Whitney > Whitney's Quotes

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  • #1
    Lemony Snicket
    “I will love you as a thief loves a gallery and as a crow loves a murder, as a cloud loves bats and as a range loves braes. I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong. I will love you as a battlefield loves young men and as peppermints love your allergies, and I will love you as the banana peel loves the shoe of a man who was just struck by a shingle falling off a house. I will love you as a volunteer fire department loves rushing into burning buildings and as burning buildings love to chase them back out, and as a parachute loves to leave a blimp and as a blimp operator loves to chase after it.
    I will love you as a dagger loves a certain person’s back, and as a certain person loves to wear dagger proof tunics, and as a dagger proof tunic loves to go to a certain dry cleaning facility, and how a certain employee of a dry cleaning facility loves to stay up late with a pair of binoculars, watching a dagger factory for hours in the hopes of catching a burglar, and as a burglar loves sneaking up behind people with binoculars, suddenly realizing that she has left her dagger at home. I will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp, and as a gasping person loves a glass of brandy to calm their nerves, and as a glass of brandy loves to shatter on the floor, and as the noise of glass shattering loves to make someone else gasp, and as someone else gasping loves a nearby desk to lean against, even if leaning against it presses a lever that loves to open a drawer and reveal a secret compartment. I will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and until all the secrets have gone gasping into the world. I will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled.
    I will love you until every fire is extinguised and until every home is rebuilt from the handsomest and most susceptible of woods, and until every criminal is handcuffed by the laziest of policemen. I will love until M. hates snakes and J. hates grammar, and I will love you until C. realizes S. is not worthy of his love and N. realizes he is not worthy of the V. I will love you until the bird hates a nest and the worm hates an apple, and until the apple hates a tree and the tree hates a nest, and until a bird hates a tree and an apple hates a nest, although honestly I cannot imagine that last occurrence no matter how hard I try. I will love you as we grow older, which has just happened, and has happened again, and happened several days ago, continuously, and then several years before that, and will continue to happen as the spinning hands of every clock and the flipping pages of every calendar mark the passage of time, except for the clocks that people have forgotten to wind and the calendars that people have forgotten to place in a highly visible area. I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where we once we were so close that we could slip the curved straw, and the long, slender spoon, between our lips and fingers respectively.
    I will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from slim to zero, and until your face is fogged by distant memory, and your memory faced by distant fog, and your fog memorized by a distant face, and your distance distanced by the memorized memory of a foggy fog. I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, no matter where you avoid and who you don’t see, and no matter who sees you avoiding where you go. I will love you no matter what happens to you, and no matter how I discover what happens to you, and no matter what happens to me as I discover this, and now matter how I am discovered after what happens to me as I am discovering this.”
    Lemony Snicket


  • #2
    Anaïs Nin
    “He was now in that state of fire that she loved. She wanted to be burnt.”
    Anaïs Nin, Delta of Venus


  • #3
    Anaïs Nin
    “When others asked the truth of me, I was convinced it was not the truth they wanted, but an illusion they could bear to live with.”
    Anaïs Nin


  • #4
    Anaïs Nin
    “Physical experiences, lacking the joys of love, depend on twists and perversions of pleasure. Abnormal pleasures kill the taste for normal ones.”
    Anaïs Nin


  • #5
    Anaïs Nin
    “The man who was once starved may revenge himself upon the world not by stealing just once, or by stealing only what he needs, but by taking from the world an endless toll in payment of something irreplaceable, which is the lost faith.”
    Anaïs Nin


  • #6
    Ray Bradbury
    “You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.”
    Ray Bradbury, Zen in the Art of Writing


  • #7
    William Shakespeare
    “And yet,to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays.”
    William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream
    tags: love


  • #8
    William Shakespeare
    “The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.”
    William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream


  • #9
    William Shakespeare
    “Lovers and madmen have such seething brains
    Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
    More than cool reason ever comprehends.

    William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream


  • #10
    William Shakespeare
    “Thus I die. Thus, thus, thus.
    Now I am dead,
    Now I am fled,
    My soul is in the sky.
    Tongue, lose thy light.
    Moon take thy flight.
    Now die, die, die, die.”
    William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream


  • #11
    Karen Marie Moning
    “Was he a good kisser, Ms. Lane?” Barrons asked, watching me carefully.
    I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand at the memory. “It was like being owned.”
    Some women like that.”
    Not me.”
    Perhaps it depends on the man doing the owning.”
    I doubt it. I couldn’t breathe with him kissing me.”
    One day you may kiss a man you can’t breathe without, and find breath is of little consequence.”
    Right, and one day my prince might come.”
    I doubt he’ll be a prince, Ms. Lane. Men rarely are.”
    Karen Marie Moning, Bloodfever


  • #12
    Toni Morrison
    “Young people, Lord. Do they still call it infatuation? That magic ax that chops away the world in one blow, leaving only the couple standing there trembling? Whatever they call it, it leaps over anything, takes the biggest chair, the largest slice, rules the ground wherever it walks, from a mansion to a swamp, and its selfishness is its beauty. Before I was reduced to singsong, I saw all kinds of mating. Most are two-night stands trying to last a season. Some, the riptide ones, claim exclusive right to the real name, even though everybody drowns in its wake. People with no imagination feed it with sex—the clown of love. They don’t know the real kinds, the better kinds, where losses are cut and everybody benefits. It takes a certain intelligence to love like that—softly, without props. But the world is such a showpiece, maybe that’s why folks try to outdo it, put everything they feel onstage just to prove they can think up things too: handsome scary things like fights to the death, adultery, setting sheets afire. They fail, of course. The world outdoes them every time. While they are busy showing off, digging other people’s graves, hanging themselves on a cross, running wild in the streets, cherries are quietly turning from greed to red, oysters are suffering pearls, and children are catching rain in their mouths expecting the drops to be cold but they’re not; they are warm and smell like pineapple before they get heavier and heavier, so heavy and fast they can’t be caught one at a time. Poor swimmers head for shore while strong ones wait for lightning’s silver veins. Bottle-green clouds sweep in, pushing the rain inland where palm trees pretend to be shocked by the wind. Women scatter shielding their hair and men bend low holding the women’s shoulders against their chests. I run too, finally. I say finally because I do like a good storm. I would be one of those people in the weather channel leaning into the wind while lawmen shout in megaphones: ‘Get moving!”
    Toni Morrison, Love


  • #13
    Donald Miller
    “Writers don't make any money at all. We make about a dollar. It is terrible. But then again we don't work either. We sit around in our underwear until noon then go downstairs and make coffee, fry some eggs, read the paper, read part of a book, smell the book, wonder if perhaps we ourselves should work on our book, smell the book again, throw the book across the room because we are quite jealous that any other person wrote a book, feel terribly guilty about throwing the schmuck's book across the room because we secretly wonder if God in heaven noticed our evil jealousy, or worse, our laziness. We then lie across the couch facedown and mumble to God to forgive us because we are secretly afraid He is going to dry up all our words because we envied another man's stupid words. And for this, as I said, we are paid a dollar. We are worth so much more.”
    Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality


  • #14
    Donald Miller
    “...to be in a relationship with God is to be loved purely and furiously. And a person who thinks himself unlovable cannot be in a relationship with God because he can't accept who God is; a Being that is love. We learn that we are lovable or unlovable from other people...That is why God tells us so many times to love each other.”
    Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality
    tags: love


  • #15
    Donald Miller
    “The most difficult lie I have ever contended with is this: life is a story about me.”
    Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality


  • #16
    Donald Miller
    “It was a haunting feeling, the sort of sensation you get when you wonder whether you are two people, the other of which does things you can't explain, bad and terrible things.”
    Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality


  • #17
    Donald Miller
    “...I want my spirituality to rid me of hate, not give me reason for it.”
    Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality


  • #18
    Donald Miller
    “What I believe is not what I say I believe; what I believe is what I do.”
    Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality


  • #19
    Donald Miller
    “The thing about new things is you feel new when you buy them, you feel as though you are somebody different because you own something different. We are our possessions, you know. There are people who get addicted to buying new stuff. Things. Piles and piles of things. But the new things become old things so quickly. We need new things to replace the old things.”
    Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality


  • #20
    Donald Miller
    “The trouble with deep belief is that it costs something And there is something inside me, some selfish beast of a subtle thing that doesn't like the truth at all because it carries responsibility, and if I actually believe these things I have to do something about them. It is so, so cumbersome to believe anything. And it isn't cool.”
    Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality


  • #21
    Donald Miller
    “Still i knew because of my own feelings there was something wrong with me and i knew it wasnt only me. I knew it was everybody. It was like a bacteria or a cancer or a trance. It wasnt on the skin, it was in the soul. It showed itself in lonliness, lust, anger , jealousy and depression. It had people screwed up bad everywhere you went- at the store, at home, at church, it was ugly and deep. Lots of singers on the radio were singing about it and cops had jobs because of it. It was as if we were broken I thought, as if we were never supposed to feel these sticky emotions. It was as if we were cracked, coudlnt love right, couldnt feel good things for a long before screwing it all up.

    I am talking about the broken quality of life.”
    Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality


  • #22
    Donald Miller
    “I will love you like God, because of God, mighted by the power of God. I will stop expecting your love, demanding your love, trading for your love, gaming for your love. I will simply love. I am giving myself to you, and tomorrow I will do it again. I suppose the clock itself will wear thin its time before I am ended at this altar of dying and dying again. God risked Himself on me. I will risk myself on you. And together, we will learn to love, and perhaps then, and only then, understand this gravity that drew Him, unto us.”
    Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality


  • #23
    J.D. Salinger
    “If I were God, I certainly wouldn't want people to love me sentimentally. It's too unreliable.”
    J.D. Salinger, Nine Stories


  • #24
    J.D. Salinger
    “I mean they don't seem able to love us just the way we are. They don't seem able to love us unless they can keep changing us a little bit. They love their reasons for loving us almost as much as they love us, and most of the time more.”
    J.D. Salinger, Nine Stories


  • #25
    J.D. Salinger
    “Written in ink, in German, in a small, hopelessly sincere handwriting, were the words "Dear God, life is hell." Nothing led up to or away from it. Alone on the page, and in the sickly stillness of the room, the words appeared to have the stature of an uncontestable, even classic indictment. X stared at the page for several minutes, trying, against heavy odds, not to be taken in. Then, with far more zeal than he had done anything in weeks, he picked up a pencil stub and wrote down under the inscription, in English, "Fathers and teachers, I ponder, 'What is Hell?' I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love.”
    J.D. Salinger, Nine Stories


  • #26
    J.D. Salinger
    “She worries over the way her love for me comes and goes, appears and disappears. She doubts its reality simply because it isn't as steadily pleasurable as a kitten. God knows it is sad. The human voice conspires to desecrate everything on earth.”
    J.D. Salinger, Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters & Seymour: An Introduction


  • #27
    J.D. Salinger
    “There are still a few men who love desperately.”
    J.D. Salinger


  • #28
    J.D. Salinger
    “Oh, it's lovely to see you!' Franny said as the cab moved off. 'I've missed you.' The words were no sooner out than she realized that she didn't mean them at all.”
    J.D. Salinger, Franny and Zooey


  • #29
    J.D. Salinger
    “…he is invariably a kind of super-size but unmistakably ‘classical’ neurotic, an aberrant who only occasionally, and never deeply, wishes to surrender his aberration; or, in English, a Sick Man who not at all seldom, though he’s reported to childishly deny it, gives out terrible cries of pain, as if he would wholeheartedly let go of both his art and soul to experience what passes in other people for wellness, and yet (the rumor continues) when his unsalutary-looking little room is broken into and someone - not infrequently, at that, someone who actually loves him - passionately asks him where the pain is, he either declines or seems unable to discuss it an any constructive critical length, and in the morning, when even great poets and painters presumably feel a bit more chipper than usual, he looks more perversely determined than ever to see his sickness run its course, as though by the light of another, presumably working day he had remembered that all men, the healthy ones included, eventually die, but that he, lucky man, is at least being done in by the most stimulating companion, disease or no, he has ever known.”
    J.D. Salinger, Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters & Seymour: An Introduction


  • #30
    J.D. Salinger
    “I have scars on my hand from touching certain people. Once, in the park, when Frannie was still in the carriage, I put my hand on the downy pate of her head and left it there too long. Another time, at Loew's Seventy-second Street, with Zooey during a spooky movie. He was about six or seven, and he went under the seat to avoid watching a scary scene. I put my hand on his head. Certain heads, certain colors and textures of human hair leave permanent marks on me. Other things, too. Charlotte once ran away from me, outside the studio, and I grabbed her dress to stop her, to keep her near me. A yellow cotton dress I loved because it was too long for her. I still have a lemon-yellow mark on the palm of my right hand.”
    J.D. Salinger, Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters & Seymour: An Introduction




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