Vonnie > Vonnie's Quotes

“The Vietnamese soldier said, “Before I spoke to her, I had given her a cooked ration of rice. Instead of her being grateful for the meal, she abused me! What gives with these Kampuchean People?”
― Michael G. Kramer, A Gracious Enemy & After the War Volume One

“The point is to be compassionately, not cruelly, honest. Tell the person what you have heard that worries you. Allow him to respond. You may be surprised at how much sense his answers make.”
― Nancy O'Meara, The Cult around the Corner: A Handbook on Dealing with Other People's Religions

“You begin to see things differently once you are dead.
Isaac Bonnyman”
― Frank Lambert, Xyz

“Never Give Up!”
― Michael Parker

“Running out the anchor line, the pirates babbled to one another, and in the tangle of their barbaric language, Aspasia listened for one word—Athens. It lit up the darkness in her mind, like the single glint her eyes fixed on above the distant gray-green hills.”
― Yvonne Korshak, Pericles and Aspasia: A Story of Ancient Greece

“Aurelia was just about to take a sip of a mimosa when Mother Guardian snatched the flute away and promptly downed the drink in one gulp. Burping unashamedly, she said, "We can't have the validity of the marriage contracts jeopardized because the bride got rat-assed on her wedding day.”
― Therisa Peimer, Taming Flame

“Yako went to the boxes holding Lilly and Candice, undid the bungee cords, and opened them. She used smelling salts to arouse them.”
― Karl Braungart, Triple Deception

“dispense love and not rules”
― Leon Uris, Exodus

“The idea of going to the movies made Hugo remember something Father had once told him about going to the movies when he was just a boy, when the movies were new. Hugo's father had stepped into a dark room, and on a white screen he had seen a rocket fly right into the eye of the man in the moon. Father said he had never experienced anything like it. It had been like seeing his dreams in the middle of the day.”
― Brian Selznick, The Invention of Hugo Cabret

“I walked past Malison, up Lower Main to Main and across the road. I didn’t need to look to know he was behind me. I entered Royal Wood, went a short way along a path and waited. It was cool and dim beneath the trees. When Malison entered the Wood, I continued eastward. 
I wanted to place his body in hallowed ground. He was born a Mearan. The least I could do was send him to Loric. The distance between us closed until he was on my heels. He chose to come, I told myself, as if that lessened the crime I planned. He chose what I have to offer.
We were almost to the cemetery before he asked where we were going. I answered with another question. “Do you like living in the High Lord’s kitchens?”
He, of course, replied, “No.”
“Well, we’re going to a better place.”
When we reached the edge of the Wood, I pushed aside a branch to see the Temple of Loric and Calec’s cottage. No smoke was coming from the chimney, and I assumed the old man was yet abed. His pony was grazing in the field of graves. The sun hid behind a bank of clouds.
Malison moved beside me. “It’s a graveyard.”
“Are you afraid of ghosts?” I asked.
“My father’s a ghost,” he whispered.
I asked if he wanted to learn how to throw a knife. He said, “Yes,” as I knew he would.  He untucked his shirt, withdrew the knife he had stolen and gave it to me. It was a thick-bladed, single-edged knife, better suited for dicing celery than slitting a young throat. But it would serve my purpose. That I also knew. I’d spent all night projecting how the morning would unfold and, except for indulging in the tea, it had happened as I had imagined. 
Damut kissed her son farewell. Malison followed me of his own free will. Without fear, he placed the instrument of his death into my hand. We were at the appointed place, at the appointed time. The stolen knife was warm from the heat of his body. I had only to use it. Yet I hesitated, and again prayed for Sythene to show me a different path.
“Aren’t you going to show me?” Malison prompted, as if to echo my prayer.”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“Then Raya saw Rebecca West, the fourteen-year-old who only saved her own life by testifying against her mother, and then she saw her own face reflected in these girls – a swirl of chance, and life and sorrow.”
― Sara Pascoe, Being a Witch, and Other Things I Didn't Ask For

“Her husband's visage captivated her from the first moment she saw him step out of the royal carriage a hundred years ago. How could it not? Flaminius was utterly gorgeous. But once she fell in love with him, she became happily enslaved.”
― Therisa Peimer, Taming Flame

“Fall is nature’s grace time; giving you a chance to put things in order, for the dying.”
― Forrest Carter, The Education of Little Tree

“Open your heart. Someone will come. Someone will come for you. But first you must open your heart.”
― Kate DiCamillo, The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane

“Unconditional love is a full love that accepts and affirms a child for who he is, not for what he does. No matter what he does (or does not do), the parent still loves him. Sadly, some parents display a love that is conditional; it depends on something other than their children just being. Conditional love is based on performance and is often associated with training techniques that offer gifts, rewards, and privileges to children who behave or perform in desired ways.”
― Gary Chapman, The 5 Love Languages of Children

“Aber irgendwann hörte die Erinnerung an sie auf, mich zu begleiten. Sie blieb zurück, wie eine Stadt zurückbleibt, wenn der Zug weiterfährt. Sie ist da, irgendwo hinter einem, und man könnte hinfahren und sich ihrer versichern. Aber warum sollte man.”
― Bernhard Schlink, Der Vorleser. Erläuterungen und Dokumente

“Think of this- that the writer wrote alone, and the reader read alone, and they were alone with each other.”
― A. S. Byatt

“When I began a diet a week before my stroke, I never dreamed of such a dramatic result.”
― Jean-Dominique Bauby, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly: A Memoir of Life in Death

“I held my breath and closed my eyes, just listening to the wordless song of falling.”
― J. Rose Black, Chasing Headlines

“The librarian was called Miss Sunshine by all the kids. It wasn’t her real name, but she was so friendly and happy that everyone called her by that nickname. She asked Joey if she could help him find a book. He told her that he wanted a book about water and he thought the author was called Masaru Emoto. He told her he didn’t know how to spell the author’s name.”
― Ellen J. Lewinberg, Joey and His Friend Water

“The image of the sensual, sleep-laden Naomi made him smile. And wish he’d been lying on the pillow next to her when she’d opened her eyes. Lucky pillow.”
― Lotchie Burton, Gabriel's Fire

“He says it was tourists being careless, where I see a fiendishly clever murder attempt.”
“Mr. McCarthy, you’d better explain.”
“Patrick, please. You’ll be tempted to laugh. It was a banana skin.”
― Susan Rowland, Murder on Family Grounds

“Buying loyalty can be as effective as fear when one’s rival is poorer than oneself.”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“Serving” is assisting your fellow man, the how-to, practical way to thrust your life into the spiritual wall to make the
tunnel bigger. Will God suddenly appear? Does
washing stacks of pots and pans bring salvation?
Can pulling weeds reclaim your brain? Will mopping the floor make you equal to the richest of men?”
― Tom Hillman, Digging for God

“If there is one suject that has sparked disagreement among food writers and home cooks more than any other, it is the best way to boil an egg...you never want to actually boil eggs, but rather, gently simmer them”
― Irma S. Rombauer, Joy of Cooking

“Sé que mi familia es así pero este silencio me pesa. Tengo la impresión de tener millones de cosas que decir que, en el fondo, no interesan a nadie. Me viene a la memoria lo que decían los supervivientes de los campos de la última guerra al volver a su hogar: las pesadillas no se cuentan. Los demás no imaginan este género de pesadillas. Se instala, entre ellos y nosotras, una especie de statu quo que parece decir: ‘Estás aquí, se acabó, no hablemos más de ello.”
― Betty Mahmoody, For the Love of a Child

“Midsummer Night was roasting hot. The shore, of red granite, glowed with the heat; the dark blood of the earth seemed to be rising from below. There was a sharp, unbearable smell of birds, of cod, of green decaying seaweed. Through the mist the huge ruddy sun loomed nearer and nearer. And in the sea, dark blood welled up to meet it - in bloated, rearing, huge white waves.
Night. The mouth of the bay between two cliffs was like a window. A window shutting out curious eyes with a white shade-white woolly fog. And all that you could see was that behind it something red was happening. ("The North")”
― Yevgeny Zamyatin, The Dragon: Fifteen Stories

“I make some jokes about it, but they’re not funny and just add to the depression.”
― Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance