Quotes about book-quotes

A writer is a thought smith he educates men to think for themselves

A writer is never alone he is always in conversation with himself

Dare to seek knowledge it is like a search for a valuable treasure.

Books are a stairway to knowledge experience is a highway to understanding together they are an elevator to enlightenment.

Books are companions choose your companions wisely.

Guns arm for violencebooks arm for life.

Good books teach you about othersgreat books teach you about yourself.

Pills for sicknessbooks for ignorance.

I want to tell her that the pleasure for me wasn't planning or doing or leaving the pleasure was in seeing our strings cross and separate and then come back together.

Every book is its own black hole. Don’t fight the pull find out where it takes you.

Reading books is like wearing winter clothes it covers and warms up the body of your naked soul.

To embody a slice of life on stage/film/script/book is awe-inspiring like peeking into a window to the soul or prima materia

GREAT THINGS COME OUT OF LONELINESSLIKE INSPIRATION THAT BRINGS PEOPLE TOGETHER!

Don’t carry the weight of the world on you Jace. It’s too heavy for even a Herondale to bear.

The truth is I do love you. Admitting that means opening myself up to all that pain when you leave. After you realize this wasn’t love, but gratitude.

You smoked another cigarette and we shared another coffee and it was just another morning that made me realise that this is all it takes to be happy.

Ability, experience and books have solution for all the problems.

How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand... there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep.

The world of books is my fantasy.

I am not a broken heart,and I am not your fault.

Not afraid to die , but not the fear of death

Tickle my heart with your pen. Write me for all to read. Bind our love inside a book. Make me, your poetry.

And Nephilim—we tend to love very overwhelmingly. To fall in love only once, to die of grief over love—my old tutor used to say that the hearts of the Nephilim were like hearts of angels: They felt every human pain, and never healed.

A good reader has the power to move the world.

Old is old at any age. Old is when you quit asking questions about this, that, and everything. Old is when you forget how to love-or worse, don't care. Old is when you don't want to dance anymore. Old is when you don't want to learn anything new except how to be old. Old is when people tell you that you are old-and you believe them.

A good man lives for the joy in life and the happiness of being alive, not shackled to the wants of the future or the regrets of the past.

Sometimes we make being happy so difficult. And being thankful such a chore.

Time. Either you are for it or against it. So be here now. Not later.

No, you become a man when you first decide to put away the things of childhood, the talk of childhood, and the thoughts of childhood. You decide because you cannot be treated as both a man and a boy. Because you are either one or the other, but you are not both . . .

More than likely you’ll do well enough alone by the engines of your own fate until you either hit a few really nasty bumps in the road or grow old enough to realize that there may be a diamond or two in what you thought was your old man’s bucket.

KIDS. They know a BRIBE when they see one. They want a PARENT, not a PAY-OFF. They don’t care if you’re Jack-King-Rodeo or Mister-You-Own-New-York. All they understand is time spent WITH YOU or WITHOUT YOU. It’s that SIMPLE.

No one OWES you a THING. So don’t EXPECT it. You’re on your OWN.

Make doing your best a habit, and you’ll never know not doing your best.

I don't know what you have thought of. Everyone thinks to the extent of his depravity..." #HenriettaLedyanova. #ItalianPassion

You can't condemn an entire species of people because of the actions of one man.

Please don’t be upset. The last thing in the world I want is to see you upset and that too with me. It’s terrifying to see your beautiful eyes turn red with anger.

Take a look and pick up a book, you never know what you might just find.

I can’t!” Maggie was now standing on the wall. “Past the boundary wall is a bad place. I’m not allowed in the bad place.

Free time is a terrible thing to waste. Read a book.

No, Ben. What I’m asking is: Are you the vehicle, and Georgie rides around in you? That is why Ben’s the driver, right?

In order to protect their good names for posterity, many writers never wrote what they thought or the truth as it stood. That's why truth still lies hidden in matters of power, sex and religion. No wonder they chose to do so, many who dared paid with their heads

I am not afraid of giving bad reviews. If I don't like a book, I don't like it. Period. I don't do promotion

Maybe Heaven will be a library. Then I will be able to finish my to-read list.

Reality doesn’t always give us the life that we desire, but we can always find what we desire between the pages of books.

We are all children of one God and the only thing that separates us is our ego

Books should not be loved selfishly. Neither books nor anything else, in fact.

For me, every book is an individual with its own identity and has to be nurtured and taken care of, so that it may survive for a longer period.

over the decadesher books becamesuch a part of herthatthe ink somehow escapedher veins & bloomedher favorite words & imagesonto her skin.nowthe worldwould have no doubt:she was thepageboundgirl- page to skin

Every book has to wait for the right time to be read and understood.

He was a far more voracious reader than me, but he made it a rule to never touch a book by any author who had not been dead at least 30 years. "That's the only kind of book I can trust," he said."It's not that I don't believe in contemporary literature," he added, "but I don't want to waste valuable time reading a book that has not had the baptism of time. Life is too short.

When you're in my arms, I know you're mine. But your feet are so swift, so swift, they carry you as lightly as wings, I never know where, too fast, too fast away from me.

All memory is individual, unreproducible - it dies with each person. What is called collective memory is not a remembering but a stipulating: that this is important, and this is the story about how it happened, with the pictures that lock the story in our minds.

Love the great narcotic was the revealer in the alchemist's bottle rendering visible the most untraceable substances. Love the great narcotic was the agent provocateur exposing all the secret selves to daylight.

Is there an antidote to the perennial seductiveness of war? And is this a question a woman is more likely to pose than a man? (Probably yes.)

Books, I think, are what magic smells like.

Reading a book is like living a deep and fulfilling life. Watching a movie is like being a paralyzed person: watching others live their lives while you observe from the sidelines.

The sweetest and most heavenly of activities partake in some measure of violence - the act of love, for instance; music, for instance. You must take your chance, boy. The choice has been all yours.

Weddings are friendship deal breakers if the friendship is weak. There are too many favors, too many tasks, too much required devotion and Aqua Net for imposters like me. I tried to make eye contact with Francine, to give her a knowing good-bye smile like a ghost of a loved one in a movie. It was no usue, I decided to cut my final pink wire. There would be no more yearly "happy birthdays" and certainly no more bonding with the girl in the duct tape dress. That ship had sailed.

love is not boastful. But hate? Apparently hate has a big mouth.

I thought of the past and how one should have respect for it, like the elderly.

It should be noted that my mother has a long history of being disturbingly unperturbed by what normal people deem perturbing. Certain things simply don't strike her as worthy of a sit-down.

Teddy bears are best because they understand it's nice to be alone.

Even a person like this makes mistakes, can't always hold on to everything they'd like to,can't always force the world to spin in the direction of their choosing. You'll hug him longer than necessary and tell him to keep in touch. And you'll know, finally, that it had nothing to do with you.

In fact, there are many uses of the innumerable opportunities a modern life supplies for regarding - at a distance, through the medium of photography - other people's pain.

The memory of war, however, like all memory, is mostly local.

Perhaps the only people with the right to look at images of suffering of this extreme order are those who could do something to alleviate it - say, the surgeons at the military hospital where the photograph was taken - or those who could learn from it. The rest of us are voyeurs, whether or not we mean to be.

When we're healthy we respond to the presence of the hateful with fear and nausea.

And yet, in a sense, in choosing to be deprived of the ability to make an ethical choice, you have in a sense really chosen the good.

Photographs that depict suffering shouldn't be beautiful, as captions shouldn't moralize.

Making suffering loom larger, by globalizing it, may spur people to feel they ought to "care" more.

Often something looks, or is felt to look, "better" in a photograph. Indeed, it is one of the functions of photography to improve the normal appearance of things. (Hence, one is always disappointed by a photograph that is not flattering.)

Somewhere between 'not enough' and 'not at all.' I was always hungry for love. Just once, I wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it - to be fed so much love I couldn't take any more. Just once. But they never gave that to me. Never, not once.

What does God want? Does God want goodness or the choice of goodness? Is a man who chooses the bad perhaps in some way better than a man who has the good imposed upon him?

You can viddy that everything in this wicked world counts. You can pony that one thing always leads to another. Right right right.

The thrill of theft, of violence, the urge to live easy - is it worth it when we have undeniable proof, yes, yes, incontrovertible evidence that hell exists?

Sulphurous wind gusted in his wake the dust of the street swirled and the folds of his black coat flapped against his thin body.

You'll find magic everywhere, even in dark, dusty corners, if you stop searching with your limited human eyes and instead feel with your naked soul.

You are that to me, an oasis. You drug me and at the same time you give me strength.

In this instant of danger they realized they were each other's reason for living, and into this instant they threw their whole being.

So many broken promises, each day an aborted wish, a lost object, a misplaced unread book, cluttering the room like an attic with discarded possessions.

Every word spoken in the past accumulated forms and colors in the self. What flows through the veins besides blood is the distillation of every act committed, the sediment of all the visions, wishes, dreams and experiences. All the past emotions converge to tint the skin and flavor the lips, to regulate the pulse and produce crystals in the eyes.

And it is that which draws me to you, too, for you are the tropics, you have the sun in you, and the softness and the clarity...

The magic beauty of simultaneity, to see the loved one rushing toward you at the same moment you are rushing toward him, the magic power of meeting, exactly at midnight to achieve union, the illusion of one common rhythm achieved by overcoming obstacles, deserting friends, breaking other bonds - all this was soon dissolved by his laziness, by his habit of missing every moment, of never keeping his word, of living perversely in a state of chaos, of swimming more naturally in a sea of failed inten

His entire body was pleading for reassurance, and if her whole love was not enough what else could she give him to cure his doubt?

Narratives can make us understand. Photographs do something else: they haunt us.

No man and woman know what will be born in the darkness of their intermingling; so much besides children, so many invisible births, exchanges of soul and character, blossoming of unknown selves, liberation of hidden treasures, buried fantasies...

Photographs objectify: they turn an event or a person into something that can be possessed.

No "we" should be taken for granted when the subject is looking at other people's pain.

The potion drunk by lovers is prepared by no one but themselves. The potion is the sum of one's whole existence.

You got shook and shook till there was nothing left. You lost your name and your body and your self and you just didn't care.

Every lover could be brought to trial as the murderer of his own love. When something hurts you, saddens you, I rush to avoid it, to alter it, to feel as you do, but you turn away with a gesture of impatience and say: "I don't understand

The fascination exerted by one human being over another is not what he emits of his personality at the present instant of encounter but a summation of his entire being which gives off this powerful drug capturing the fancy and attachment.

Her presence had awakened in him a man suddenly whipped by his earlier ideals, whose lost manhood wanted to assert itself in action.

It is intolerable to have one's sufferings twinned with anybody else's.

These rituals Rango could not sustain, for he could not maintain the effort to arrive on time since his lifelong habit had created the opposite habit: to elude, to avoid, to disappoint every expectation of others, every commitment, every promise, every crystallization.

Paul, Paul, this is the claim you never made, the fervor you never showed. You were so cool and light, so elusive, and I never felt you encircling me and claiming possession. Rango is saying all the words I wanted to hear you say. You never came close to me, even while taking me. You took me as men take foreign women in distant countries whose language they cannot speak. You took me in silence and strangeness.

Ali Baba protects the lovers! Gives them the luck of bandits, and no guilt, for love fills certain people and expands them beyond all laws; there is no time, no place for regrets, hesitations, cowardices. Love runs free and reckless, and all the gentle trickeries perpetrated to protect others from its burns-those who are not the lovers but who might be the victims of this love's expansion.

I am sure you would not understand if I told you my father is delightfully clear and selfish, tender and lying, formal and incurable. He exhausts all the loves given to him. If I did not leave his house at night to warm myself in Rango's burning hands I would die at my task, arid and barren, sapless, while my father monologues about his past, and I yawn yawn yawn...

No moment of charm without long roots in the past, no moment of charm is born on bare soil, a careless accident of beauty, but is the sum of great sorrows, growths, and efforts.