Quotes – Page 343 | Just Great DataBase

Between the acting of a dreadful thingAnd the first motion, all the interim isLike a phantasm or a hideous dream.The genius and the moral instruments Are then in council, and the state of a man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers thenThe nature of an insurrection.

Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least; nor are those empty-hearted whose low sounds reverb no hollowness.

His manner invited easy confidence. The preliminary stage of becoming acquainted was one which he always endeavored to ignore when a pretty and engaging woman was concerned.

It ends up with everybody at this long dinner table laughing their asses off because the great Dane comes in with a bunch of puppies. Everybody thought it was a male , I suppose, or some goddam thing. All I can say is, don’t see it if you don’t want to puke all over yourself.

Like all the other officers at Group Headquarters except Major Danby, Colonel Cathcart was infused with the democratic spirit: he believed that all men were created equal, and he therefore spurned all men outside Group Headquarters with equal fervor.

Though this knave came something saucily into this world before he was sent for, yet was is mother Fair; there was good sport at his making, and the Whoreson must be acknowledged.

Mr. Pontellier wore eye-glasses. He was a man of forty, of medium height and rather slender build; he stooped a little. His hair was brown and straight, parted on one side. His beard was neatly and closely trimmed.

It’s like Janine, though, to take it upon herself, to decide the baby’s flaws were due to her alone. But people will do anything rather than admit that their lives have no meaning. No use, that is. No plot.

Ciertas cosas deberían seguir siendo como son. Deberías poder meterlas en una de esas vitrinas de cristal y dejarlas en paz. Sé que es imposible, pero de todos modos es una pena”.

Like hell he was,” said the first C.I.D. man. “I’m the C.I.D. man arround here.” Major Major could barely recognize him because he was wearing a faded maroon corduroy bathrobe with open seams under both arms, linty flannel pajamas, & worn house slippers with one flapping sole.

Deep down the fear of a man who lives in a world not made for him, whose own world is slipping away, dying, being destroyed, beyond any recall.

Humanity must perforce prey upon itself, like monsters of the deep.

As we know from the study of history, no new system can impose itself upon a previous one without incorporating many of the elements to be found in the latter, as witness the pagan elements in medieval Christianity and the evolution of the Russian “KGB” from the czarist secret service that preceded it

Our foyer has a funny smell that doesn’t smell like anyplace else. I don’t know what the hell it is. It isn’t cauliflower and it isn’t perfume—I don’t know what the hell it is—but you always know you’re home.

Man is not much beside the great birds and beasts. Still I would rather be that beast down there in the darkness of the sea.

Think’st thou that duty shall have dread to speak when power to flattery bows?

One of these days, she said, I’m going to pull myself together for a while and think—try to determine what character of a woman I am; for, candidly, I don’t know. By all the codes which I am acquainted with, I am a devilishly wicked specimen of the sex.

But if it’s a story, even in my head, I must be telling it to someone. You don’t tell a story only to yourself. There’s always someone else.Even when there is no one.A story is like a letter. Dear You, I’ll say. Just you, without a name. Attaching a name attaches you to the world of fact, which is riskier, more hazardous: who knows what the chances are out there, of survival, yours? I will say you, you, like an old love song.

Espero que cuando me muera alguien tenga sentido común suficiente como para tirarme al río o algo así. Cualquier cosa menos meterme en un maldito cementerio. Eso de que venga la gente los domingos a ponerte ramos de flores en el estómago y todo ese rollo. ¿Quién quiere flores cuando ya se ha muerto? Nadie.

Tom read,—”Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.””Them’s good words, enough,” said the woman; “who says ’em?””The Lord,” said Tom.”I jest wish I know’d whar to find Him,” said the woman.