Best 65 quotes in «kindle quotes» category

A crazy certainty had arisen in his mind: a hand - or perhaps a claw - was going to swim up from the grayness of the Kindle's screen, grab him by the throat, and yank him in.

Books are completely disappearing. Remember in Fahrenheit 451 where the fireman's wife was addicted to interactive television and they sent fireman crews out to burn books? That mission has been largely accomplished in middle-class America and they didn't need the firemen. The interactive electronics took care of it without the violence,

Adoption is a beautiful, burdensome blessing.

A wounded animal yet bears teeth

Ain’t nothing too serious. Even death is a joke on the old devil, if we are living for the Lord.

All parents were once babies and children themselves, so try to remember this when observing parents from afar. Adults are just children who have grown up—they’re toddlers with longer legs.

And maybe her eyes still worked regardless of the shape she took, and she could see everything. And maybe somehow she broke through the atmosphere and was sent somewhere out in space where she couldn’t tell if her eyes were opened or closed.

Choosing the good of all is always your highest calling, even if that means people don’t like you for it. Being liked is meaningless if real love is not at the heart of your purpose.

But—" yelped Twizbang, “Greydor will eat us!

FOCUS, FOCUS, CONSOLIDATED FOCUS. BEWARE OF DISTRACTION

Close your eyes often, and by opening the eyes of your soul, see the proof of the majesty surrounding you at all times.

Crazy people love their Kindles.

Dopo che V. pronunciò le ultime parole, la percezione del mondo di B. ruotò su se stessa. Le loro ombre si tramutarono in due corpi di carne viva che si affrontavano in due dimensioni sulle piastrelle livide della terrazza. L'immagine di lei che aveva davanti si trasformò invece in un'ombra dai contorni netti, anzi piuttosto una falla, un buco a forma di donna nello spazio-tempo che lasciava trapelare il nulla assoluto che stava al di là. La mano di B. si alzò come se possedesse una volontà propria e indipendente, nera si confondeva con l'assenza di lei, così fece anche l'altra mano, si portò lentamente all'altezza dove prima stavano gli occhi e sentì, senza vederlo, che le punte delle dita si stavano sfiorando nel buio. La scintilla della coscienza di B. ardeva di una fiamma nera, incontrollabile, silenziosa, che bruciava lo sbocciare di un fiore ai limiti dell'alba, il palpitare di un cuore caldo sotto la mano, il bacio umido di una notte d'estasi, senza fumo e cenere, lasciando solo un vuoto privo di alcun ricordo. La morte scese, dolce come la primavera dell'infanzia, un lieve accenno di sorriso a un angolo della bocca, timida, pietosa come mai era stata una madre, lo strinse a sé calda come zucchero, gli sussurrò parole inudibili dietro l'orecchio che lo fecero rabbrividire come mai un'amante aveva mai fatto. Lo strinse così forte che diventò lui stesso, B. ricambiò la stretta così disperatamente che divenne lei stessa, il due diventò uno, l'amore impossibile diventò vero, ed amaro come il frutto delizioso della conoscenza. Le mani che non poteva vedere, le sue mani, si avvicinarono in una lenta danza, si strinsero una contro l'altra sempre più forte, per afferrare l'ineffabile, stringere l'amore prima che scappasse via, cogliere quell'attimo che non sarebbe mai più ritornato, la verità nella sua inconcepibile bellezza che palpitava viva tra le dita come carne viva, urlo, sudore, liscia pelle, calore bruciante, ruotare della terra nel nero assoluto del cosmo. Fu un attimo, e la percezione del mondo ruotò nuovamente su se stessa, ritornando là dove doveva stare. B. guardò le sue mani che tremavano sospese nell'aria e poi abbassò lo sguardo verso terra e lì, la vide, abbandonata sulla superficie fredda, un corpo gelido ed immobile che non respirava più, il torace che non si alzava né si abbassava, gli occhi fissi ed immobili che non lo vedevano più, una bambola di una bellezza indescrivibile abbandonata da lui stesso e dal mondo.

Do You Believe?

Evil is simply a hard truth, a fact we must face from time to time both in human form and on the Ethereal Plane. Its power comes not from any real source as light does, but rather from a fall into emptiness, a hopeless despair perpetuated over and over again by the judges of Earth.

Fall. Stand. Learn. Adapt.

Cominciò a dire “Chi?...Che cosa?”, ma la risposta fu un rantolo prolungato, seguito da una serie di conati, mentre il corpo che teneva tra le braccia tremava in modo incontrollabile. Piano piano cominciò a notare il soprabito sporco di un colore indefinibile, i piedi nudi, i capelli raggrumati in configurazioni improbabili. Allora, con estremo sforzo, con le due mani a metà tra le guance ed il collo provò a sollevare lentamente il viso di questo corpo. Vide due immensi occhi gialli, persi nel nulla, secchi, la pupilla nera dilatata all'impossibile. Le guance scavate con le ossa del cranio che premevano sulla pelle rinsecchita dove le rughe si diramavano dagli occhi e dalle labbra come le crepe di un deserto. E ancora disse e continuò a ripetere: “Chi sei? Cosa vuoi? Perché?” Ma infine la risposta che non voleva accettare si fece strada nel caos. No, non era possibile. No, non era un mostro venuto dallo spazio, né l'incubo di qualcun altro, ma semplicemente era suo figlio.

Don't be who others want you to be; become who you desire to be!

Emotion is ‘recognition’. When treasured moments are identified in the jungle of our personal history during a visual or aural encounter, we capture magic sparks from our past, arousing flashes of insight and revealing an inner flare. These instants of recognition may kindle enthralling emotion and fulfilling inspiration. (“Those journeys of love”)

Have they all bought Kindles? I have one, and I use it most nights. I always imagine the books staring and whispering, Traitor! -- but come on, I have a lot of free first chapters to get through. My Kindle is a hand-me-down from my dad, one of the original models, a slanted, asymmetrical plate with a tiny gray screen and a bed of angled keys. It looks like a prop from 2001: A Space Odyssey. There are newer Kindles with bigger screens and subtler industrial design, but this one is like Penumbra's postcards: so uncool it's cool again.

Growing up in the digital age, I'm expected to embrace all forms of modern technology with blissful ignorance. Books were always one of few escapes from this, because reading a book means not having to look at another damned glowing screen - which is why, no matter how "convenient" or "enhanced" digital enthusiasts claim that Ebooks are, I'll never see them as real books. They're just files of binary data, and while they might be considered books by a large amount of people, Ebooks have lost the human quality that real books have. You can argue that this is pretentious or stupid or nostalgic, but ultimately what will you pass down to your children and grandchildren? A broken old Kindle device with the same files that millions of other people have, or the dog-eared paperbacks that you fell in love with and wrote your name in and got signed by the author and flipped through in the bookstore and kept with you for years, like an old friend?

Have they all bought Kindles? I have one, and I use it most nights. I always imagine the books staring and whispering, Traitor! - but come on, I have a lot of free first chapters to get through.

If you drop your Kindle in the toilet, you're done.

His Pronouncement is Your Announcement -I will make thy name great

Her ghostly heart knows no sorrow Human fear held fast in chains Surrender all you once held dear Dance and dream again tomorrow

Humanity was a passing notion to him; something he liked to try on for size and model in the dressing room, but never actually felt compelled to buy.

If you drop a book into the toilet, you can fish it out, dry it off and read that book. But if you drop your Kindle in the toilet, you’re pretty well done.

I prefer to play with single men tho. Couples are too much drama.

If you spare some space for a new book, also spare some time to read it.

I guess you can call me "old fashioned". I prefer the book with the pages that you can actually turn. Sure, I may have to lick the tip of my fingers so that the pages don't stick together when I'm enraptured in a story that I can't wait to get to the next page. But nothing beats the sound that an actual, physical book makes when you first crack it open or the smell of new, fresh printed words on the creamy white paper of a page turner.

I make so many plans but fail at follow-through. Gemini mind once a mat for you to wipe your feet. I’d beg for it. I’d plead 'Here! I’m here waiting for you to be the one. Take my heart, my life, my air: rip them to shreds and hand them back.No need to worry. I have enough superglue and tears to keep me busy for months...

Namaste means the spirit in me sees the spirit in you. And do you see yet the great truth in this simple phrase? When your eyes and brain alone cannot see the spirit in another, the spirit in you sees it always.

Is this Jimmy Redstone?” the male voice at the other end of the line inquired. I couldn’t identify the voice. I didn’t recognize the number and the used car salesman tone didn’t do anything to reduce my annoyance at being interrupted during breakfast. “Who the hell you think would be answering his phone?” I snarled.

It’s a funny irony, really, and one most humans seem to miss. When you manifest light, and allow your spirit to shine, you hurt no one, and your expression of joy is pure, but when you use your personality to purposely outshine another, you live under a shroud of darkness instead.

It seems human beings have a great inability to see their own Godhood except when pronouncing judgment on others.

Marriage is not easy, I thought to myself. It’s not supposed to be easy. It’s two different people, from two different backgrounds, trying to build a life together for better or worse. It’s something you have to work at every single day. There are going to be hard times and those are the times you are supposed to fight like hell.

Namaste, a person says, and with just one word, she acknowledges so much. She acknowledges the existence of the soul, she acknowledges the existence of the soul within her, she acknowledges the existence of the souls within other people, and she acknowledges the need to remember this holiest of holy truths often.

No–one believes they’re a hero. But that doesn’t mean they’re not heroic - Captain Spectre.

No matter which way you dice it, self-preservation is selfish.

No means no. And ask before you touch

Nonviolence is kindling light of love into the dark places and budding trust from the threshold of hopelessness.

No amount of sin-finding on Earth will bring you any closer to God. You won’t get a gold star on your soul when you return to Heaven, nor will anyone greet you with congratulations for identifying sinners on Earth and all their sinny, sin sins.

Once a human brain becomes aware of another kind of self within, it’s like unlocking all new powers and abilities for you, the soul. You’ll go from witness to creator, and your influence over the brain will only grow stronger and stronger as the brain matures. The brain begins to relax in a way, and finally gives power over willingly to the soul.

No, white women like to keep their hands clean. They got a shiny little set a tools they use, sharp as witches' fingernails, tidy and laid out neat, like the picks on a dentist tray. They gonna take they time with em.

People refuse to believe in their higher selves, and think Heaven is in some far-off place due north. This Santa Claus conundrum is troubling for those of us who see light and life as it really is, but for humans stuck in their 2-D theology, it’s the best they’ve been able to come up with so far.

People don’t just watch the horrible news happening around the world. They take it in like food. They feed themselves with all the pain and suffering, because they think digesting it this way will somehow make them more immune to it.

Prayer is the soul’s nursery, where hopes and dreams find sustenance, where make-believe awakens into faith proved real.

Prayer is not escape from but escape to, and the difference is important. When you take human form, you are not choosing to live in a prison, even one of Heaven’s design. Rather, you are choosing for a time to breathe the air of conflict, and taste the bitter herbs of higher learning. Prayer is an escape back to God’s own bosom, where the soul retreats not for pity but for rest.

RE: Kindle, iPad, et cetera: For a researcher, these new ways of accessing information are just extraordinary. I thing it introduces the possibility of a new standard of cognitive exactness and precision. ~ Rebecca Goldstein, author of Properties of Light: A Novel of Love, Betrayal and Quantum Physics.

Success is hard, rewards are scant and the glory not always there.