PermalinkLife moves very fast. It rushes from Heaven to Hell in a matter of seconds.
quoted from Paulo Coelho.
PermalinkHold fast to dreams,
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird,
That cannot fly.
quoted from Langston Hughes.
PermalinkI basked in you;
I loved you, helplessly, with a boundless tongue-tied love.
And death doesn’t prevent me from loving you.
Besides,
in my opinion you aren’t dead.
(I know dead people, and you are not dead.)
quoted from Franz Wright, Walking to Martha’s Vineyard.
PermalinkPeople disappear when they die. Their voice, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living memory of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continue to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humor, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in the ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.
quoted from Diane Setterfield, The Thirteenth Tale.
PermalinkLove is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
PermalinkMan is the only creature who refuses to be what he is.
quoted from Albert Camus.
PermalinkThe truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off.
quoted from Gloria Steinem.
PermalinkBooks are mirrors: you only see in them what you already have inside you.
quoted from Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind.
