Shardan > Shardan's Quotes

“Fifteen men on the Dead Man's Chest Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum! Drink and the devil had done for the rest Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!”
― Robert Louis Stevenson, Treasure Island

“That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.”
― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

“- Votre personne, vos moindres mouvements, me semblaient avoir dans le monde une importance extra-humaine. Mon coeur, comme de la poussière, se soulevait derrière vos pas. Vous me faisiez l'effet d'un clair de lune par une nuit d'été, quand tout est parfums, ombres douces, blancheurs, infini ; et les délices de la chair et de l'âme étaient contenus pour moi dans votre nom que je me répétais, en tâchant de le baiser sur mes lèvres. Je n'imaginais rien au delà. C'était Mme Arnoux telle que vous étiez, avec ses deux enfants, tendre, sérieuse, belle à éblouir, et si bonne ! Cette image-là effaçait toutes les autres. Est-ce que j'y pensais, seulement ! puisque j'avais toujours au fond de moi-même la musique de votre voix et la splendeur de vos yeux !”
― Gustave Flaubert, Sentimental Education

“Do you believe,' said Candide, 'that men have always massacred each other as they do to-day, that they have always been liars, cheats, traitors, ingrates, brigands, idiots, thieves, scoundrels, gluttons, drunkards, misers, envious, ambitious, bloody-minded, calumniators, debauchees, fanatics, hypocrites, and fools?'
Do you believe,' said Martin, 'that hawks have always eaten pigeons when they have found them?”
― Voltaire, Candide

“The music of life would be mute if the chords of memory were snapped asunder.”
― Jerome K. Jerome, Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow

“And he goes around killing people?” said Mort. He shook his head. “There’s no justice.”
Death sighed. No, he said... there’s just me.”
― Terry Pratchett, Mort

“Scientists have calculated that the chances of something so patently absurd actually existing are millions to one.
But magicians have calculated that million-to-one chances crop up nine times out of ten.”
― Terry Pratchett, Mort

“I must indeed abide the Doom of Men whether I will or nill: the loss and the silence. But I say to you, King of the Numenoreans, not till now have I understood the tale of your people and their fall. As wicked fools I scorned them, but I pity them at last. For if this is indeed, as the Elves say, the gift of the One to Men, it is bitter to receive.”
― J.R R. Tolkien

“I don’t like anything here at all.” said Frodo, “step or stone, breath or bone. Earth, air and water all seem accursed. But so our path is laid.”

“Yes, that’s so,” said Sam, “And we shouldn’t be here at all, if we’d known more about it before we started. But I suppose it’s often that way. The brave things in the old tales and songs, Mr. Frodo, adventures, as I used to call them. I used to think that they were things the wonderful folk of the stories went out and
looked for, because they wanted them, because they were exciting and life was a bit dull, a kind of a sport, as you might say. But that’s not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stay in the mind. Folk seem to have been just landed in them, usually their paths were laid that way, as you put it. But I expect they had lots of chances, like us, of turning back, only they didn’t. And if they had, we shouldn’t know, because they’d have been forgotten. We hear about those as just went on, and not all to a good end, mind you; at least not to what folk inside a story and not outside it call a good end. You know, coming home, and finding things all right, though not quite the same; like old Mr Bilbo. But those aren’t always the best tales to hear, though they may be the best tales to get landed in! I wonder what sort of a tale we’ve fallen into?”

“I wonder,” said Frodo, “But I don’t know. And that’s the way of a real tale. Take any one that you’re fond of. You may know, or guess, what kind of a tale it is, happy-ending or sad-ending, but the people in it don’t know. And you don’t want them to.”
― Tolkien John Ronald Reuel, The Lord of the Rings

“Farewell, good thief,” he said. “I go now to the halls of waiting to sit beside my fathers, until the world is renewed. Since I leave now all gold and silver, and go where it is of little worth, I wish to part in friendship from you, and I would take back my words and deeds at the Gate.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

“Since I leave now all gold and silver, and go where it is of little worth, I wish to part in friendship from you, and I would take back my words and deeds at the Gate.”

Bilbo knelt on one knee filled with sorrow. “Farewell, King under the Mountain!” he said. “This is a bitter adventure, if it must end so; and not a mountain of gold can amend it. Yet I am glad that I have shared in your perils – that has been more than any Baggins deserves.”

“No! said Thorin. “There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit, or There and Back Again

“Vorrei, per essere proprio tranquillo, che tu non ti spaventassi o ti turbassi troppo qualunque condanna siano per darmi. Che tu comprendessi bene, anche col sentimento, che io sono un detenuto politico e sarò un condannato politico, che non ho e non avrò mai da vergognarmi di questa situazione. Che, in fondo, la detenzione e la condanna le ho volute io stesso, in certo modo, perché non ho mai voluto mutare le mie opinioni, per le quali sarei disposto a dare la vita e non solo a stare in prigione. Che perciò io non posso che essere tranquillo e contento di me stesso. Cara mamma, vorrei proprio abbracciarti stretta stretta perché sentissi quanto ti voglio bene e come vorrei consolarti di questo dispiacere che ti ho dato ma non potevo fare diversamente. La vita è così, molto dura, e i figli qualche volta devono dare dei grandi dolori alle loro mamme, se vogliono conservare il loro onore e la loro dignità di uomini”
― Antonio Gramsci, Selections from the Prison Notebooks

“A dwarf who can't get the hang of metal? That must be pretty unique."

"Pretty rare, sir. But I was quite good at alchemy.."

"Guild member?"

"Not any more, sir."

"Oh? How did you leave the guild?"

"Through the roof, sir. But I'm pretty certain I know what I did wrong.”
― Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

“It is a mystery,' said Detritus.
Vimes grinned mirthlessly. It was a mystery. And he didn't like mysteries. Mysteries had a way of getting bigger if you didn't solve them quickly. Mysteries pupped.”
― Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

“Rumour is information distilled so finely that it can filter through anything. It does not need doors and windows -- sometimes it does not need people. It can exist free and wild, running from ear to ear without ever touching lips.”
― Terry Pratchett

“As her tutors had said, there were two signs of a good alchemist: the Athletic and the Intellectual. A good alchemist of the first sort was someone who could leap over the bench and be on the far side of a safely thick wall in three seconds, and a good alchemist of the second sort was someone who knew exactly when to do this.”
― Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

“You will be required to do wrong no matter where you go. It is the basic condition of life, to be required to violate your own identity. At some time, every creature which lives must do so. It is the ultimate shadow, the defeat of creation; this is the curse at work, the curse that feeds on all life. Everywhere in the universe.”
― Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

“The painting showed a hairless, oppressed creature with a head like an inverted pear, its hands clapped in horror to its ears, its mouth open in a vast, soundless scream. Twisted ripples of the creature's torment, echoes of its cry, flooded out into the air surrounding it; the man or woman, whichever it was, had become contained by its own howl. It had covered its ears against its own sound. The creature stood on a bridge and no one else was present; the creature screamed in isolation. Cut off by - or despite - its outcry.”
― Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

“The classic resignation. Mechanical, intellectual acceptance of that which a genuine organism––with two billion years of the pressure to live and evolve hagriding it––could never have reconciled itself to.

“I can’t stand the way you androids give up,” he said savagely.”
― Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

“Is it a loss?” Rachael repeated. “I don’t really know; I have no way to tell. How does it feel to have a child? How does it feel to be born, for that matter? We’re not born; we don’t grow up; instead of dying from illness or old age, we wear out like ants. Ants again; that’s what we are. Not you; I mean me. Chitinous reflex-machines who aren’t really alive.” She twisted her head to one side, said loudly, “I’m not alive!”
― Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

“No one can win against kipple," he said, "except temporarily and maybe in one spot, like in my apartment I've sort of created a stasis between the pressure of kipple and nonkipple, for the time being. But eventually I'll die or go away, and then the kipple will again take over. It's a universal principle operating throughout the universe; the entire universe is moving toward a final state of total, absolute kippleization.”
― Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

“His stories were what frightened people worst of all. Dreadful stories they were--about hanging, and walking the plank, and storms at sea, and the Dry Tortugas, and wild deeds and places on the Spanish Main. By his own account he must have lived his life among some of the wickedest men that God ever allowed upon the sea, and the language in which he told these stories shocked our plain country people almost as much as the crimes that he described. My father was always saying the inn would be ruined, for people would soon cease coming there to be tyrannized over and put down, and sent shivering to their beds; but I really believe his presence did us good. People were frightened at the time, but on looking back they rather liked it; it was a fine excitement in a quiet country life, and there was even a party of the younger men who pretended to admire him, calling him a "true sea-dog" and a "real old salt" and such like names, and saying there was the sort of man that made England terrible at sea.”
― Robert Louis Stevenson, Treasure Island

“Farewell sweet earth and northern sky,
for ever blest, since here did lie
and here with lissom limbs did run
beneath the Moon, beneath the Sun,
Lúthien Tinúviel
more fair than Mortal tongue can tell.
Though all to ruin fell the world
and were dissolved and backward hurled;
unmade into the old abyss,
yet were its making good, for this―
the dusk, the dawn, the earth, the sea―
that Lúthien for a time should be.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion

“There was Eru, the One, who in Arda is called Ilúvatar; and he made first the Ainur, the Holy Ones, that were the offspring of his thought, and they were with him before aught else was made. And he spoke to them, propounding to them themes of music; and they sang before him, and he was glad. But for a long while they sang only each alone, or but few together, while the rest hearkened; for each comprehended only that part of the mind of Ilúvatar from which he came, and in the understanding of their brethren they grew but slowly. Yet ever as they listened they came to deeper understanding, and increased in unison and harmony.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion

“Aujourd'hui, maman est morte. Ou peut-être hier, je ne sais pas.”
― Albert Camus, The Stranger

“Un paese ci vuole, non fosse che per il gusto di andarsene via.”
― Cesare Pavese, The Moon and the Bonfire

“Non poteva più vivere senza sapere e, soprattutto, non poteva morire senza sapere, in un'epoca in cui i ragazzi come lui erano chiamati più a morire che a vivere. Avrebbe rinunciato a tutto per quella verità, tra quella verità e l'intelligenza del creato avrebbe optato per la prima.”
― Beppe Fenoglio, Una questione privata

“All'occorrenza sì. Ma so leggere e scrivere, anche se questo è vietato a un servo come me."

"Oh sì, fai bene, giusta disubbidienza, felix culpa. Un libro va letto, non soltanto fatto, o tenuto sotto l'ascella. Un libro che nessuno legge, non serve, non comanda. Se no, che libro è?"

"Dite voi, maestro, un libro che cos'è," dice Vera de Tori, con grazia. E tutti gli altri d'accordo, compresi i tedeschi sempre attenti.

"Cosa per dire cose, questo è un libro, se lo sappiamo far parlare. Se no, sta zitto. Il libro parla solo se tu vuoi, quando e quanto ti garba e quanto sai e puoi. Un libro è l'amico più discreto. Non si consuma un libro, se lo leggi. Anzi, più lo leggi e più cresce. E tu con lui. Non è come col pane e col formaggio, quello che mangi tu io non lo mangio, e finito è finito, come il nostro di ieri, e va bene così, buon appetito. Un libro è meglio. Se lo leggono in molti cresce molto, finch'è letto non smette mai di dire quello che ha da dire, a chi lo legge, che sia letto in silenzio tutto solo, o a molti a voce alta in compagnia. Vale sempre di più dei soldi che lo paghi, un libro. Nemmeno del cane Dolceacqua ti potresti comprare anche le feste, non lo scodinzolio. Di un libro invece sì. Toccano il cielo con un dito, i libri, anche se non sono né Bibbia né Corano, verbo divino che dura in eterno. E parlano tra loro, i libri, di tutto, pure di se stessi. Tramite chi li legge. Grazie a chi li scrive. E anche a Paulinu che li fa.”
― Giulio Angioni, Sulla faccia della terra

“Tutti questi interminabili inizi che sono stati la mia vita, adesso che stanno per finire non finiti, che altro mi dicono se non che il valore di un uomo ha per sola misura l'ampiezza delle sue speranze e la profondità delle sue delusioni?”
― Giulio Angioni, Sulla faccia della terra