Fine, thanks. I hope you get to see all of it this time.
Book Quotes: King And Beyond.
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Fine, thanks. I hope you get to see all of it this time.
Neesy
#1 fan (Annie Wilkes cousin) 1st cousin Mom's side
“No, she thought, one could say nothing to nobody. The urgency of the moment always missed its mark. Words fluttered sideways and struck the object inches too low.”
― Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
― Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
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“When you're 21, life is a road map. It's only when you get to be 25 or so that you begin to suspect you've been looking at the map upside down, and not until you're 40 are you entirely sure. By the time you're 60, take it from me, you're ****ing lost.”
― Stephen King, Joyland
― Stephen King, Joyland
This is one of Mr. King's best quotes ever, imho. I'm not 60 yet but so far he's about as dead on correct as someone can be...lol
....agreed Shannon, and this one hits pretty close to the bone as well-not only for writers, but every sensitive human......
Writers remember everything...especially the hurts. Strip a writer to the buff, point to the scars, and he'll tell you the story of each small one. From the big ones you get novels. A little talent is a nice thing to have if you want to be a writer, but the only real requirement is the ability to remember the story of every scar.
Art consists of the persistence of memory.”
Writers remember everything...especially the hurts. Strip a writer to the buff, point to the scars, and he'll tell you the story of each small one. From the big ones you get novels. A little talent is a nice thing to have if you want to be a writer, but the only real requirement is the ability to remember the story of every scar.
Art consists of the persistence of memory.”
"'Shall we put her in, then?' she says softly to Angelica.
"Virginia leans toward Angelica as if they shared a secret. Some force flows between them, a complicity that is neither maternal nor erotic but contains elements of both. There is an understanding here. There is some sort of understanding too large for language. Virginia can feel it, as surely as she feels weather on her skin, but when she looks deeply into Angelica's face she sees by Angelica's bright, unfocused eyes that she is already growing impatient with the game. She's made her arrangement of grass and roses; now she wants to dispatch the bird as quickly as possible and go hunting for its nest.
"'Yes,' Angelica says. Already, at five, she can feign grave enthusiasm for the task at hand, when all she truly wants is for everyone to admire her work and then set her free. Quentin kneels with the bird and gently, immeasurably gently, lays it on the grass. Oh, if men were the brutes and women the angels- if it were as simple as that."
-Michael Cunningham, The Hours
"Virginia leans toward Angelica as if they shared a secret. Some force flows between them, a complicity that is neither maternal nor erotic but contains elements of both. There is an understanding here. There is some sort of understanding too large for language. Virginia can feel it, as surely as she feels weather on her skin, but when she looks deeply into Angelica's face she sees by Angelica's bright, unfocused eyes that she is already growing impatient with the game. She's made her arrangement of grass and roses; now she wants to dispatch the bird as quickly as possible and go hunting for its nest.
"'Yes,' Angelica says. Already, at five, she can feign grave enthusiasm for the task at hand, when all she truly wants is for everyone to admire her work and then set her free. Quentin kneels with the bird and gently, immeasurably gently, lays it on the grass. Oh, if men were the brutes and women the angels- if it were as simple as that."
-Michael Cunningham, The Hours
"Whoever you are: in the evening step out
of your room, where you know everything;
yours is the last house before the far-off:
whoever you are.
With your eyes, which in their weariness
barely free themselves from the worn-out threshold,
you lift very slowly one black tree
and place it against the sky: slender, alone.
And you have made the world. And it is huge
and like a word which grows ripe in silence.
And as your will seizes on its meaning,
tenderly your eyes let it go. . ."
-Rainer Maria Rilke, "Entrance"
of your room, where you know everything;
yours is the last house before the far-off:
whoever you are.
With your eyes, which in their weariness
barely free themselves from the worn-out threshold,
you lift very slowly one black tree
and place it against the sky: slender, alone.
And you have made the world. And it is huge
and like a word which grows ripe in silence.
And as your will seizes on its meaning,
tenderly your eyes let it go. . ."
-Rainer Maria Rilke, "Entrance"
"I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!"
-Bram Stoker, Dracula
-Bram Stoker, Dracula
"Death seems the only desirable sequel for a career like this; but Death is only a launching into the region of the strange Untried; it is but the first salutation to the possibilities of the immense Remote, the Wild, the Watery, the Unshored; therefore, to the death-longing eyes of such men, who still have left in them some interior compunctions against suicide, does the all-contributed and all- receptive ocean alluringly spread forth his whole plain of unimaginable, taking terrors, and wonderful, new-life adventures; and from the hearts of infinite Pacifics, the thousand mermaids sing to them - Come hither, broken-hearted; here is another life without the guilt of intermediate death; here are wonders supernatural, without dying for them. Come hither! bury thyself in a life which, to your now equally abhorred and abhorring, landed world, is more oblivious than death. Come hither! put up thy grave-stone, too, within the churchyard, and come hither, till we marry thee!
Hearkening to these voices, East and West, by early sun-rise, and by fall of eve, the blacksmith's soul responded, Aye, I come! And so Perth went a-whaling."
Herman Melville, Moby Dick
Hearkening to these voices, East and West, by early sun-rise, and by fall of eve, the blacksmith's soul responded, Aye, I come! And so Perth went a-whaling."
Herman Melville, Moby Dick
"Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—
No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever—or else swoon to death."
-John Keats
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—
No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever—or else swoon to death."
-John Keats
"And the things that are in a man's heart- it don't do him much good to talk about those things, does it?"
"Well-"
"No," Jud said, as if Louis simply agreed. "It don't." And in his calm voice that was so sure and so implacable, in that voice which somehow put the chill through Louis, he said: "They are secret things. Women are supposed to be the ones good at keeping secrets, and I guess they do keep a few, but any woman who knows anything at all would tell you she's never really seen into any man's heart. The soil of a man's heart is stonier, Louis- like the soil up there in the old Micmac burying ground. Bedrock's close. A man grows what he can...and he tends it."
-Stephen King, Pet Sematary
"Well-"
"No," Jud said, as if Louis simply agreed. "It don't." And in his calm voice that was so sure and so implacable, in that voice which somehow put the chill through Louis, he said: "They are secret things. Women are supposed to be the ones good at keeping secrets, and I guess they do keep a few, but any woman who knows anything at all would tell you she's never really seen into any man's heart. The soil of a man's heart is stonier, Louis- like the soil up there in the old Micmac burying ground. Bedrock's close. A man grows what he can...and he tends it."
-Stephen King, Pet Sematary
"But there comes a day, there always comes a day of tears and madness.
Now I have already mentioned that there was a disturbance in my heart, a voice that spoke there and said, I want, I want, I want! It happened every afternoon, and when I tried to suppress it it got even stronger. It only said one thing, I want, I want!
And I would ask, 'What do you want?'
But this was all it would ever tell me. It never said a thing except I want, I want, I want!
At times I would treat it like an ailing child whom you offer rhymes or candy. I would walk it, I would trod it. I would sing to it or read to it. No use. I would change into overalls and go up on the ladder and spackle cracks in the ceiling; I would chop wood, go out and drive a tractor, work in the barn among the pigs. No, no! Through fights and drunkenness and labor it went right on, in country, in the city. No purchase, no matter how expensive, would lessen it."
-Saul Bellow, Henderson the Rain King
Now I have already mentioned that there was a disturbance in my heart, a voice that spoke there and said, I want, I want, I want! It happened every afternoon, and when I tried to suppress it it got even stronger. It only said one thing, I want, I want!
And I would ask, 'What do you want?'
But this was all it would ever tell me. It never said a thing except I want, I want, I want!
At times I would treat it like an ailing child whom you offer rhymes or candy. I would walk it, I would trod it. I would sing to it or read to it. No use. I would change into overalls and go up on the ladder and spackle cracks in the ceiling; I would chop wood, go out and drive a tractor, work in the barn among the pigs. No, no! Through fights and drunkenness and labor it went right on, in country, in the city. No purchase, no matter how expensive, would lessen it."
-Saul Bellow, Henderson the Rain King
The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown. H. P. Lovecraft
“This grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere; the dew is never all dried at once; a shower is forever falling; vapor is ever rising. Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on sea and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.”
-John Muir
-John Muir
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"When I was a boy I first learned how much better water tastes when it has set a while in a cedar bucket. Warmish-cool, with a faint taste like the hot July wind in cedar trees smells. It has to set at least six hours, and be drunk from a gourd. Water should never be drunk from metal.
"And at night it is better still. I used to lie on the pallet in the hall, waiting until I could hear them all asleep, so I could get up and go back to the bucket. It would be black, the shelf black, the still surface of the water a round orifice in nothingness, where before I stirred it awake with the dipper I could see maybe a star or two in the bucket, and maybe in the dipper a star or two before I drank."
-William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying
"And at night it is better still. I used to lie on the pallet in the hall, waiting until I could hear them all asleep, so I could get up and go back to the bucket. It would be black, the shelf black, the still surface of the water a round orifice in nothingness, where before I stirred it awake with the dipper I could see maybe a star or two in the bucket, and maybe in the dipper a star or two before I drank."
-William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying
"In England Have My Bones White wrote one of the saddest sentences I have ever read: 'Falling in love is a desolating experience, but not when it is with a countryside.' He could not imagine a human love returned. He had to displace his desires onto the landscape, that great, blank green field that cannot love you back, but cannot hurt you either. When, on their final meeting, he confessed to the writer David Garnett that he was a sadist, Garnett blamed White's early emotional maltreatment and years of flogging at school. 'He was an extremely tender-hearted and sensitive man,' Garnett wrote, 'who had found himself always in the dilemma of either being sincere and cruel, or false and unnatural. Whichever line he followed, he revolted the object of his love and disgusted himself.' "
-Helen Macdonald, H is for Hawk
-Helen Macdonald, H is for Hawk
.....patholological control freak serial mental rapists,
theyre the reason God made Hannibal Lector.
Just ask dr. chilton
That went right over my head. But I trust it was very witty......patholological control freak serial mental rapists,
theyre the reason God made Hannibal Lector.
Just ask dr. chilton
book quote describes chilton 2 a TThat went right over my head. But I trust it was very witty.