Quotes - Page 472 | Just Great DataBase

Jay Gatsby: Old sport.

When you say nasty things about people, you should never say the true ones, because you can’t really fully and honestly take those back,

pleaded

–Creo que en todo individuo hay cierta tendencia a un determinado mal, a un defecto innato, que ni siquiera la mejor educación puede vencer. Mr. Darcy

Summer was on the way; Jem and I awaited it with impatience. Summer was our best season: it was sleeping on the back screened porch in cots, or trying to sleep in the treehouse; summer was everything good to eat; it was a thousand colors in a parched landscape; but most of all, summer was Dill.

I could just remember how my father used to say that the reason for living was to get ready to stay dead a long time. And

It’s those other escapes, the ones you can open in yourself, given a cutting edge.

Is that how we lived, then? But we lived as usual. Everyone does, most of the time. Whatever is going on is as usual. Even this is as usual, now. We

The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic in the rain. - F Scott Fitzgerald,

It is saying these things that keeps us from falling apart. And maybe by imagining these futures we can make them real, and maybe not, but either way we must imagine them.

They agreed that Mrs. Bennet should only hear of the departure of the family, without

Women fancy admiration means more than it does.

Hey.

He just stood and looked at his dying mother, his heart too full for words.

This is the kind of touch they like: folk art, archaic, made by women, in their spare time, from things that have no further use. A return to traditional values. Waste not want not. I am not being wasted. Why do I want? On

There's nobody in the garden. I wonder if it will rain.   Outside,

I wouldn't ask too much of her,' I ventured. 'You can't change the past.''Can't change the past?' he cried incredulously. 'Why of course you can!

You are going to the paper towns. And you are never coming back.

Her affections had continually been fluctuating but never without an object.

an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum.