Diane Gracy > Diane's Quotes

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  • #1
    “It's funny how strangers can pass in front of you every day and all you see is a flat shadow, a vague outline, not noticing any of the details. They move in a gray crowd, always looking the same and acting the same, simple caricatures of who they really are, but once you get to know them, you notice the specific, tiniest things, you pay attention to the intricacies of their personalities, their habits and particular ways of walking and talking, the subtle changes in their appearance and dress.”
    Gregory Galloway

  • #2
    Haruki Murakami
    “Closing your eyes isn't going to change anything. Nothing's going to disappear just because you can't see what's going on. In fact, things will even be worse the next time you open your eyes. That's the kind of world we live in. Keep your eyes wide open. Only a coward closes his eyes. Closing your eyes and plugging up your ears won't make time stand still.”
    Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

  • #4
    Haruki Murakami
    “Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I'm gazing at a distant star.
    It's dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago.
    Maybe the star doesn't even exist any more. Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything.”
    Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun

  • #5
    Haruki Murakami
    “But who can say what's best? That's why you need to grab whatever chance you have of happiness where you find it, and not worry about other people too much. My experience tells me that we get no more than two or three such chances in a life time, and if we let them go, we regret it for the rest of our lives.”
    Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

  • #6
    Haruki Murakami
    “Here's what I think, Mr. Wind-Up Bird," said May Kasahara. "Everybody's born with some different thing at the core of their existence. And that thing, whatever it is, becomes like a heat source that runs each person from the inside. I have one too, of course. Like everybody else. But sometimes it gets out of hand. It swells or shrinks inside me, and it shakes me up. What I'd really like to do is find a way to communicate that feeling to another person. But I can't seem to do it. They just don't get it. Of course, the problem could be that I'm not explaining it very well, but I think it's because they're not listening very well. They pretend to be listening, but they're not, really. So I get worked up sometimes, and I do some crazy things.”
    Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle
    tags: life

  • #7
    Haruki Murakami
    “But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drink, the very air I breathe, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o'clock in the morning.”
    Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

  • #8
    Yukio Mishima
    “Perfect purity is possible if you turn your life into a line of poetry written with a splash of blood.”
    Yukio Mishima, Runaway Horses

  • #9
    Milan Kundera
    “Dogs are our link to paradise. They don't know evil or jealousy or discontent. To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring--it was peace.”
    Milan Kundera

  • #10
    Milan Kundera
    “We can never know what to want, because, living only one life, we can neither compare it with our previous lives nor perfect it in our lives to come.”
    Milan Kundera

  • #11
    Milan Kundera
    “for there is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes.”
    Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

  • #12
    Isabel Allende
    “Accept the children the way we accept trees—with gratitude, because they are a blessing—but do not have expectations or desires. You don’t expect trees to change, you love them as they are.”
    Isabel Allende

  • #13
    Isabel Allende
    “We only have what we give.”
    Isabel Allende

  • #14
    Isabel Allende
    “At the most difficult moments of my life, when it seemed that every door was closed to me, the taste of those apricots comes back to comfort me with the notion that abundance is always within reach, if only one knows how to find it.”
    Isabel Allende, Paula

  • #15
    Harold Brodkey
    “God is an immensity, while this disease, this death, which is in me, this small, tightly defined pedestrian event, is merely and perfectly real, without miracle—or instruction.”
    Harold Brodkey, This Wild Darkness: The Story of My Death

  • #16
    John Donne
    “As virtuous men pass mildly away,
    And whisper to their souls to go,
    Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
    "The breath goes now," and some say, "No,"

    So let us melt, and make no noise,
    No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;
    'Twere profanation of our joys
    To tell the laity our love.

    Moving of the earth brings harms and fears,
    Men reckon what it did and meant;
    But trepidation of the spheres,
    Though greater far, is innocent.

    Dull sublunary lovers' love
    (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
    Absence, because it doth remove
    Those things which elemented it.

    But we, by a love so much refined
    That our selves know not what it is,
    Inter-assured of the mind,
    Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.

    Our two souls therefore, which are one,
    Though I must go, endure not yet
    A breach, but an expansion.
    Like gold to airy thinness beat.

    If they be two, they are two so
    As stiff twin compasses are two:
    Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
    To move, but doth, if the other do;

    And though it in the center sit,
    Yet when the other far doth roam,
    It leans, and hearkens after it,
    And grows erect, as that comes home.

    Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
    Like the other foot, obliquely run;
    Thy firmness makes my circle just,
    And makes me end where I begun.”
    John Donne

  • #17
    Victoria Forester
    “There is a place deep, deep inside every person that is hidden and hard to find. If things get bad enough and life gets too hard, though, some people will go to that place and never come back from it. Certainly, all outward appearances will suggest otherwise. They will look as they always did. They may even act somewhat like their old selves, but the trut is, the real truth is that they are hiding in this place deep inside where no one can touch or hurt them anymore.”
    Victoria Forester, The Girl Who Could Fly

  • #19
    “The world, moment by ordinary or agonizing moment, lies chock-full with its own clarifications and rewards. That such rewards most often go unnoticed keeps the artist in business.”
    Robert Wrigley

  • #20
    Milan Kundera
    “There is a secret bond between slowness and memory, between speed and forgetting.

    A man is walking down the street. At a certain moment, he tries to recall something, but the recollection escapes him. Automatically, he slows down.

    Meanwhile, a person who wants to forget a disagreeable incident he has just lived through starts unconsciously to speed up his pace, as if he were trying to distance himself from a thing still too close to him in time.

    In existential mathematics that experience takes the form of two basic equations: The degree of slowness is directly proportional to the intensity of memory; the degree of speed is directly proportional to the intensity of forgetting.”
    Milan Kundera, Slowness

  • #21
    Kate Chopin
    “She turned her face seaward to gather in an impression of space and solitude, which the vast expanse of water, meeting and melting with the moonlit sky, conveyed to her excited fancy. As she swam she seemed to be reaching out for the unlimited in which to lose herself.”
    Kate Chopin, The Awakening

  • #22
    Wendell Berry
    “Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
    vacation with pay. Want more
    of everything ready-made. Be afraid
    to know your neighbors and to die.

    And you will have a window in your head.
    Not even your future will be a mystery
    any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
    and shut away in a little drawer.

    When they want you to buy something
    they will call you. When they want you
    to die for profit they will let you know.
    So, friends, every day do something
    that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
    Love the world. Work for nothing.
    Take all that you have and be poor.
    Love someone who does not deserve it.

    Denounce the government and embrace
    the flag. Hope to live in that free
    republic for which it stands.
    Give your approval to all you cannot
    understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
    has not encountered he has not destroyed.

    Ask the questions that have no answers.
    Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
    Say that your main crop is the forest
    that you did not plant,
    that you will not live to harvest.

    Say that the leaves are harvested
    when they have rotted into the mold.
    Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
    Put your faith in the two inches of humus
    that will build under the trees
    every thousand years.

    Listen to carrion — put your ear
    close, and hear the faint chattering
    of the songs that are to come.
    Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
    Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
    though you have considered all the facts.
    So long as women do not go cheap
    for power, please women more than men.

    Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
    a woman satisfied to bear a child?
    Will this disturb the sleep
    of a woman near to giving birth?

    Go with your love to the fields.
    Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
    in her lap. Swear allegiance
    to what is nighest your thoughts.

    As soon as the generals and the politicos
    can predict the motions of your mind,
    lose it. Leave it as a sign
    to mark the false trail, the way
    you didn’t go.

    Be like the fox
    who makes more tracks than necessary,
    some in the wrong direction.
    Practice resurrection.”
    Wendell Berry

  • #23
    Edgar Allan Poe
    “Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
    Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
    As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
    Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door —
    Only this, and nothing more."

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
    And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore —
    For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
    Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
    Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
    Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door —
    Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; —
    This it is, and nothing more."

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
    Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
    That I scarce was sure I heard you"— here I opened wide the door; —
    Darkness there, and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
    Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
    This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" —
    Merely this, and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
    Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
    Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —
    Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; —
    'Tis the wind and nothing more."

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
    In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —
    Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —
    Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

    Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
    By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
    Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
    Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore —
    Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
    Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
    Though its answer little meaning— little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door —
    Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
    With such name as "Nevermore.”
    Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven

  • #24
    Anne Lamott
    “I do not understand the mystery of grace -- only that it meets us where we are and does not leave us where it found us.”
    Anne Lamott

  • #25
    Christopher Paul Curtis
    “...that was Bud Caldwell's Rules and Things to Have a Funner LIfe and Make a Better Liar Out of Yourself Number 83...If a Adult Tells You Not to Worry, and You Weren't Worried Before, You Better Hurry Up and Start 'Cause You're Already Running Late.”
    Christopher Paul Curtis, Bud, Not Buddy

  • #26
    Alice Sebold
    “These were the lovely bones that had grown around my absence: the connections-sometimes tenuous, sometimes made at great cost, but often magnificent-that happened after I was gone. And I began to see things in a way that let me hold the world without me in it. The events that my death wrought were merely the bones of a body that would become whole at some unpredictable time in the future. The price of what I came to see as this miraculous body had been my life.”
    Alice Sebold, The Lovely Bones

  • #27
    Gilda Radner
    “I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next.
    Delicious Ambiguity.”
    Gilda Radner

  • #28
    Mark Oliver Everett
    “Life is so full of unpredictable beauty and strange surprises. Sometimes that beauty is too much for me to handle. Do you know that feeling? When something is just too beautiful? When someone says something or writes something or plays something that moves you to the point of tears, maybe even changes you.”
    Mark Oliver Everett, Things The Grandchildren Should Know

  • #29
    Lewis Carroll
    “I'd give all the wealth that years have piled,
    the slow result of life's decay,
    To be once more a little child
    for one bright summer day.”
    Lewis Carroll

  • #30
    Diane Setterfield
    “All my life and all my experience, the events that have befallen me, the people I have known, all my memories, dreams, fantasies, everything I have ever read, all of that has been chucked onto the compost heap, where over time it has rotted down to a dark, rich, organic mulch. The process of cellular breakdown makes it unrecognizable. Other people call it the imagination. I think of it as a compost heap. Every so often I take an idea, plant it in the compost, and wait. It feeds on the black stuff that used to be a life, takes its energy for its own. It germinates,. Takes root. Produces shoots. And so on and so forth, until one fine day I have a story, or a novel....Readers are fools. They believe all writing is autobiographical. And so it is, but not in the way they think. The writer's life needs time to rot away before it can be used to nourish a work of fiction. It must be allowed to decay.”
    Diane Setterfield, The Thirteenth Tale

  • #31
    Rudyard Kipling
    “If you can keep your head when all about you
    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
    If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
    But make allowance for their doubting too;!”
    Rudyard Kipling, If: A Father's Advice to His Son

  • #32
    P.C. Cast
    “See with your soul and not your eyes
    because to dance with the beasts you
    must penetrate their disguise.”
    P.C. Cast

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