The poets’ scrolls will outlive the monuments of stone. Genius survives; all else is claimed by death.
When you stir your rice pudding, Septimus, the spoonful of jam spreads itself round making red trails like the picture of a meteor in my astronomical atlas. But if you stir backwards, the jam will not come together again. Indeed, the pudding does not notice and continues to turn pink just as before. Do you think this is odd?
He never sleeps, the judge. He is dancing, dancing. He says that he will never die.
Let not the hours pass by in the dark. Kindle the lamp of love with thy life.
You have to rise above the squabbling and chaos, and keep believing. You have to always keep your goals in mind.” -Hera, goddess of marriage
This thing all things devours:Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;Gnaws iron, bites steel;Grinds hard stones to meal;Slays king, ruins town,And beats high mountain down.
I have lived with you and loved you, and now you are gone. Gone where I cannot follow, until I have finished all of my days.
I know who you are and I am ready. Not that I want to go, of course, but I will come. Those souls are always light because more of them have been put out.
It hadn’t been so long ago, yet sometimes she felt that she’d been an altogether different person back then.
When you love someone, its never over. You move on, because you have to but you take them with you in your heart
Buttercup’s mother whirled on him. ‘Did you forget to pay your taxes?’ (This was after taxes. But everything is after taxes. Taxes were here even before stew.)
Always ask the questions you want to, life is too short to know if you’ll get a second chance to ask , and afterlife is probably too long to wonder what the answer may be.
The idea of the future, pregnant with an infinity of possibilities, is thus more fruitful than the future itself, and this is why we find more charm in hope than in possession, in dreams than in reality.
I do not forget any good deed done to me & I do not carry a grudge for a bad one.
Stop comparing yourself to other people, just choose to be happy and live your own life.
Right, well, he’d been sick for a while and his nurse said to him, ‘You seem to be feeling better this morning,’ and Isben looked at her and said, ‘On the contrary,’ and then he died.
Time and I have quarrelled. All hours are midnight now. I had a clock and a watch, but I destroyed them both. I could not bear the way they mocked me.
Happiness is the object and design of our existence; and will be the end thereof, if we pursue the path that leads to it; and this path is virtue, uprightness, faithfulness, holiness, and keeping all the commandments of God.
The happiness of your life depends upon the quality of your thoughts: therefore, guard accordingly, and take care that you entertain no notions unsuitable to virtue and reasonable nature.
So I heard the boom of my father’s rifle when he shot my best friend. A bullet only costs about two cents, and anybody can afford that.
Thought’s a luxury. Do you think the peasant sits and thinks of God and Democracy when he gets inside his mud hut at night?
Her father didn’t have a Nazi past. He was a fascist sympathizer, but Audrey didn’t try to keep that a secret. She had no tolerance for any fascist philosophy.
Do you want to be with Dave for the rest of your life?” Then he rips off a piece of paper and picks upthe smallest charcoal stick from my set. He writes something. He passes it over to me.It says:Time will tell.“And while you’re waiting,” he says, “don’t settle for anything less than what you really want.
He Is Not DeadI cannot say, and I will not sayThat he is dead. He is just away.With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand,He has wandered into an unknown landAnd left us dreaming how very fairIt needs must be, since he lingers there.And you—oh you, who the wildest yearnFor an old-time step, and the glad return,Think of him faring on, as dearIn the love of There as the love of Here.Think of him still as the same. I say,He is not dead—he is just away.
I, while the gods laugh, the world’s vortex am;Maelström of passions in that hidden seaWhose waves of all-time lap the coasts of me;And in small compass the dark waters cram.- I, While the Gods Laugh, the World’s Vortex Am
You must not ever stop being whimsical. And you must not, ever, give anyone else the responsibility for your life.
You can’t just skip the boring parts.Of course I can skip the boring parts.How do you know they’re boring if you don’t read them?I can tell.Then you can’t say you’ve read the whole play.I think I can live a happy life, Meryl Lee, even if I don’t read the boring parts of The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.Who knows? she said. Maybe you can’t.
Your life would never have a meaning if you don’t have a goal or purpose
The things that pertain to your destiny are bought with time; the way you spend your time determines what you become.
What we plant in the soil of contemplation, we shall reap in the harvest of action.
I’ve walked their streets and they’ve walked mine, yet we’re separated by a wall of time.
Anyone who says Trust me is the last motherfucker you should ever trust.
Like a running blaze on a plain, like a flash of lightning in the clouds. We live in the flicker.
My first memories of police corruption were of numerous police stops being made on my car over a relatively short period of time. It turned out that it was the same police officer each time and he was dating my ex!
I want to be free Michael, just for once in my whole life I want to be free”
“You are free. You just don’t know it yet
Eternity is said not to be an extension of time but an absence of time, and sometimes it seemed to me that her abandonment touched that strange mathematical point of endlessness, a point with no width, occupying no space.
Six a.m.! Xander cried. I know that’s a number on my clock, but I’ve never actually been awake to personally witness it!
I have realized that the past and future are real illusions, that they exist in the present, which is what there is and all there is.
True love – that is, deep, abiding love that is impervious to emotional whims or fancy – is a choice. It’s a constant commitment to a person regardless of the present circumstances.
I finally figured out the only reason to be alive is to enjoy it.
When you spend any time at all paying attention to the proclivities of the natural world, you realize that nature has no problem including in its sorority the dead, dying, and ailing as fully as the lovely, healthy, and whole.
Time is fluid, like the wide sky that fades into bright orange in a sunset in The Ozarks. Here on my duck farm, every moment is meant to be sipped and savored like a slow mimosa.
I hope death will be a great happiness, a happiness as great as that of love, fulfilled love
It is hard to have patience with people who say, ‘There is no death’ or ‘Death doesn’t matter.’ There is death. And whatever is matters. And whatever happens has consequences, and it and they are irrevocable and irreversible. You might as wel say that birth doesn’t matter.
For he who lives more lives than one more deaths than one must die.
There is no better teacher than history in determining the future… There are answers worth billions of dollars in 30$ history book.
First they ignore you. Then they ridicule you. And then they attack you and want to burn you. And then they build monuments to you.
The word philosophy sounds high-minded, but it simply means the love of wisdom. If you love something, you don’t just read about it; you hug it, you mess with it, you play with it, you argue with it.
Time is the most dangerous predator in the world. You don’t hear it coming until you are halfway down its throat, gasping for breath.
The thing for me about Ayn Rand is that her philosophy is the only one applicable to the world today – in every sense. If you take her ideas, then take them farther in your own mind, you can find answers to pretty well everything on an individual basis.
We get swallowed up by the illusion that unless we can find a place to belong, we are going to be all alone in the world.
Outside, beyond the vast red bricked labyrinth of Kremlin walls, a humid night ensnarled the Soviet capital in its spell. Yet here in the womb-like private cinema Josef Stalin sat, eyes transfixed on the screen, as Johnny Weissmuller arced through a canopy of trees boldly screaming his signature jungle call.