Best 947 quotes in «strange quotes» category

You two are a strange pair. You are a pair, aren't you?" "We're in training.

You've never heard of Chaos theory? Non-linear equations? Strange attractors? Ms. Sattler, I refuse to believe you're not familiar with the concept of attraction.

A big slice of the strange, a zap to the synaptic net, the shock of unending Otherness moistened with meaning, special stinks, grace notes, blaring daylight that illuminated without instructing. A marathon that addicted. To wake up from cold sleep and go into that, fresh from the gewgaws and flashy bubble gum of techno-Earth, was – well, a consummation requiring digestion. She could see that Redwing worried at this, could not let it go. Neither could she. Vexing thoughts came, flying strange and fragrant through her mind, but they were not problems, no. They were the shrapnel you carried, buried deep, wounds from meeting the strange.

Ah, efendim, insanı dinlenmekten alıkoyan şey hasta bir vicdandır.

Srinivasa Ramanujan was the strangest man in all of mathematics, probably in the entire history of science. He has been compared to a bursting supernova, illuminating the darkest, most profound corners of mathematics, before being tragically struck down by tuberculosis at the age of 33... Working in total isolation from the main currents of his field, he was able to rederive 100 years’ worth of Western mathematics on his own. The tragedy of his life is that much of his work was wasted rediscovering known mathematics.

An anomaly has his own ambitions. You can try reasoning with him, but that's like using money to bribe a beast.

And now, for something completely the same: Wasted time and wasted breath, 's what I'll make, until my death. Helping people 'd be as good, but I wouldn't, if I could. For the few that help deserve, have no need, or not the nerve, help from strangers to accept, plus from mine a few have wept. Wept from joy, or from despair, or just from my vengeful stare. Ways I have, to look at stupid, make them see I am not Cupid. Make them see they are in error, for of truth I am a bearer. Most decide I'm just a bear, mauling at them, - like I care.

...And maybe one day you will wake up as an infant in a completely different universe, and your entire life thus far was just one big dream.

And sometimes, even if everything seems unreal a strange force will appear dragging you back the 'so called' real.

Aren't most wonderful things a little bit strange?

Are you trying to call me strange, Mandrake?” I pout playfully. He nods. “Your strange is what makes you sensational to me.

As soon as she sees me she swings forward and hits a key on her keyboard. The music cuts off instantly. Strangely, the silence that follows seems just as loud.

A stranger lies behind my eyes, I know not what he wants; sells me dreams, tells me tales, then with the truth, he haunts.

Because blood is blood, and every family has its own force. Its own flavor. Its own charm and strange.

At this point I think we need to embrace the weird. High-five it. Give it our phone number.

But doth must suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange.

But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange.

But the nightmare was a strange comfort to me; in it, I found a sense of escape, and were it possible to go live in that nightmare, I would have, bizzare though that may sound.

But I know what it’s like when everyone seems to look at you as if you’re a strange creature impossible to understand, so much so you begin to wonder if they’re right.

But you cannot know the glimpses I have had, you cannot know there is another, dazzling place, that seems to welcome me! I have been led to it, Helen, by someone marvellous and strange. You won't know this. They will tell you of her, and they will make her seem squalid and ordinary, they will turn my passion into something gross and wrong. You will know, that it is neither of those things. It is only love, Helen - only that. I cannot live, and not be at her side!

But men are such strange creatures, really. I think most of them would rather we weren’t around at all, so they could just spend time mooning over each other. Hero worship and all that stuff.

Come Hell or High Water" usually depends on the kind of plug you use in the bath tub

Captain Harald Biscay rubbed his graying temples, staring deep in thought at the vast star field showing on the large navigation display on the bridge. It had been a pretty rough few days for him. Of all the things he’d seen in his travels through the universe, not many rated worthy of being remembered. Of the few examples of items Captain Biscay rated that highly, when he was a young man, his uncle would often play the bagpipes at strange hours of the night – shortly before being put in a ‘home’. That rated a mention.

Cautiously, he moved further out, checking the roofs, doors, windows. Nothing. He walked out further, keeping against the wooden wall of a building, just in case. His heart was pounding in his ears. Strange, isn’t it? You could be in hundreds of fights, but everyone always seemed like the first time. A million different things could happen, go completely wrong. Then it might well be his last. Where is he? Which building?

During the time I went through the corporate government disability system, I was aware that I had a strange sickness that would eventually kill me if not properly diagnosed and treated.

Don't try to boggle me, Mister Talking Cat. This is Mechanicsburg. You are by no means the strangest thing in this town.

Don't you wish we all lived in black light.... for one thing, it would mean an end to toothpaste as we know it

Draft me brain;the lines to connect far world of wonders;lift me waves from the gloomy hours to imbue with my new Love.

Ever since she was a young girl, [Patricia Highsmith] had felt an extraordinary empathy for animals, particularly cats. The creatures, she said, 'provide something for writers that humans cannot: companionship that makes no demands or intrusions, that is as restful and ever-changing as a tranquil sea that barely moves'. Her affection for cats was 'a constant as was feline companionship wherever her domestic situation permitted,' says Kingsley. 'As for animals in general, she saw them as individual personalities often better behaved, and endowed with more dignity and honesty than humans. Cruelty to or neglect of any helpless living creature could turn her incandescent with rage.' Janice Robertson remembers how [...] Highsmith was walking through the streets of Soho when she saw a wounded pigeon lying in the gutter. 'Pat decided there and then that this pigeon should be rescued,' says Janice. 'Although I think Roland persuaded her that it was past saving, she really was distraught. She couldn't bear to see animals hurt.' Bruno Sager, Highsmith's carer at the end of her life, recalls the delicacy with which the writer would take hold of a spider which had crawled into the house, making sure to deposit it safely in her garden. 'For her human beings were strange - she thought she would never understand them - and perhaps that is why she liked cats and snails so much,' he says.

Every culture that’s ever existed has operated under the illusion that it understood 95% of reality and that the other 5% would be delivered in the next 18 months, and from Egypt forward they’ve been running around believing they had a perfect grip on things and yet we look back at every society that preceded us with great smugness at how naive they all were. Well, it never occurs to us, then, that maybe we’re whistling in the dark too! That the universe is stranger than you CAN suppose, and that that openness that that perception imparts is a great joy, a great blessing, because then you can live your life not in service to some fascistic metaphor but in service to the living mystery: the fact that you’re not going to understand it; it is not going to yield to logic; or magic; or any other technique that’s been developed…

Every friend was once a stranger and if you know this, you have to understand that conversations are the beginning of connection

Everything is strange, complex and complicated, but this are the features which make it incrediable.

For ever after, you will be glad you did what you wanted instead of what everyone else expected. No doubt you wonder how someone as young as I can possibly know this, but trust me: I have seen more deadly, dark, and … lovely things than you can possibly imagine.

He had been standing there recognizing that there was a draft in the loft. He had been standing there without realizing that it wasn't a draft. Someone was breathing, behind him. Someone was breathing on his neck. The knowledge froze him, froze the cry of "Jesus fuck!" in his throat. He turned with incredible slowness, wishing he could seem like a statue in his turning. Then saw with alarm a large, pale, watery-blue eye that existed against a backdrop of darkness or dark rags shot through with pale flesh, and which resolved into Whitby. Whitby who had been there the entire time, crammed into the shelf right behind Control, at eye-level, bent at the knees, on his side. Breathing in shallow sharp bursts. Staring out. Like something incubating. There, on the shelf.

For present-day politicians there are only political points to be made from such statements, and the larger the sin the larger the outrage, the larger the apology and the larger the potential political gain for sorrow expressed. Through such statements political leaders can gain the benefits of magnanimity without the stain of involvement: the person making the apology had done nothing wrong and all the people who could have received the apology are dead.

Hallucinations aren’t always out of the ordinary. How do we know we’re not hallucinating if everything seems plausible?

From childhood's hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw; I could not bring My passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken My sorrow; I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone; And all I loved, I loved alone. Then- in my childhood, in the dawn Of a most stormy life- was drawn From every depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still: From the torrent, or the fountain, From the red cliff of the mountain, From the sun that round me rolled In its autumn tint of gold, From the lightning in the sky As it passed me flying by, From the thunder and the storm, And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view.

High altitude astronomy is a strange world of oxygen starvation, sleep deprivation and radiation sickness.

Her name...was Mrs. marina Orlova, and she had grown up in Siberia. Later, she would tell him that she loathed the American custom of constantly smiling: "They are like chimpanzees," she said, in her bitter exclamatory voice. She grimaced, baring her teeth grotesquely. "Eee!" she said. "I smile at you! Eee! It is repulsive.

He was like a jalapeño, bright and smooth, but dangerously hot. A small part of me wanted to bite him.

However strange your style may seem to others, never mind, because it is your style!

Holly was staring at me. "Who were you talking to just then?" "No one! You!" "I don't believe you." "Look, does it really matter right now?" "If we're going to be working together, Lucy...." "Oh, hell! All right! I'll tell you! It's an evil haunted skull that lives in my backpack! Happy, now?

Horror it has it's own strange stuff... brutal stuff and it's difficult understanding!?

How strange! A dog is more humane than a human is.

Ich habe immer gedacht, dass ich die seltsamste Person auf dieser Welt bin, aber später dachte ich, dass es viele solcher Leute auf der Welt gibt, es muss also jemanden wie mich geben, der sich auf gleiche Weise bizarr und beschädigt fühlt, so wie ich mich fühle. Ich stelle mir die Frau vor, und stelle mir vor, dass sie dort drüben auch an mich denkt. Also gut, ich hoffe, wenn du dort bist und dies liest, dass du weißt, dass es wahr ist, dass ich da bin und genauso seltsam bin wie du.

I am strange; I show different things; So please Don’t think I don’t love you Because the truth Is the opposite

I am not sad anymore. I am not weak or tender or quiet like you remember because the second you said those words and closed that door, I sold my soul to the part of myself I had buried in order to love you, to let you touch every inch of my rotten body, for I wanted to be touchable and not so strange. Not so sad and tender, like I’ve always been, they say, so I changed. And then your glances and words throwing knives with no return about my change of habits and ways of living, being, and I nodded and smiled, dying silently a little bit inside.

If bliss are a type of potato, then ignorance can be french-fried

I feel a strange sensation brewing inside of me. It tickles my throat and forces my lips into a grin. Before I can stifle it, I giggle. And then I laugh.

If a palmist grasp my palm, and look into it, without seeing a single line, what would he read?