Best 126 quotes in «roman quotes» category

I hope you had an entertaining time following me around.” I took my keys out. “You should be a reality show,” he said. “It’s that good. And you know, I might be a totally unstable former assassin, but man. You manage to shock even me.

Îi umpluse viaţa cu amintiri zgomotoase, şi acum trăia sub teroarea lor.

I just wish moments weren’t so fleeting!' Isaac called to the man on the roof, 'They pass so quickly!' 'Fleeting?!' responded the tilling man, 'Moments? They pass quickly?! . . . Why, once a man is finished growing, he still has twenty years of youth. After that, he has twenty years of middle age. Then, unless misfortune strikes, nature gives him twenty thoughtful years of old age. Why do you call that quickly?' And with that, the tilling man wiped his sweaty brow and continued tilling; and the dejected Isaac continued wandering. 'Stupid fool!' Isaac muttered quietly to himself as soon as he was far enough away not to be heard.

I likened her to the slender PSYCHÉ and judged that the perfection of her face ennobled everything unclean around her: The dusty hems of her bunched-up skirt, the worn straps of her nightshirt; the blackened soles of her bare feet [...] All this and the pungent air! Ô this night, sweet pungent night! "HÉBÉ" may come but a season. But this girl's season would know a hot spring and an Indian summer.

In Sanskrit, there exists no word for ‘The Individual’ (L’Individu). En Grèce antique, il n’y avait aucun mot pour dire ‘Devoir’ (Duty). In French, the word for ‘Wife’ is the same as the word for ‘Woman.’ En anglais, nous n’avons aucun mot semblable à l’exquise ‘Jouissance!

In the first place, sensation (aisthesis) is a corporeal process which we have in common with animals, and in which the impression of an exterior object is transmitted to the soul. By means of this process, an image (phantasia) of the object is produced in the soul, or more precisely in the guiding part (hegemonikon) of the soul

It made the woman feel like a thousand seas had come together from all worlds, like faraway lands had been bridged together, and the vastness of the known and the unknown were somehow easier to comprehend.

It’s not that we have to leave this life one day, it's how many things we have to leave all at once: holding hands, hotel rooms, wine, summertime, drunkenness, and the physics of falling leaves, clothing, myrrh, perfumed hair, flirting friends, two strangers' glance; the reflection of the moon, with words like, 'Soon' ... 'do you want me?' ... '...to lie enlaced' ... 'and sleep entwined' thinking ahead, with thoughts behind...?' Ô, Why! Why can’t we leave this life slowly?

I turned to the courtyard and waved at Roman and the witch next to him. "Is that his sister?" Andrea asked me. "No." I had spoken with both of them. "I'd asked her that. Her name is Alina, she isn't his sister, and she feels deeply sorry for his sisters, because if she had to put up with being in his presence for longer than a day, she would throw herself off the nearest bridge just to end the agony." "Well," Andrea said. "Glad she cleared that up.

În ce mă priveşte, când apune soarele mă gândesc: A mai trecut o zi. Încă o zi în care n-am făcut nimic. Iar când răsare soarele, nu ştiu încotro să apuc, pe ce drum trebuie să merg, unde vreau să ajung. Eram sigură că fericirea există undeva, dincolo de zidurile casei noastre. Că într-o zi voi pune mâna pe ea, aşa cum pui mâna pe o ceaşcă sau pe scoarţa unui copac. Că dragostea este supremul miracol…

It was a time I slept in many rooms, called myself by many names. I wandered through the quarters of the city like alluvium wanders the river banks. I knew every kind of joy, ascents of every hue. Mine was the twilight and the morning. Mine was a world of rooftops and love songs.

May a man live well-, and long-enough, to leave many joyful widows behind him.

I sat up in the strange bed fearing it had been a dream, afraid I would never see her again. Not because I wanted anything from her, only her presence. The disappearance of the presence of beauty is the most despairing of events on this time-wheel of ours that rolls onward towards death.

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…

Looking back on my life, I sigh. The caprice of youth goes with the wind, I’ve no regrets.

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

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

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

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.

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, 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!

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

I was at Peter's fondue party,before that was at the mall. Peter's tell me about Peter's, Did anything weird happen there? I was at a fondue party at a vampires everything about that is weird.

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?..

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.

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

Romanlarımla evlenip, çocuk yerine de kısa hikayeler edineceğim.

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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 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 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.

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.

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.

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.