Santa: You know Angelo. You shoulda seen how them sisters beat up on him when he was a kid. One sister throwed him right into a blackboard. That's how come Angelo's such a sweet, considerate man today.
from A Confederacy of Dunces
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Santa: You know Angelo. You shoulda seen how them sisters beat up on him when he was a kid. One sister throwed him right into a blackboard. That's how come Angelo's such a sweet, considerate man today.
from A Confederacy of Dunces
"It is not to be conceived that a man of three or four-and-twenty should not have liberty of mind or limb to that amount. He cannot want money—he cannot want leisure. We know, on the contrary, that he has so much of both, that he is glad to get rid of them at the idlest haunts in the kingdom. We hear of him for ever at some watering-place or other. A little while ago, he was at Weymouth. This proves that he can leave the Churchills."
Emma by Jane Austen
"Sometimes he lies so much that you wonder, why is he doing it? Two years ago he lied that his wife was dead and that he'd already married another one, and imagine, not a word of it was true: his wife never died, she's still alive and beats him once every three days." - The Brothers Karamozov
To me it seems that youth is like spring, an overpraised season-- delightful if it happens to be a favored one, but in practice very rarely favored and more remarkable, as a general rule, for biting east winds than genial breezes. Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits.
--Samuel Butler, The Way of All Flesh
Jane EyreQuote:
"The only marked event of the afternoon was, that I saw the girl with whom I had conversed in the veranda, dismissed in disgrace, by Miss Scatcherd, from a history class, and sent to stand in the middle of the large school-room. The punishment seemed to me in a high degree ignominious, especially for so great a girl----she looked thirteen or upwards. I expected she would show signs of great distress and shame; but to my surprise she neither wept or blushed : composed, though grave, she stood, The central mark of all eyes.
"how can she bear it so quietly---so firmly?" I asked of myself.
"were I in her place, it seems to me I should wish the earth to open and swallow me up. She looks as if she were thinking of something beyond her punishment----beyond her situation : of something not round nor before her. I have heard of day-dreams-----is she day-dreaming now? Her eyes are fixed on the floor, but I am sure they do not see it-----her sight seems turned in, gone down into her heart : She is looking at what she can remember, I believe; not at what is really present. I wonder what sort of girl she is---Whether good or naughty".
I don't know if this has been posted yet, I'm not about to go through all those pages to make sure either so...
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They say that there's a broken light for every heart on Broadway, they say that life's a game and they take the board away. They give you masks and costumes and an outline of the story, then leave you all to improvise their vicious cabaret. In no longer pretty cities, there are fingers in the kitties, there are warrants, forms, and chitties, and a jackboot on the stair. There's sex and death and human grime in monochrome for one thine dime, and at least the trains all run on time but they don't go anywhere. Facing their responsibilities either on their back or on their knees, there are ladies who just simply freeze and dare not turn away. And the widows who refuse to cry will be dressed in garter and bow-tie, and be taught to kick their legs up high in this vicious cabaret. At last the 1998 show! The ballet on the burning stage! the documentary upon the fractured screen, the dreadful poem scrawled on the crumpled page! There's a policeman with an honest soul that has seen whose head is on the pole and he grunts and fills his brier bowl with a feeling of unease. Then he briskly frisks the torn remains for a fingerprint or crimson stains and endeavors to ignore the chains that he walks in to his knees. While his master in the dark nearby inspect the hands with brutal eyes that have never brushed a lovers thigh but have squeezed a nations throat. And he hungers in his secret dreams for the harsh embrace of cruel machines but his lover is not what she seems and she will not leave a note.At last the 1998 show! The situation tragedy! Grand
''The only authentic ending is the one provided here :
john and mary die. john and mary die. john and mary die.
So much for endings. beginnings are always fun.... That's about all that can be said for plots, which anyway are just one thing after another, a what and a what and a what.
Now try How and Why...'' Margaret ATWOOD
Then as all souls be emparadised in you, in whom alone I understand, and grow, and see. The rafters of my body, bone, being still with you, the muscle,sinew and vein, which tile this house, will come again.
First came across this in Look Homeward Angel by, Thomas Wolfe. However, this comes from the poem A Valediction of my name in the window by, John Donne.
"And maybe there's a value to being yoked to your enemies. You have more opportunity to learn to love them."
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"Forgiveness is a reflex for when you can't stand what you know."
Why would world care for me when I don't care for him?
Victor Hugo in Hunchback of Notre Dame
I didn't choose this at random but I really like it:
If that old philosopher Schopenhauer is right, happiness is not a human possibility, since it means the absence of pain, which, as an uncle of mine used to say, only occurs when you're dead or dead drunk. So there's Myra with all her closed doors, and here's me with all my open ones, and we're both miserable. - The Women's Room by Marilyn French.
Risky, thought Paul D, very risky. For a used-to-be-slave woman to be love anything that much was dangerous, especially if it was her children she had settled on to love. The best thing, he knew, was to love just a little bit; everything, just a little bit, so when they broke its back, or shoved it in a croaker sack, well, maybe you'd have a little love left over for the next one.
from Beloved
Quote from the The Thin Red Line.
What is this great evil? How did it steal into this world? From what seed , what root did it spring? Who's doing this? Who's killing us? Robbing us of love and life. Mocking us with the sight of what we might have known.
James Jones, The Thin Red Line.
- And who are you? said he.
- Don't puzzle me, said I.
Currently reading: Tristram Shandy.
All morons hate it when you call them a moron. ~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 6