Annie > Annie's Quotes

“Quella che lei chiama Bologna, è un cosa grande, che va da Parma fino a Cattolica [...] dove davvero la gente vive a Modena, lavora a Bologna e la sera va a ballare a Rimini [...] è una strana metropoli [...] che s'allarga a macchia d'olio tra il mare e gli Appennini.”
― Carlo Lucarelli, Almost Blue

“Why is it," he said, one time, at the subway entrance, "I feel I've known you so many years?"
"Because I like you," she said, "and I don't want anything from you.”
― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

“Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you're there.

It doesn't matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.”
― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

“There must be something in books, something we can’t imagine, to make a woman stay in a burning house; there must be something there. You don’t stay for nothing.”
― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

“If you hide your ignorance, no one will hit you and you'll never learn.”
― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

“We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses there is at last one which makes the heart run over.”
― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

“Why aren't you in school? I see you every day wandering around."
"Oh, they don't miss me," she said. "I'm antisocial, they say. I don't mix. It's so strange. I'm very social indeed. It all depends on what you mean by social, doesn't it? Social to me means talking to you about things like this." She rattled some chestnuts that had fallen off the tree in the front yard. "Or talking about how strange the world is. Being with people is nice. But I don't think it's social to get a bunch of people together and then not let them talk, do you? An hour of TV class, an hour of basketball or baseball or running, another hour of transcription history or painting pictures, and more sports, but do you know, we never ask questions, or at least most don't; they just run the answers at you, bing, bing, bing, and us sitting there for four more hours of film-teacher. That's not social to me at all. It's a lot of funnels and lot of water poured down the spout and out the bottom, and them telling us it's wine when it's not. They run us so ragged by the end of the day we can't do anything but go to bed or head for a Fun Park to bully people around, break windowpanes in the Window Smasher place or wreck cars in the Car Wrecker place with the big steel ball. Or go out in the cars and race on the streets, trying to see how close you can get to lampposts, playing 'chicken' and 'knock hubcaps.' I guess I'm everything they say I am, all right. I haven't any friends. That's supposed to prove I'm abnormal. But everyone I know is either shouting or dancing around like wild or beating up one another. Do you notice how people hurt each other nowadays?”
― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

“You're a hopeless romantic," said Faber. "It would be funny if it were not serious. It's not books you need, it's some of the things that once were in books. The same things could be in the 'parlor families' today. The same infinite detail and awareness could be projected through the radios, and televisors, but are not. No,no it's not books at all you're looking for! Take it where you can find it, in old phonograph records, old motion pictures, and in old friends; look for it in nature and look for it in yourself. Books were only one type or receptacle where we stored a lot of things we were afraid we might forget. There is nothing magical in them at all. The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us. Of course you couldn't know this, of course you still can't understand what I mean when i say all this. You are intuitively right, that's what counts.”
― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

“There was a silly damn bird called a phoenix back before Christ, every few hundred years he built a pyre and burnt himself up. He must have been the first cousin to Man. But every time he burnt himself up he sprang out of the ashes, he got himself born all over again. And it looks like we're doing the same thing, over and over, but we're got on damn thing the phoenix never had. We know the damn silly thing we just did. We know all the damn silly things we've done for a thousand years and as long as we know that and always have it around where we can see it, someday we'll stop making the goddamn funeral pyres and jumping in the middle of them. We pick up a few more people that remember every generation.”
― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

“We have everything we need to be happy but we aren't happy. Something is missing...
It is not books you need, it's some of the things that are in books. The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us.”
― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

“Ecco il segreto della felicità: essere se stessi e basta. Fare quello che si è chiamati a essere.”
― Alessandro d'Avenia, Bianca come il latte, rossa come il sangue

“Le persone sono un po' simili alle stelle: magari brillano lontane, ma brillano, e hanno sempre qualcosa di interessante da raccontare...però ci vuole tempo, a volte tanto tempo, perchè le storie arrivino al nostro cuore, come la luce agli occhi.”
― Alessandro D'Avenia, Bianca come il latte, rossa come il sangue

“Ogni cosa è un colore. Ogni emozione è un colore. Il silenzio è bianco. Il bianco infatti è un colore che non sopporto: non ha confini. Passare una notte in bianco, andare in bianco, alzare bandiera bianca, lasciare il foglio bianco, avere un capello bianco... Anzi, il bianco non è neanche un colore. Non è niente, come il silenzio. Un niente senza parole e senza musica. In silenzio: in bianco.”
― Alessandro D'Avenia, Bianca come il latte, rossa come il sangue

“Come può mancarci chi non abbiamo mai avuto? Cosa ci manca veramente: l'altro o una parte di noi stessi? O abbiamo bisogno di qualcuno che ci regali quella parte di noi stessi che ci manca? Sono cose che nessuno sa.”
― Alessandro D'Avenia, Cose che nessuno sa

“Cinque sono le cose che un uomo rimpiange quando sta per morire. E non sono mai quelle che consideriamo importanti durante la vita. Non saranno i viaggi confinati nelle vetrine delle agenzie che rimpiangeremo, e neanche una macchina nuova, una donna o un uomo da sogno o uno stipendio migliore. No, al momento della morte tutto diventa finalmente reale. E cinque le cose che rimpiangeremo, le uniche reali di una vita.
La prima sarà non aver vissuto secondo le nostre inclinazioni ma prigionieri delle aspettative degli altri. Cadrà la maschera di pelle con la quale ci siamo resi amabili, o abbiamo creduto di farlo. [...]
Il secondo rimpianto sarà aver lavorato troppo duramente, lasciandoci prendere dalla competizione, dai risultati, dalla rincorsa di qualcosa che non è mai arrivato perché non esisteva se non nella nostra testa, trascurando legami e relazioni.
Per terzo rimpiangeremo di non aver trovato il coraggio di dire la verità. Rimpiangeremo di non aver detto abbastanza "ti amo" a chi avevamo accanto, "sono fiero di te" ai figli, "scusa" quando avevamo torto, o anche quando avevamo ragione. Abbiamo preferito alla verità rancori incancreniti e lunghissimi silenzi.
Poi rimpiangeremo di non aver trascorso tempo con chi amavamo. Non abbiamo badato a chi era sempre lì, proprio perché era sempre lì. Eppure il dolore a volte ce lo aveva ricordato che nulla resta per sempre, ma noi lo avevamo sottovalutato come se fossimo immortali, rimandando a oltranza, dando la precedenza a ciò che era urgente anziché a ciò che era importante. E come abbiamo fatto a sopportare quella solitudine in vita? L’abbiamo tollerata perché era centellinata, come un veleno che abitua a sopportare dosi letali. E abbiamo soffocato il dolore con piccolissimi e dolcissimi surrogati […].
Per ultimo rimpiangeremo di non essere stati più felici. Eppure sarebbe bastato far fiorire ciò che avevamo dentro e attorno, ma ci siamo lasciati schiacciare dall’abitudine, dall’accidia, dall’egoismo.”
― Alessandro D'Avenia, Ciò che inferno non è

“It's not the face, but the expressions on it. It's not the voice, but what you say. It's not how you look in that body, but the thing you do with it. You are beautiful.”
― Stephenie Meyer, The Host

“Eight full lives,” I whispered against his jaw, my voice breaking. “Eight full lives and I never found anyone I would stay on a planet for, anyone I would follow when they left. I never found a partner. Why now? Why you? You're not of my species. How can you be my partner?”
“It's a strange universe,” he murmured.
“It's not fair,” I complained, echoing Sunny's words. It wasn't fair. How could I find this, find love–now, in this eleventh hour–and have to leave it? Was it fair that my soul and body couldn't reconcile? Was it fair that I had to love Melanie, too? Was it fair that Ian would suffer? He deserved happiness if anyone did. Itwasn't fair or right or even…sane. How could I do this to him?
“I love you,” I whispered.
“Don't say that like you're saying goodbye.”
But I had to. “I, the soul called Wanderer, love you, human Ian. And that will never change, no matter what I might become.” I worded it carefully, so that there would be no lie in my voice.
“If I were a Dolphin or a Bear or a Flower, it wouldn't matter. I would always love you, always remember you. You will be my only partner.”
― Stephenie Meyer, The Host

“If I was given the choice between having the world back and having you, I wouldn't be able to give you up. Not to save five billion lives.”
― Stephenie Meyer, The Host

“After all, what was more important, in the end, than love?”
― Stephenie Meyer, The Host

“And the past held only this wisdom: that love was a damaging mistake, and its accomplice, hope, a treacherous illusion. And whenever those twin poisonous flowers began to sprout in the parched land of that field, Mariam uprooted them. She uprooted them and ditched them before they took hold.”
― Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns

“yet love can move people to act in unexpected ways and move them to overcome the most daunting obstacles with startling heroism”
― Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns

“Laila has moved on. Because in the end she knows that’s all she can do. That and hope.”
― Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns

“Tell your secret to the wind, but don’t blame it for telling the trees.”
― Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns

“With the passing of time, she would slowly tire of this exercise. She would find it increasingly exhausting to conjure up, to dust off, to resuscitate once again what was long dead. There would come a day, in fact, years later, when [she] would no longer bewail his loss. Or not as relentlessly; not nearly. There would come a day when the details of his face would begin to slip from memory's grip, when overhearing a mother on the street call after her child by [his] name would no longer cut her adrift. She would not miss him as she did now, when the ache of his absence was her unremitting companion--like the phantom pain of an amputee.”
― Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns

“You can not stop you from being who you are.”
― Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns

“Only two weeks since he had left, and it was already happening. Time, blunting the edges of those sharp memories. Laila bore down mentally. What had he said? It seemed vital, suddenly, that she know.

Laila closed her eyes. Concentrated.

With the passing of time, she would slowly tire of this exercise. She would find it increasingly exhausting to conjure up, to dust off, to resuscitate once again what was long dead. There would come a day, in fact, years later, when Laila would no longer bewail his loss. Or not as relentlessly; not nearly. There would come a day when the details of his face would begin to slip from memory's grip, when overhearing a mother on the street call after her child by Tariq's name would no longer cut her adrift. She would not miss him as she did now, when the ache of his absence was her unremitting companion—like the phantom pain of an amputee.

Except every once in a long while, when Laila was a grown woman, ironing a shirt or pushing her children on a swing set, something trivial, maybe the warmth of a carpet beneath her feet on a hot day or the curve of a stranger's forehead, would set off a memory of that afternoon together. And it would come rushing back. The spontaneity of it. Their astonishing imprudence...

It would flood her, steal her breath.

But then it would pass. The moment would pass. Leave her feeling deflated, feeling noting but a vague restlessness.”
― Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns

“She remembered all too well how time had dragged without him, how she had shuffled about feeling waylaid, out of balance. How shr could ever cope with his permanent absence?”
― Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns

“As he read, I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.”
― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

“You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world...but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices.”
― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

“There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1. There's .1 and .12 and .112 and an infinite collection of others. Of course, there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. A writer we used to like taught us that. There are days, many of them, when I resent the size of my unbounded set. I want more numbers than I'm likely to get, and God, I want more numbers for Augustus Waters than he got. But, Gus, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn't trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I'm grateful.”
― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars