah da sizi terk etmez, elini üzerinizden çekmez. Öyleyse bu kayıtsızlık nedir? Allah aşkına söyleyin, bu ölüm ve zillet uykusu ne zaman sona erecektir?..

People who love what they do wear themselves down doing it, they even forget to wash or eat.

Pluteau undele unui parfum, ca şi când urmele sufletului ei ar fi rămas să-l ispitească.

Primul ceai, prima sărutare, prima întâmplare de dragoste, toate sunt la fel: nu poţi niciodată să le simţi gustul.

Qu'est-ce que le roman, en effet, sinon cet univers où l'action trouve sa forme, où les mots de la fin sont prononcés, les êtres livrés aux êtres, où toute vie prend le visage du destin. Le monde romanesque n'est que la correction de ce monde-ci, suivant le désir profond de l'homme. Car il s'agit bien du même monde. La souffrance est la même, le mensonge et l'amour. Les héros ont notre langage, nos faiblesses, nos forces. Leur univers n'est ni plus beau ni plus édifiant que le nôtre. Mais eux, du moins, courent jusqu'au bout de leur destin, et il n'est même jamais de si bouleversants héros que ceux qui vont jusqu'à l'extrémité de leur passion.[...] Voici donc un monde imaginaire, mais créé par la correction de celui-ci, un monde où la douleur peut, si elle le veut, durer jusqu'à la mort, où les passions ne sont jamais distraites, où les êtres sont livrés à l'idée fixe et toujours présents les uns aux autres. L'homme s'y donne enfin à lui-même la forme et la limite apaisante qu'il poursuit en vain dans sa condition. Le roman fabrique du destin sur mesure. C'est ainsi qu'il concurrence la création et qu'il triomphe, provisoirement, de la mort.

Rich will be my life if I can keep my memories full and brimming, and record them on clear-eyed mornings while I set joyously to work setting pen to holy craft.

Romanlarımla evlenip, çocuk yerine de kısa hikayeler edineceğim.

Schließlich sagte ich leise: "Wie kommt's, dass du so weise bist, Effie?" "Ich habe es siebenundsiebzig Jahre auf diesem Planeten ausgehalten", antwortete sie trocken. "Und indem ich die richtigen Entscheidungen getroffen habe, habe ich die meisten dieser Jahre sogar gelebt.

Si je dois mourir dans cette belle vie, je veux que ça soit fait par tes belles mains.

soles occidere et redire possunt: nobis cum semel occidit breuis lux, nox est perpetua una dormienda.

Someone was going to die; of that he was perfectly sure. The only question was who.

So our virtues Lie in the interpretation of the time: And power, unto itself most commendable, Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair To extol what it hath done. One fire drives out one fire; one nail, one nail; Rights by rights falter, strengths by strengths do fail.

The birthing wolf, Her heart fed with tenderness, Gave forth from ripe brown nipples, Food to feed the universe.

That's not fair," I said. "Georgina," he said simply. "We're in Hell.

The season was waning fast Our nights were growing cold at last I took her to bed with silk and song, 'Lay still, my love, I won’t be long; I must prepare my body for passion.' 'O, your body you give, but all else you ration.' 'It is because of these dreams of a sylvan scene: A bleeding nymph to leave me serene... I have dreams of a trembling wench.' 'You have dreams,' she said, 'that cannot be quenched.' 'Our passion,' said I, 'should never be feared; As our longing for love can never be cured. Our want is our way and our way is our will, We have the love, my love, that no one can kill.' 'If night is your love, then in dreams you’ll fulfill... This love, our love, that no one can kill.' Yet want is my way, and my way is my will, Thus I killed my love with a sleeping pill.

The first draft doesn't have to be perfect, but it does have to be written!

Then none was for a party; Then all were for the state; Then the great man helped the poor, And the poor man loved the great: Then lands were fairly portioned; Then spoils were fairly sold: The Romans were like brothers In the brave days of old.

There are twin Gates of Sleep. One, they say, is called the Gate of Horn and it offers easy passage to all true shades. The other glistens with ivory, radiant, flawless, but through it the dead send false dreams up toward the sky. And here Anchises, his vision told in full, escorts his son and Sibyl both and shows them out now through the Ivory Gate.

The Romans feared their dead. In fact, Roman funeral customs derived from a need to propitiate the sensibilities of the departed. The very word funus may be translated as dead body, funeral ceremony, or murder. There was a genuine concern that, if not treated appropriately, the spirits of the dead, or manes, would return to wreak revenge

The disappearance of the presence of beauty is the most despairing of events on this time-wheel of ours that rolls onward towards death.

The Greeks think they justly honor players, because they worship the gods who demand plays; the Romans, on the other hand, do not suffer an actor to disgrace by his name his own plebeian tribe, far less the senatorial order. And the whole of this discussion may be summed up in the following syllogism. The Greeks give us the major premise: If such gods are to be worshiped, then certainly such men may be honored. The Romans add the minor: But such men must by no means be honoured. The Christians draw the conclusion: Therefore such gods must by no means be worshiped.

The lot of the bride to be wed before bed desired until rotten. The lot of the author to be read before bed admired then forgotten.

The moment her hymen was plucked from her body in the wilderness, Her soul was taken from sanity.

The monster, Hitler, died like Uther, frightened, hiding, haunted by his crimes and his wholly reasonable belief that all decent human beings would turn their backs on him. Who really cares where Hitler’s bones lie, or how he died, as long as he is safely dead? Now, in the twenty-first century, Karl Marx’s grave in a London cemetery is no longer a rallying cry to the poisoned idea that the end justifies the means. We shall never know for certain where Arthur lies, or if he even lived. If he was a myth, then it was necessary for human beings to invent him. Hail, Arthur, King of the Britons! I wish another hero would take your place, now that the west has such a need of you.

There are times when a man should sleep entwined in the warm flesh of a woman, his flanks plummeting into the perfumed bedding while she lovingly rolls her sweet shoulders into his chest. Whereas, there are times to be stoic and solitary—sleeping alone on a wooden board with twill sheets and splinters that scratch the skin.

The tragedy of Dionysus: Wear a black robe at night, and white you’ll wear by morning; but wear a purple robe to the midnight feast, and when you wake you’ll dress in black to mourn your soul deceased.

The woman said something to Roman. He stopped, turned to her, and shook his staff. She crossed her arms. I couldn't see her face, but I read the body language well enough. I shake my magic stick at you!" "Let me tell you what you can do with your stick..."

The world is sacred, of course, it is full of gods, numina, great powers and presences. We give some of them names – Mars of the fields and the war; Vesta the fire; Ceres the grain; Mother Tellus the earth; the Penates of the storehouse. The rivers, the springs. And in the stormcloud and the light is the great power called the father god. But they aren’t people. They don’t love and hate, they aren’t for or against. They accept the worship due them, which augments their power, through which we live.

The word Familia did not originally signify the ideal of our modern philistine, which is a compound of sentimentality and domestic discord. Among the Romans, in the beginning, it did not even refer to the married couple and their children, but to the slaves alone. Famulus means a household slave and familia signifies the totality of slaves belonging to one individual. The expression was invented by the romans to describe a new social organism, the head of which had under him wife and children and a number of slaves, under Roman paternal power, with power of life and death over them all.

Trotz seiner Haltng konnte ich sehen, wie sehr sein gesamter Körper bebte. Der Anblick brach mir das Herz. Er brach mir das Herz.

...to be able to enjoy the life you have spent, is to live it twice.

To attempt to build up theories of art, or to form a new style, would be an act of supreme folly. It would be at once to reject the experiences and accumulated knowledge of thousands of years. On the contrary, we should regard as our inheritance all the successful labours of the past, not blindly following them, but employ simply as guides to find the true path.

Those who are ignorant of Geology, find no difficulty in believing that the world was made as it is; and the shepherd, untutored in history, sees no reason to regard the green mounds which indicate the site of a Roman camp, as aught but part and parcel of the primeval hill-side.

Two blue men the size of football players walking through a store wrapped in Roman gladiator armor was bound to attract attention.

Une fille sans nattes est comme une ville sans ponts.

Vous n'avez tué personne aujourd'hui ? Mais combien en avez-vous laissé mourir ?

Very good, Jason Grace," Notus said. "You are a son of Jupiter, yet you have chosen your own path- as all the greatest demigods have done before you. You cannot control your parentage, but you can choose your legacy.

Wanderess, Wanderess, emporte-nous dans un récit de séduction et de ruse. Héroïque sera la Wanderess, le Monde sera sa Muse !

What is deemed as “his-story” is often determined by those who survived to write it. In other words, history is written by the victors...Now, with the help of the Roman historian Tacitus, I shall tell you Queen Boudicca’s story, her-story……