Frame On The Wall Quotes

Some people like my advice so much that they frame it upon the wall instead of using it. ~ Gordon R. Dickson

I love portraits. I've always been fascinated by the fact that when you put a frame on something you create limits for it. It makes it look dead. The same works with labels, which is a popular hobby most people have nowadays, labeling. ~ Nuno Roque

I told you I was powerful - not my fault you failed to listen. I'm helping fight the Hunters now and you'll be lucky if my aim doesn't accidently-on-purpose veer and kill you. In fact, I don't think I'll wait for you." She glanced over at the tunnels and counted with a point of her finger. "See you in the ... second one over, sweetcakes. That's where the biggest, baddest Hunter was, last time I checked. I'll just pretend he's you and nail his ass to the wall. ~ Gena Showalter

There's a certain mentality in law enforcement that says you shouldn't be the type of person who takes things personally. If you are, you're weak. Build a wall. I hear that one a lot. The problem is, I'm a person. And when another person calls me on the phone asking for my compassion and my help, I don't want them to have to jump my wall to get it. ~ Caroline Burau

Today at work, I couldn't help but to notice how sexy Tyrone was. I already knew he was married, because I saw the ring on his finger and when we walked past his office, I saw a picture of him and his wife in a frame. The way his dreads were ~ Diamond Johnson

Old and alone, thought Pelletier. Just one of thousands of old men on their own. Like the machine célibataire. Like the bachelor who suddenly grows old, or like the bachelor who, when he returns from a trip at light speed, finds the other bachelors grown old or turned into pillars of salt. Thousands, hundreds of thousands of machines célibataires crossing an amniotic sea each day, on Alitalia, eating spaghetti al pomodoro and drinking Chianti or grappa, their eyes half closed, positive that the paradise of retirees isn't in Italy (or, therefore, anywhere in Europe), bachelors flying to the hectic airports of Africa or America, burial ground of elephants. The great cemeteries at light speed. I don't know why I'm thinking this, thought Pelletier. Spots on the wall and spots on the skin, thought Pelletier, looking at his hands. Fuck the Serb. ~ Roberto Bolano

But he'd also gotten a personal prickly chill all over from his own thinking. He could do the dextral pain the same way: Abiding. No one single instant of it was unendurable. Here was a second right here: he endured it. What was undealable-with was the thought of all the instants all lined up and stretching ahead, glittering. And the projected future fear of the A.D.A., whoever was out there in a hat eating Third World fast food; the fear of getting convicted of Nuckslaughter, of V.I.P.-suffocation; of a lifetime on the edge of his bunk in M.C.I. Walpole, remembering. It's too much to think about. To Abide there. But none of it's as of now real. What's real is the tube and Noxzema and pain. And this could be done just like the Old Cold Bird. He could just hunker down in the space between each heartbeat and make each heartbeat a wall and live in there. Not let his head look over. What's unendurable is what his own head could make of it all. What his head could report to him, looking over and ahead and reporting. But he could choose not to listen; he could treat his head like G. Day or R. Lenz: clueless noise. He hadn't quite gotten this before now, how it wasn't just the matter of riding out the cravings for a Substance: everything unendurable was in the head, was the head not Abiding in the Present but hopping the wall and doing a recon and then returning with unendurable news you then somehow believed. ~ David Foster Wallace

I've had people say to me, "Well, how do I start collecting artworks?" Well, you start by buying. Buy what you like, buy what you can afford - and I'm not just saying that because I'm a dealer. You can't be so paralyzed to where you keep saying, "I've got to learn more." The best way to learn is to go home and actually put something on the wall. Then you've got an investment. Then you're living with it. Then you're in the game. ~ Larry Gagosian

Kereseth, I presume. Cyra didn't say you were so…" She paused.
Cyra's eyebrows popped up like they were on springs. She was leaning against the wall, arms folded, chewing on a lock of hair. Sometimes she stuck it in her mouth without noticing. Then she'd spit it out, with a look of surprise, like it had crept into her mouth on its own.
"…tall," Otega finished. Akos wondered what word she would have chosen, if she felt comfortable being honest.
"Not sure why she would have mentioned that," Akos replied. It was easy to be comfortable around Otega; he slid into it without thinking much about it. "She's tall, too, after all."
"Yes. Quite tall, the lot of you," Otega said, distantly. ~ Veronica Roth

I have a little office in my house and it is an absolute pigsty but I know exactly where everything is and there are little things stuck all over the walls, and papers in in-trays and files I have saved on my computer and playlists I have made on my iTunes - things that take me to a place that I think is appropriate, ~ Tom Hiddleston

Fucking hell!"
Raven pulled his arm away angrily.
Lotte sat back on her heels, her eyes wide. "Jesus", she breathed.
Raven angrily yanked down his sleeve.
"You did that?" Her voice was faint.
He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall.
"You did that to yourself?" she asked softly. "Why?"
Raven didn't answer.
"Doesn't it hurt?"
"Course."
"So why d'you do it?"
He shrugged again. "It helps," he said.
"Helps what?"
"Helps me feel better."
"But how?" Lotte asked. "How can hurting yourself make you feel better? If I hurt myself, I feel worse. If I hurt myself badly, I just want to cry."
"It's the opposite. It takes away the pain."
"What pain?"
"The pain inside my head. ~ Tabitha Suzuma

Do not push me," she warned in a shaky voice.

"Och, but I will." He shifted on his booted feet, pushed his hips harder against hers, until she felt a part of the wall. A part of him. "You lifted a blade to me, Katarina. I'm going to push you hard. ~ Kris Kennedy

But I'll pin you to the wall on your own weakness, I'll make you sell yourself like any painted whore." Mary Carson to Father Ralph. ~ Colleen McCullough

I snapped the crossbow into the top of the mount, took a canvas bundle from the cart, and unrolled it. Crossbow bolts, tipped with the Galahad warheads.
"This is my baby." I petted the stock.
"You have a strange relationship with your weapons," Roman said.
"You have no idea," Raphael told him.
"This from a man with a living staff and a man who once drove four hours both ways for a sword he then put on his wall," I murmured.
"It was an Angus Trim," Raphael said.
"It's a sharpened strip of metal."
"You have an Angus Trim sword?" Kate's eyes lit up.
"Bought it at an estate auction," Raphael said. "If we get out of this alive, you are invited to come to my house and play with it."
It was good that Curran wasn't here and I was secure in our relationship, because that totally could be taken the wrong way. ~ Ilona Andrews

She ran, and leaned to the wall, until her face was close to mine and her breath came on me.
I said, 'I'll do it. I'll go with you. I love you, and I cannot give you up. Only tell me what I must do and I will do it!'
Then I saw her eye, and it was black, and my own face swam in it, pale as a pearl. And then, it was like Pa and the looking-glass. My soul left me - I felt it fly from me and lodge in her. ~ Sarah Waters

Her [Caddy] father released her, took out his pocket handkerchief, and sat down on the stairs with his head against the wall. I hope he found some consolation in walls. I almost think he did. ~ Charles Dickens

And the effect on yourself?' Guthrie said.

For a short time, Lymond was silent. Then he said, 'I had some strengths, which have grown. I had some weaknesses, which have gone.'

'That is true,' Adam Blacklock said. Slumped between floor and wall, he had leaned his tired head on the panelling; his face, with its thin scar, was turned without expression to Lymond. 'You have become a machine.'

'No,' said Philippa. 'That is not so.'

'But that is so,' said Lymond. 'How could I do my work otherwise? ~ Dorothy Dunnett

Oh, there are little rhymes a mage might use to remember the sequence of what must be done, but the words themselves don't do a thing. You could write every 'spell' as high as a man on the barn wall, but if you don't have the power to start with, all you'd have is a strange rhyme. And a bad one at that. ~ Gail Z. Martin

We're not ignored by The Guinness Book Of Records, but we've been largely ignored by the media during our lifetime. If you read any article, no mention is ever made of Pink Floyd. We're never included in the same sentences as The Beatles, The Rolling Stones and The Who. I wrote 'The Wall' as an attack on stadium rock - and there's Pink Floyd making money out of it by playing it in stadiums! Pathetic. They spoiled my creations. ~ Roger Waters

At this point, the sequence of my memories is disrupted.

I sank into a chaos of brief, incoherent and bizarre hallucinations, in which the grotesque and the horrible kept close company. Prostrate, as if I were being garrotted by invisible cords, I floundered in anguish and dread, oppressively ridden by the most unbridled nightmares. A whole series of monsters and avatars swarmed in the shadows, coming to life amid draughts of sulphur and phosphorus like an animated fresco painted on the moving wall of sleep.

There followed a turbulent race through space. I soared, grasped by the hair by an invisible hand of will: an icy and powerful hand, in which I felt the hardness of precious stones, and which I sensed to be the hand of Ethal. Dizziness was piled upon dizziness in that flight to the abyss, under skies the colour of camphor and salt, skies whose nocturnal brilliance had a terrible limpidity. I was spun around and around, in bewildering confusion, above deserts and rivers. Great expanses of sand stretched into the distance, mottled here and there by monumental shadows. At times we would pass over cities: sleeping cities with obelisks and cupolas shining milk-white in the moonlight, between metallic palm-trees. In the extreme distance, amid bamboos and flowering mangroves, luminous millennial pagodas descended towards the water on stepped terraces. ~ Jean Lorrain

Fill your head with the right pictures of me. Fill your head with the ones you'd hang on the wall. ~ David Levithan

Crooks stood up from his bunk and faced her. "I had enough," he said coldly. "You got no rights comin' in a colored man's room. You got no rights messing around in here at all. Now you jus' get out, an' get out quick. If you don't, I'm gonna ast the boss not to ever let you come in the barn no more."
She turned on him in scorn. "Listen, Nigger," she said. "You know what I can do to you if you open your trap?"
Crooks stared helplessly at her, and then he sat down on his bunk and drew into himself.
She closed on him. "You know what I could do?"
Crooks seemed to grow smaller, and he pressed himself against the wall. "Yes, ma'am."
"Well, you keep your place then, Nigger. I could get you strung up on a tree so easy it ain't even funny."
Crooks had reduced himself to nothing. There was no personality, no ego--nothing to arouse either like or dislike. He said, "Yes, ma'am," and his voice was toneless.
For a moment she stood over him as though waiting for him to move so that she could whip at him again; but Crooks sat perfectly still, his eyes averted, everything that might be hurt drawn in. She turned at last to the other two. ~ John Steinbeck

By the way, what's a Butterwald Duck?" I ask. "I saw supplies and a sign mentioning it in one of the other rooms at the library."

"Oh, those are for next month." She takes off her glasses and sets them on the bedside table. "For the protest we're holding to allow the ducks penned in at Butterwald Park free rein."

"Protest?" I ask.

She nods. "The Austenites are very active in the community."

I set my guitar down, leaning it against the wall. "You're terrorists?"

Sarah rolls her pretty eyes. "Don't be silly. We're . . . an organization committed to bringing awareness to social issues, through what may be seen as semi-controversial methods at times."

"Exactly." I nod. "Terrorists."

Sarah pinches my arm.

"Ow . . . violent terrorists," I tease. ~ Emma Chase

Hey," Natalie said. "You're here early."
"It's almost seven. Why are you covered in chocolate? Your clothes and your ... your face. Both your faces."
Luke looked at Natalie, really looked at her. Yep, she was smeared with chocolate like it was camo paint, transferred from his mouth to hers and back again too many times to count.
"We were ... " Natalie began. "We were just
"
"Sampling," Luke cut in. If Natalie had wanted Ivy to know, she would've come straight out with it.
Ivy crossed her arms. "Sampling?"
"Yeah, I'm interested in her ... product. So she let me, uh, try some." Wow, he couldn't have sounded kinkier if he'd tried.
"But it's all over the floor on that side of the lab. Like, all over the place. It's even on the wall. How did it get on the ceiling? You must be one sloppy eater. ~ Ophelia London

And here is the sense of its existence: it is conscious of being superfluous. It dilutes, scatters itself, tries to lose itself on the brown wall, along the lamp post or down there in the evening mist. But it never forgets itself. That is its lot. ~ Jean-Paul Sartre

In the 1960's, some old-timers on Wall Street-the men who remembered the trauma of the 1929 Crash and the Great Depression-gave me a warning: "When we fade from this business, something will be lost. That is the memory of 1929." Because of that personal recollection, they said, they acted with more caution, than they otherwise might. Collectively, their generation provided an in-built brake on the wildest form of speculation, an insurance policy against financial excess and consequent catastrophe. Their memories provided a practical form of long-term dependence in the financial markets. Is it any wonder that in 1987 when most of those men were gone and their wisdom forgotten, the market encountered its first crash in nearly sixty years? Or that, two decades later, we would see the biggest bull market, and the worst bear market, in generations? Yet standard financial theory holds that, in modeling markets, all that matters is today's news and the expectations of tomorrow's news. ~ Benoit B Mandelbrot

Please…" she begged as her fingers flexed against the wall she leaned against.
Game. On. ~ Jennifer Kacey

When I was 14, I used to have a calendar on my wall, crossing the days off until I was 15, because the school leaving age was 15. Then three months before I turned 15 they changed the leaving age to 16. ~ Mark E. Smith

If your Doctor cannot prove they are the Creator, what right do they have to give you an expiration date? None fight for your right to live. Been on hospice almost 16 years now. No 'man' has any right to say you have less then 6 months to live, no matter what the pages on the wall say. Fight its your right. ~ Debee Sue

Baseball is a movable conversation across nine innings. It is eye contact with the person seated next to you in a park where the pitcher is separated from the batter by 60 feet, six inches or in a family room where a 60-inch TV screen hangs on the wall. ~ Mike Barnicle

There was a story that I was in a shoe shop and that I threw a pair of flip flops at the wall, shouting, 'I can't believe how overpriced these are!' I thought, 'Gosh, if I'm gonna take a big stand on something I would hope it would be for more than flip flops!' ~ Rose McGowan

TO MY SISTER

IT is the first mild day of March:
Each minute sweeter than before
The redbreast sings from the tall larch
That stands beside our door.

There is a blessing in the air,
Which seems a sense of joy to yield
To the bare trees, and mountains bare,
And grass in the green field.

My sister! ('tis a wish of mine)
Now that our morning meal is done, 10
Make haste, your morning task resign;
Come forth and feel the sun.

Edward will come with you;--and, pray,
Put on with speed your woodland dress;
And bring no book: for this one day
We'll give to idleness.

No joyless forms shall regulate
Our living calendar:
We from to-day, my Friend, will date
The opening of the year. 20

Love, now a universal birth,
From heart to heart is stealing,
From earth to man, from man to earth:
--It is the hour of feeling.

One moment now may give us more
Than years of toiling reason:
Our minds shall drink at every pore
The spirit of the season.

Some silent laws our hearts will make,
Which they shall long obey: 30
We for the year to come may take
Our temper from to-day.

And from the blessed power that rolls
About, below, above,
We'll frame the measure of our souls:
They shall be tuned to love.

Then come, my Sister! come, I pr ~ William Wordsworth

I think words speak to us even though they may be written on a wall. So we hear them in our mind. We say it to ourselves. But they are also visual things. You draw them. They are designed. They are colored. They have a certain size. I put them in a certain place. So they are objects that have to be - artistic decisions have to be made in terms of the color and the size and the line and whatever. ~ Robert Barry

During my 30 years on Wall Street, taxes on 'unearned income' have bounced up and down with regularity, and I've never detected any change in the appetite for hard work and accumulating wealth on the part of myself or any of my fellow capitalists. ~ Steven Rattner

I teach my students that while rules are necessary, many of our greatest heroes became heroes by not following the rules. [...] Extraordinary people throughout history have done this, and if we want our children to reach such heights, they need to know the rules but see past a chart on the wall. There will be times when the chart is not there. More important, there will be times when the chart is wrong. ~ Rafe Esquith

After every war
someone has to clean up.
Things won't
straighten themselves up, after all.

Someone has to push the rubble
to the side of the road,
so the corpse-filled wagons
can pass.

Someone has to get mired
in scum and ashes,
sofa springs,
splintered glass,
and bloody rags.

Someone has to drag in a girder
to prop up a wall.
Someone has to glaze a window,
rehang a door.

Photogenic it's not,
and takes years.
All the cameras have left
for another war.

We'll need the bridges back,
and new railway stations.
Sleeves will go ragged
from rolling them up.

Someone, broom in hand,
still recalls the way it was.
Someone else listens
and nods with unsevered head.
But already there are those nearby
starting to mill about
who will find it dull.

From out of the bushes
sometimes someone still unearths
rusted-out arguments
and carries them to the garbage pile.

Those who knew
what was going on here
must make way for
those who know little.
And less than little.
And finally as little as nothing.

In the grass that has overgrown
causes and effects,
someone must be stretched out
blade of grass in his mouth
gazing at the clouds. ~ Wislawa Symborsky

You should know I never intended to fall in love again. I never imagined I'd have a reason to move on, and when you came along, I wasn't prepared. I didn't know how to handle you. You were… a lot to take in at once. I tried to keep my wall up, but you blew right past it."
She grinned.
"Tramontana." Her Italian accent had improved dramatically.
"Exactly." I leaned forward and cupped her cheek, stroking my thumb across her skin. "You're the woman I love now, Georgie. The only woman. ~ R.S. Grey

In the dime stores and bus stations, people talk of situations, read books, repeat quotations, draw conclusions on the wall. ~ Bob Dylan

Still in my coat and hat, I sank onto the stair to read the letter. (I never read without making sure I am in a secure position. I have been like this ever since the age of seven when, sitting on a high wall and reading The Water Babies, I was so seduced by the descriptions of underwater life that I unconsciously relaxed my muscles. Instead of being held buoyant by the water that so vividly surrounded me in my mind, I plummeted to the ground and knocked myself out. I can still feel the scar under my fringe now. Reading can be dangerous.) ~ Diane Setterfield

Vanish.
Pass into nothingness: the Keats line that frightened her.
Fade as the blue nights fade, go as the brightness goes.
Go back into the blue.
I myself placed her ashes in the wall.
I myself saw the cathedral doors locked at six.
I know what it is I am now experiencing.
I know what the frailty is, I know what the fear is.
The fear is not for what is lost.
What is lost is already in the wall.
What is lost is already behind the locked doors.
The fear is for what is still to be lost.
You may see nothing still to be lost.
Yet there is no day in her life on which I do not see her. ~ Joan Didion

And what of our own universe? The newest conjecture is that all that we experience - from the tiniest vibrating string of energy to that massive galaxy spinning around a maelstrom of reality-ripping black holes - may be nothing more than a hologram, a three-dimensional illusion that, in fact, we may all be living in a created simulation. Could that be possible? Could Plato have been right all along: that we are blind to the true reality around us, that all we know is nothing more than the flickering shadow on a cave wall? ~ James Rollins

If this letter system works, it should be reproducible and consistent. If this letter system works, it should be demonstrated in biblical narrative - with consistency. It has. It does. It will. For instance: Daniel interpreted the handwriting on the Babylonian wall. (Da 5:1-31) The question has always been, "What method would produce the same interpretation?"
If you will pull out your Strong's Concordance and translate those same four words, you won't get the same results that Daniel got. Was Daniel using a different method than modern Christians? Yes, obviously. ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

A girl who is a writer…
A girl who is a writer. She's a woman who lives in her head because the voices of the characters who reside there are ever present demanding their voices be heard.
A girl who is a writer. She's the girl with a cup of coffee and a plate of food that has gotten cold because she couldn't stop telling the story.
A girl who is a writer. She's the one who lives in a coffee stained flannel shirt but you won't mind because it's you who brings her the addiction that fuels her word count.
A girl who is a writer. You'll share her with the world and they will see parts of her naked soul, but you won't mind because it's who she is, not what she does.
A girl who is a writer. She's the one who dips her quill in the blood stains of her pain and splatters it on the world's wall of graffiti filled artists. Her voice will stand out because she is a girl who is a writer.
© Suzanne Steele ~ Suzanne Steele

And I'm hoping there's some larger truth about suffering here, or at least my understanding of it - although I've come to realize that the only truths that matter to me are the ones I don't, and can't, understand.
What's mysterious, ambiguous, inexplicable. What doesn't fit into a story, what doesn't have a story. Glint of brightness on a barely-there chain. Patch of sunlight on a yellow wall. The loneliness that separates every living creature from every other living creature. Sorrow inseparable from joy. ~ Donna Tartt

„We gave your way a try," he said to Annabelle. „Now it's time for my way." He flattened his palm on Brax's chest and pushed. Just a little push, but the man flew backward and slammed into the foyer wall. […]
In a blink, Zacharel had a hand wrapped around Brax's throat and his body pinned against the wall, his legs dangling. […]
A soft hand on his shoulder, a beseeching voice in his ear. „Zacharel. Let him down, please. Despite everything, I love him the way you love Hadrenial. I don't want to see him hurt."
Golden eyes widened, bulged, really, as Zacharel increaed the pressure. „Just a little longer. He disrespected you. ~ Gena Showalter

You come home, and everyone talks at once and everyone asks questions, but no one waits for the answers.Instead they talk about themselves, what they've been up to, what they're going to do next, as if you're a photo on the wall.And then they talk to one another, forgetting you've jsut flown in, forgetting you're in the backseat, forgetting they've already said it all. ~ Ellen Hopkins

The VIP area, which is geared to live entertainment, is a black-lit stage with a neon painting resembling New York City on the walls. It's supposed to resemble New York City, ... Look, we even have the Twin Towers on there. ~ Mike Wells