cinaed

“Only solitary men know the full joys of friendship. Others have their family; but to a solitary and an exile, his friends are everything.” -Willa Sibert Cather

“If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.” -George Bernard Shaw

"Life is a foreign language; all men mispronounce it." -Christopher Morley

"It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons." -Johann Schiller

I found a cool Quotations book in my room and was reading some of them to Lily.

"The more alternatives, the more difficult the choice." - Abbe D'Allainval

"O Death, where is thy sting-a-ling-a-ling,
O Grave, thy victoree?
The bells of Hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling
For you but not for me." -Anonymous, a song popular for the British Army in WWI

"There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion." -Francis Bacon

"Philaster: Oh, but thou dost not know
What 'tis to die.
Bellario: Yes, I do know, my Lord:
'Tis less than to be born; a last sleeping;
A quiet resting from all jealousy,
A thing we pursue; I know besides,
It is but giving over of a game,
That must be lost." -from Philaster by Francis Beaumont

"I never read a book before reviewing it; it prejudices a man so." -Sydney Smith

"When I am dead, I hope it may be said:
'His sins were scarlet, but his books were read.'" -Hilaire Belloc

"The louder he talked of his honor, the faster we counted our spoons." -Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Television? The word is half Latin and half Greek. No good can come of it." -C.P. Scott

(Clicking helps the dragon egg grow. *grin*)

Because they have communities like: literaryquotes.

So far, my favorites:

Perhaps his gloom was due to his profession, that he lived among fallen empires, and in reading these languages that had not been spoken by the common man in centuries, he had all about him the ruins of language, evidence of toppled suburbs, grass growing among the mosaics, and voices that had been choked with poison, iron, age, or ash.

-M. T. Anderson, The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation

This is the tragedy of life. Because for a few minutes of every day, every man becomes a genius. Moments of clarity, insight, whatever you want to call them. The clouds part, the planets get in a neat little line, and everything becomes obvious. I should quit smoking, maybe, or here's how I could make a fast million, or such and such is the key to eternal happiness. That's the miserable truth. For a few moments, the secrets of the universe are opened to us. Life is a cheap parlor trick.

-Jonathan Nolan, "Memento Mori"

And I ran after that voice through the streets so as not to lose sight of the splendid wreath of bodies gliding over the city, and I realized with anguish in my heart that they were flying like birds and I was falling like a stone, that they had wings and I would never have any.

-Milan Kundera, The Book of Laughter and Forgetting

What is vertigo? Fear of falling? Then why do we feel it even when the observation tower comes with a sturdy handrail? No, vertigo is something other than the fear of falling. It is the voice of the emptiness below us which tempts and lures us, it is the desire to fall, against which, terrified, we defend ourselves.

-Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

I am not sure that I exist, actually. I am all the writers that I have read, all the people that I have met, all the women that I have loved; all the cities that I have visited, all my ancestors . . . I am not sure of anything, I know nothing . . .

-Jorge Luis Borges

I think we ought to only read the kind of books that wound and stab us. If the book we are reading doesn't wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for? . . . We need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into the forest far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us.

-Kafka

You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you've done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you're tired. You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you didn't even have a name for.

-Richard Siken's You Are Jeff