Best 6566 quotes in «stories quotes» category

What’s more important, is that you survived.” “Why?” The captain poured himself a finger of liquor and clinked their glasses. “Because survivors get to decide who the heroes are. And the villains.

What spares us is memory,” he said. “It’s what makes us worth saving. However low we sink, whatever promise we no longer fulfill, we tell our stories. That’s why you’re so important, Charlie. You’re a guardian of our national memory.

What's usual for us may not be the same for everyone. I'm inspired by lives and stories of all those amazing people who overcome extraordinary challenges each day to live what we see as an ordinary life.

What we need now are new stories to share with each other, new tales to live into the world, which is to say, stories to make real by living our own versions of them.

When a story gets wedged in your head and refuses to go away, when it keeps coming back, again and again, despite your seeming inability to tell it, know this..the story has chosen you and You are ready, so tell it or it’ll haunt you to the end of your days. Characters too! They will find you, drop anchor and before you know, they will speak through you, shaping their own narrative, their own unique destiny. Let go and allow them. You have no option but to be a channel for them. This joy of surrender can only be felt… never truly explained.

When a photo of a person looks deep into your spirit and tells you thousand stories….. Stories from your past even before you existed, then the photo is way above any description.

When a person sets out upon a journey - whether to hunt for food or knowledge, to make war, or even to visit the Otherworld - they are never the same when they return. Traveling changes us. Journeys shapes our memories and expand our experiences. Those things we bring back from the hunt - either food or knowledge - sustain us and keep us curious about the world. Think of your own travels and adventures out upon the land or in foreign countries: What wonderful stories do you have to tell? What experiences have you "hunted" or sought on your travels? What have you learned from the land? The stories told about journeys are as important (perhaps more important) than the destination. The journey lasts for only a fixed time, but the stories told of it, the wisdom brought back, can keep traveling forever, keep living, even after the tellers have traveled on.

When a writer's heart is filled with the music of her soul, her words sing.

When I ask him if he thinks there's a moral to his story, he says he's sure there must be, but doesn't know exactly what it is. "Maybe," he says after a short pause, "it's that this world is full of lizards, and even though there's nothing we can do about it, it is always helpful to find out how big they are.

When I look back on my personal story through my journals, it struck me my words had an unmatched power to heal me. To change me.

When I'm writing a story, I use words to transform the surrounding scene into something more natural for me. In other words, I reconstruct it. That way, I can confirm without a doubt that this person known as 'me' exists in the world.

When I was a boy, Ray Bradbury picked stories from his books of short stories he thought younger readers might like and published them as R Is for Rocket and S Is for Space. Now I was doing the same sort of thing, and I asked Ray if he'd mind if I called this book M Is for Magic. (He didn't.) M is for magic. All the letters are, if you put them together properly. You can make magic with them, and dreams, and, I hope, even a few surprises...

When I was a kid, Granpa Portman's fantastic stories meant it was possible to live a magical life. Even after I stopped believing them, there was still something magical about my grandfather. To have endured all the horrors he did, to have seen the worst of humanity and to have your life made unrecognised by it, to come out of all that the honorable and good and brave person I knew him to be - THAT was magical.

when night falls, i am picturing my will be glories

When she smiles, the lines in her face become epic narratives that trace the stories of generations that no book can replace.

When the imagination takes over, the second hand could be the hour hand to a creator of stories.

When we make stories, when we turn raw events into personal sagas, parables, tales, and anecdotes, we are often struggling to come to terms with one of the inescapably difficult and puzzling facts of existence. Storytelling is an attempt to deal with and at least partly contain the terrifyingly haphazard quality of life. Large parts of life, sometimes the mots crucial parts, depend on random happenings, contingency. A woman turns a corner, meets a strange man, two years later they marry, they have children together – and in twenty years, there are adults walking the earth who would not have existed if that woman had not turned that corner on that day. The human results of that apparently random event may go on for hundreds or even thousands of years, a single stray moment casting its shadow into an unimaginably long future. We can gaze on this fact with wonder; but we may also grow uneasy in contemplating it, because it emphasizes how little we control the course of our lives

When we died, the only things we’d leave behind of importance were our deeds. Our corpses would rot and our treasured belongings would wind up in someone else’s house or in a landfill. Our clothes don’t tell the stories of our lives, and no one would remember what kind of dishes we had. But they’d remember the thing we’ve done. Our actions would live on and tell the stories of our lives long after we’d vanished from the earth.

When we talk today about receptiveness to stories, we tend to contrast that attitude to one governed by reason - we talk about freeing ourselves from the shackles of the rational mind and that sort of thing - but no belief was more central to Lewis's mind than the belief that it is eminently, fully rational to be responsive to the enchanting power of stories.

When we think, we hurt. When we feel, we heal.

What your mind sees when you close your eyes marks the entrance to an endless universe: your imagination.

When we suffer in silence, we think that we are alone, different, separate. When we share our stories of suffering, we find that we are the same.

When you’re here, an i in the Ocean, you’re no longer waiting for something to happen or to change. When you’re here you have what you seek. Your heart opens to the gift you receive, that you are.

When we tell our stories, the gods hear our sorrows.

When you are falling short in vocabulary to explain the emotion in your story.Than you are writing the right story

When your share your story with someone, it becomes their story too.

When you share your story with someone, it becomes a part of their story, too.

While a good story must give me a role, and must extend beyond my horizons, it need not be true. A story can be pure fiction, and yet provide me with an identity and make me feel that my life has meaning. Indeed, to the best of our scientific understanding, none of the thousands of stories that different cultures, religions and tribes have invented throughout history is true. They are all just human inventions. If you ask for the true meaning of life and get a story in reply, know that this is the wrong answer. The exact details don’t really matter. Any story is wrong, simply for being a story. The universe just does not work like a story. So why do people believe in these fictions? One reason is that their personal identity is built on the story. People are taught to believe in the story from early childhood. They hear it from their parents, their teachers, their neighbours and the general culture long before they develop the intellectual and emotional independence necessary to question and verify such stories. By the time their intellect matures, they are so heavily invested in the story, that they are far more likely to use their intellect to rationalise the story than to doubt it. Most people who go on identity quests are like children going treasure hunting. They find only what their parents have hidden for them in advance. Second, not only our personal identities but also our collective institutions are built on the story. Consequently, it is extremely frightening to doubt the story. In many societies, anyone who tries to do so is ostracised or persecuted. Even if not, it takes strong nerves to question the very fabric of society. For if indeed the story is false, then the entire world as we know it makes no sense. State laws, social norms, economic institutions – they might all collapse.

While food makes us live, stories are what make our lives worth living.

While he sweated out a story she bled put a poem.

Who am I? I am the spine that the mountains hang upon! I am the tears that the rivers cry! I am the lungs that breathe the wind! I am the wolf that kills the stag, the hawk that kills the mouse, the spider that kills the fly! I am the stag, the mouse and the fly that are eaten! I am the snake of the world devouring its tail! I am everything untamed and untameable!

Who makes you Storyteller? You do. You are. Go play.

Where books had been a comfort before, they became a necessity, old books best of all: thick heavy tomes with stories that spread and twisted through other worlds, where he could walk like a ghost in the footsteps of other lives.

When you write it, don't write it in the manner of a spooky story. Don't try to give an explanation. Just say that I don't know what to make of it, just write it like I tell it, so the reader can make up his own mind.

Who thought up the dumb idea to arrange the memoir section in the bookstore by subject?

Who will be lost in the story we tell ourselves? Who will be lost in ourselves? A story, after all, is a kind of swallowing. To open a mouth, in speech, is to leave only the bones, which remain untold.

Why do bad things happen to good people?' 'Because it makes a good story.

Why books...audiobooks... stories are created?...Films and Games!? - The answer, is very simple it 's in the name of patience.

Why did you make me?' I asked her, before she could speak. I felt like a convict standing on a gallows with a noose around my neck, asking about the nature of God. 'Why like this? Can I really end my story? Were you ever going to let me go?' 'Let you go?' Her voice was honey on razor blades. 'Go to /what/? This is your purpose-- the start of your story. This is what you were made to do.' 'So you lied. I can't really change anything.' She smiled at me, a tender smile that sent fear jackrabbiting through my blood. 'You wouldn't want to... can't you see that yet? The Stories are perfect. The Stories are /worlds/. I made a whole world just for you, and in it you get to do what no one else gets to: you get to live, and live, and live. And everything will come out the way it's meant to be, no matter what. I made it that way.' 'But how is that living?' I whispered.

Winter is the time for stories, staying fast by the glow of fire. And outside, in the darkness, the stars are brighter than you can possibly imagine.

Why wait until I was dead, for someone else to tell my story?

... Within the mind, especially the mind under great stress... boundaries of space and time are meaningless, and the... interior self lives by other rules and in other dimensions.

Without a best friend to tell stories to, it almost didn't matter if they even happened.

With the balcony doors completely open and folded up, his small room acquired an infinite vista. Somewhere on the horizon, water finally worked up the courage to embrace the sky.

Without your stories, without your heroes and their awesome powers, how could you explain this, this here, this incomprehensible real that ever refuses to embrace any rule, any cliché besides the intransigent, pathetic truth that we all end, that no one comes back.

Without stories, we are incomplete.

Without stories, we're all just lonely islands...stories let us see and hear and feel what someone else does...they build bridges to the other islands. That's why stories are so important. They create true empathy.

Woolrich had a genius for creating types of story perfectly consonant with his world: the noir cop story, the clock race story, the waking nightmare, the oscillation thriller, the headlong through the night story, the annihilation story, the last hours story. These situations, and variations on them, and others like them, are paradigms of our position in the world as Woolrich sees it. His mastery of suspense, his genius (like that of his spiritual brother Alfred Hitchcock) for keeping us on the edge of our seats and gasping with fright, stems not only from the nightmarish situations he conjured up but from his prose, which is compulsively readable, cinematically vivid, high-strung almost to the point of hysteria, forcing us into the skins of the hunted and doomed where we live their agonies and die with them a thousand small deaths.

Would it have made a difference? This is the question we always ask after we have given up.

Words empower us, move us beyond our suffering and set us free. This is the sorcery of literature. We are healed by our stories.