Clyde > Clyde's Quotes

“He desperately tried to think of a story to explain his involvement in her sudden appearance, without mentioning the book of magic in his possession.
 ”
― Max Nowaz, The Three Witches and the Master

“Just as dust of a gentle breeze, quiet ascends of fallen leaves, upward to the skies. Still, we rise.”
― Sherman Kennon, Whisk Of Dust: Too Unseen Distance

“… I went back to the stories people wrote about Him. It was mostly crazy stories written by people who called themselves Matthew, Mark, Luke and John … just stories, nothing you could rely on are they! We will never know. All this made me see a different side to Him and I didn’t like it much. Utter unkind words against your brother and you will burn in hell. He was good at describing this to people, …the blazing furnace, the place of wailing and grinding of teeth.”
― Elizabeth Tebby Germaine, A MAN WHO SEEMED REAL: A story of love, lies, fear and kindness

“It does little good to regret a choice. So often people say, “If only I had known,” implying they would’ve acted differently in a given situation. It is true that desires of the moment can blind one’s sight of the future. Revenge is not as sweet as the adage claims. Yet who could pass a chance to taste it? And if the chance were allowed to slip by, would the fool regret his lack of action? ”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“The intercourse was over in no time. That intercourse gave Karl a feeling of unprecedented pleasure. On the other hand, it failed to bring back Luna to reality, as she had been floating into another dimension. And it left Fiona with a deep hatred for Luna.”
― Rebecca Harlem, The Pink Cadillac

“George’s utterance of the nest and the trap belonged to a bigger mystery she did not yet understand. One day I will, she promised herself. She would stake her life that those last words from her son would be solved by her. They were steppingstones into… whatever the wind and the stars and the valiant trees held for her.”
― Susan Rowland, Murder on Family Grounds

“Winston, how’s she going b’y?” asked Herb in the familiar Newfoundland greeting.
Windflower gave the appropriate response. “She’s going good, b’y.”
― Mike Martin, Too Close For Comfort

“What a woman says doesn't amount to shucks. It's the way she says it—that's what counts.”
― Stephen Crane, The Third Violet

“Mentre per qualcosa di molto più complesso, come la città in cui ci si trova, si vorrebbe sempre sapere esattamente quale particolare città sia. Questo distrae dall’essenziale.”
― Robert Musil, L'uomo senza qualità

“Cautiously,”
― Louis Sachar, There's a Boy in the Girls' Bathroom

“It's better to be impulsive than cautious; fortune is female and if you want to stay on top of her you have to slap and thrust. You'll see she's more likely to yield that way than to men who go about her coldly. And being a woman she likes her men young, because they're not so cagey, they're wilder and more daring when they master her.”
― Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince

“It is the hardest thing in the world to frighten a mongoose, because he is eaten up from nose to tail with curiosity. The motto of all the mongoose family is "Run and find out," and Rikki-tikki was a true mongoose.”
― Rudyard Kipling, The Jungle Book

“Creativity became a part of daily life; not a job, not a contest, just something we all did, like breathing.”
― Fons Burger, The Only Possible Solution: How to Shape the Future for Our Next Generations

“The moisture in the air sat in the crevices of storefront windows, like the tears that welled in the corners of her dark brown eyes.”
― Jennifer Wizbowski, Poinsettia Girl: The Story of Agata della Pieta

“Blood began to flow, at first cautiously, as if embarrassed by its appearance; a few thin red lines exploring the gravitational trajectory of its new terrain. Now it flowed faster, steadily staining her pale flesh a horrific red.”
― R.D. Ronald, The Zombie Room

“Sitting down on the bed, my mind went blank again. I laid my head on the pillow and closed my eyes. Dad is dead. My father is dead and I will never be able to talk to him again. I opened my eyes and checked the time. Almost 6am.”
― Behcet Kaya, Body In The Woods

“The wizard broke out from his mountain grave
As his red fire filled the cave
The miners ran to escape their doom
All in its path red fire would consume

The fire would destroy Sparsholt
Before cannons at the Alol melt
On Tamin Plain the flax would burn
And reveal a name… Arin

The time of the wizard is here
Destruction, death and fear
Some say the world will end
Others say a child is seeking revenge

I am a minstrel and not a seer
All I know is…
The time of the wizard is here
Destruction, death and fear
Robert Reid – The Son”
― Robert Reid, The Son

“Atom, all life and reality as we know it is created by consciousness… your dream made it probable that we would find life,”
― Joseph A. Anderson, Eden 2:b

“The pen is mightier than the sword... an considerably easier to write with. - Marty Feldman”
― Tom Sechrist

“Nel sole di marzo, mentre era seduto su una catasta di ceppi di faggio che scricchiolavano per il caldo, avvenne che egli pronunciasse per la prima volta la parola «legno». Aveva già visto il legno centinaia di volte, aveva sentito la parola centinaia di volte. La capiva anche, infatti d'inverno era stato mandato fuori spesso a prendere legna. Ma il legno come oggetto non gli era mai sembrato così interessante da darsi la pena di pronunciarne il nome. Ciò avvenne soltanto quel giorno di marzo, mentre era seduto sulla catasta. La catasta era ammucchiata a strati, come una panca, sul lato sud del capannone di Madame Gaillard, sotto un tetto sporgente. I ceppi più alti emanavano un odore dolce di bruciaticcio, dal fondo della catasta saliva un profumo di muschio, e dalla parete d'abete del capannone si diffondeva nel tepore un profumo di resina sbriciolata.
Grenouille era seduto sulla catasta con le gambe allungate, la schiena appoggiata contro la parete del capannone, aveva chiuso gli occhi e non si muoveva. Non vedeva nulla, non sentiva e non provava nulla. Si limitava soltanto ad annusare il profumo del legno che saliva attorno a lui e stagnava sotto il tetto come sotto una cappa. Bevve questo profumo, vi annegò dentro, se ne impregnò fino all'ultimo e al più interno dei pori, divenne legno lui stesso, giacque sulla catasta come un pupazzo di legno, come un Pinocchio, come morto, finché dopo lungo tempo, forse non prima di una mezz’ora, pronunciò a fatica la parola «legno». Come se si fosse riempito di legno fin sopra le orecchie, come se il legno gli arrivasse già fino al collo, come se avesse il ventre, la gola, il naso traboccanti di legno, così vomitò fuori la parola. E questa lo riportò in sé, lo salvò, poco prima che la presenza schiacciante del legno, con il suo profumo, potesse soffocarlo. Si alzò a fatica, scivolò giù dalla catasta, e si allontanò vacillando come su gambe di legno. Per giorni e giorni fu preso totalmente dall'intensa esperienza olfattiva, e quando il ricordo saliva in lui con troppa prepotenza, borbottava fra sé e sé «legno, legno», a mo' di scongiuro.”
― Patrick Süskind, Perfume: The Story of a Murderer

“So few want to be rebels anymore. And out of those few, most, like myself, scare easily.”
― Ray Bradbury

“Reading . . . is an activity subsequent to writing: more resigned, more civil, more intellectual.”
― Jorge Luis Borges

“You poor lonely boy,' she cried, 'it's so dreadful for you to have no parents.'

Well, as my mother was a whore, and my father a drunk, I daresay I don't miss much.”
― W. Somerset Maugham, Christmas Holiday