Quotes - Page 16 | Just Great DataBase

We were the people who were not in the papers. We lived in the blank white spaces at the edges of print. It gave us more freedom.We lived in the gaps between the stories.

There's no one thing that's true. It's all true.

I have this disease late at night sometimes, involving alcohol and the telephone.

Brevity is the soul of wit.

If people were like rain, I was like drizzle and she was a hurricane.

I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding— certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of other so soon as I ought, nor their offenses against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.

People never notice anything.

She is a friend of my mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order.

So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight.

We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man; but this would be nothing if you really liked him.

All my heart is yours, sir: it belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever.

It’s never an insult to be called what somebody thinks is a bad name. It just shows you how poor that person is, it doesn’t hurt you.

We are all fools in love

That is the fear: I have lost something important, and I cannot find it, and I need it. It is fear like if someone lost his glasses and went to the glasses store and they told him that the world had run out of glasses and he would just have to do without.

His heart beat faster and faster as Daisy’s white face came up to his own. He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips’ touch she blossomed like a flower and the incarnation was complete.

Of all creatures that breathe and move upon the earth, nothing is bred that is weaker than man.

I have little left in myself -- I must have you. The world may laugh -- may call me absurd, selfish -- but it does not signify. My very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame.

People always clap for the wrong reasons.

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.

Like so many Americans, she was trying to construct a life that made sense from things she found in gift shops.