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November 9
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by Colleen Hoover (Goodreads Author)
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  (page 84 of 310)
"not what I expected" Aug 09, 2022 09:54PM

 
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Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
“I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings.”
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

André Breton
“My wish is that you may be loved to the point of madness.”
André Breton, What Is Surrealism?: Selected Writings

Kahlil Gibran
“One's own religion is after all a matter between oneself and one's Maker and no one else's.”
Kahlil Gibran

Max Ehrmann
“Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly, and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love – for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you from misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.”
Max Ehrmann, Desiderata: A Poem for a Way of Life

Jonathan Franzen
“Her eyes weren't blinking. There was still something almost dead in them, something very far away. She seemed to be seeing all the way through to the back of him and beyond, out into the cold space of the future in which they would both soon be dead, out into the nothingness that Lalitha and his mother and his father had already passed into, and yet she was looking straight into his eyes, and he could feel her getting warmer by the minute. And so he stopped looking at her eyes and started looking into them, returning their look before it was too late, before this connection between life and what came after life was lost, and let her see all the vileness inside him, all the hatreds of two thousand solitary nights, while the two of them were still with the void in which the sum of everything they'd ever said or done, every pain they'd inflicted, every joy they'd shared, would weigh less than the smallest feather on the wind.”
Jonathan Franzen, Freedom

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