Quotes - Page 412 | Just Great DataBase

Virginia was not quite fourteen when Harry Edgar possessed her. He gave her lessons in algebra. Je m’imagine cela. They spent their honeymoon at Petersburg, Fla. Monsieur Poe-poe, as that boy in one of Monsieur Humbert Humbert’s classes in Paris called the poet-poet.

disconcerted

If there’s just one kind of folks, why can’t they get along with each other? If they’re all alike, why do they go out of their way to despise each other?

Нет, Джим, по-моему, все люди одинаковые. Просто люди.

Before my mother's tremulous anxiety I recover my composure. Now I can walk about and talk and answer questions without fear of having suddenly to lean against the wall because the world turns soft as rubber and my veins become brimstone.

I don’t talk things, sir, said Faber. I talk the meaning of things. I sit here and know I’m alive. That

I learned that the possessions most esteemed by your fellow creatures were high and unsullied descent united with riches. A man might be respected with only one of these advantages, but without either he was considered, except in very rare instances, as a vagabond and a slave, doomed to waste his powers for the profits of the chosen few

I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!

Well, it’d be sort of like shootin’ a mockingbird, wouldn’t it? Atticus

Te digan lo que te digan, no permitas que te hagan perder los nervios. Procura luchar con el cerebro, para variar...

The only one who lived with the chaplain in his clearing in the woods was Corporal Whitcomb, his assistant. Corporal Whitcomb, an atheist, was a disgruntled subordinate who felt he could do the chaplain’s job much better than the chaplain was doing it and viewed himself, therefore, as an underprivileged victim of social inequity.

The raging rocks And shivering shocks Shall break the locks        Of prison gates: And Phibbus' car Shall shine from far, And make and mar        The foolish Fates.

A lot of people, especially this one psychoanalyst guy they have here, keeps asking me if I'm going apply myself when I go back to school next September. It's such a stupid question, in my opinion. I mean how do you know what you're going to do till you do it? The answer is, you don't. I think I am, but how do I know? I swear it's a stupid question.

I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love," said Darcy.

Aunty said no, that’s where we got our small hands and feet.

somehow I had been wallowing illicitly in the daily papers.

Our life alternates between billets and the front. We have almost grown accustomed to it; war is the cause of death like cancer and tuberculosis, like influenza and dysentery. The deaths are merely more frequent, more varied and terrible.

She was not stunned, the way I was. In some strange way she was gleeful, as if this was what she had been expecting for some time and now she'd been proven right.

¿Cómo sabe uno lo que va a hacer hasta que llega el momento? Es imposible. Yo creo que sí, pero, ¿cómo puedo saberlo con seguridad?

For some reason, I kept seeing it—it trembled and silkily glowed on my damp retina—a radiant child of twelve, sitting on a threshold, "pinging" pebbles at an empty can.