Quotes - Page 277 | Just Great DataBase

When I try to analyze my own cravings, motives, actions and so forth, I surrender to a sort of retrospective imagination which feeds the analytic faculty with boundless alternatives and which causes each visualized route to fork and re-fork without end in the maddeningly complex prospect of my past.

It was true, I took too much for granted; I trusted fate, back then.

Open thine arms and receive, too, thy son Don Quixote, who, if he comes vanquished by the arm of another, comes victor over himself, which, as he himself has told me, is the greatest victory anyone can desire.

That’s always seemed so ridiculous to me, that people would want to be around someone because they’re pretty. It’s like picking your breakfast cereals based on colour instead of taste.

In the shadow of feigned cripples and false wounds come the strong arms of thieves and very healthy drunkards.

Now the way that the book winds up is this: Tom and me found the money that the robbers hid in the cave, and it made us rich. We got six thousand dollars apiece—all gold. It was an awful sight of money when it was piled up. Well, Judge Thatcher he took it and put it out at interest, and it fetched us a dollar a day apiece all the year round— more than a body could tell what to do with. The Widow Douglas she took me for her son, and allowed she would sivilize me; but it was rough living in the house all the time, considering how dismal regular and decent

Fear is a powerful stimulant.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow. The sky is clear but hard to make out, because of the searchlight; but yes, in the obscured sky a moon does float, newly, a wishing moon, a sliver of ancient rock, a goddess, a wink. The moon is a stone and the sky is full of deadly hardware, but oh God, how beautiful anyway.

With these meager scraps of Latin and the like, you may perhaps be taken for a scholar, which is honorable and profitable these days.

Obojeni ne vole Malog crnog Samba. Spali ga. Bijeli nisu oduševljeni Čiča Tominom kolibom. Spali je. Netko je napisao knjigu o duhanu i raku pluća? Proizvođači cigareta tule? Spali knjigu. Vedrina, Montag. Mir, Montag. Iznesi svoju borbu van. Još bolje, u spalionicu. " str. 65.

It was to the small serious boy that he turned for his enjoyment. He had bought the child some cheap wooden blocks, and with these the little one played endlessly and intently, with a purpose obscure to the adult mind, but completely absorbing.

Evo ti, Montag! Nije do ovoga došlo odozgor, od vlade! Nije bilo nikakve naredbe, nikakve obznane, nikakve cenzure isprva, ne! Tehnologija, masovna eksploatacija i pritisak manjina polučili su cilj, Bogu hvala. Danas, zahvaljujući njima, sve vrijeme možeš biti sretan, dopušteno ti je čitati stripove, dobre stare vjerske knjige ili stručne časopise." str. 63.

Ritornò a fissare la parete. E come, la faccia di lei, assomigliava inoltre a uno specchio! Impossibile; perché, quante persone hai mai conosciuto che riflettessero la tua propria luce verso di te? Le persone erano più spesso -cercò un paragone, ne trovò uno nel campo della sua attività professionale- come torce, che si consumavano fimmeggiando fino a spegnersi con un sibilio. Quanto raramente le facce degli altri s'imprimevano nella tua immagine e ti rimandavano la tua stessa espressione, il tuo più segreto, incerto pensiero!

I had feelings of affection, and they were requited by detestation and scorn. Man! You

We have come to the church, Sancho.

He went out of the door, and she watched him through the little window, walking slowly to the door of the church. Then she sat down at his table, and put her head on it, and was silent, with the patient suffering of black women, with the suffering of oxen, with the suffering of any that are mute.

There is no greater sorrow than to recall our time of joy in wretchedness.

She did not believe he was a monster. He was not a monster, to her. Probably he had some endearing trait: he whistled, offkey, in the shower, he had a yen for truffles, he called his dog Liebchen and made it sit up for little pieces of raw steak. How easy it is to invent a humanity, for anyone at all. What an available temptation.

Do you realize that the past, starting from yesterday, has been actually abolished? If it survives anywhere, it's in a few solid objects with no words attached to them, like that lump of glass there. Already we know almost literally nothing about the Revolution and the years before the Revolution. Every record has been destroyed or falsified, every book rewritten, every picture has been repainted, every statue and street and building has been renamed, every date has been altered. And that process is continuing day by day and minute by minute. History has stopped. Nothing exists except an endless present in which the party is always right.

Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that: and yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together now-a-days; the more the pity that some honest neighbours will not make them friends.