Neuro Lit Crit Quotes

What does literature do better than anything else? It provides a detailed representation of the inner experience of being alive in a given time and place. ~ Elif Batuman

The notion of literature as only one of several avenues to a single type
of propositional knowledge is, of course, hardly the winning ticket in lit-crit today. More typical are sentiments that see such a notion as not even admissible, if at all desirable. The world of these academic refuseniks is, however, a bleak and sterile place. Disarmed by their own epistemic fiat, scholars cannot assert anything since they deny the idea of objective rationality. If they arrive at an insight whose truth they wish to defend – for example that truth and rationality are passé – they can't do so because truth and rationality are constructed to be constructed. ~ Peter Swirski

The tiger crept through the tangled jungle ... He put one paw softly before the next, barely disturbing the song of the magpies far above ... But when the tiger reached the edge of the forest, he stopped short. The goat was walking along the shore, his white hooves prancing at the very edge of the tumbling azure waves of the Indian Ocean ... He stopped in the speckled shade of a bongo-bongo tree-'
'But, Miss Gabby,' Phoebe broke in anxiously, 'what did the tiger have for supper that night if he didn't eat the goat? Wouldn't he be hungry?'
Gabby's brown eyes lit with amusement. 'Perhaps the tiger was so mortified by his own lack of courage that he went to a far-off mountaintop and lived on nothing but fruits and vegetables.'
'I don't think so.' Phoebe was a very practical little girl. 'I think it's more likely that the tiger would have gone after that goat and eaten him up.'
'The tiger had a cat's natural abhorrence for water,' Gabby said. 'He didn't see the beauty of the waves as they danced into shore. To him the curling waves looked like the claws of tiny crabs, reaching out to nibble his bones! ~ Eloisa James

Pitch tugged at Orias's coat. "Don't. Don't do it." Mactalde set his goblet on a nearby table and rose. The fire lit his face from the bottom up. "You've come so far on your quest to save your people. I don't think you can abandon them now." And the gut-wrenching truth was ... he couldn't. ~ K.M. Weiland

Get up to pray in the dark when all are asleep and see how your path is lit and your life begins to shine. ~ Mufti Ismail Menk

While I'd been plagued by nightmares of Jonathan's unrest in the hereafter, it was only now that I'd seen Adair again - and seen him so changed - that I could admit, even to myself, that it was him I daydreamed of, who I longed for, who I ached for, physically. That was how I'd betrayed Luke - in my desire for Adair. It wasn't so uncommon, was it? Living with one man while your mind is on another? Being unable to stop thinking of this other man who, for one reason or another, was not the one sitting beside you. Thinking of the way his eyes lit up when he saw you, of his wicked smile and what it was like when he held you, how you responded to the touch of his hands. In solitary moments, you remembered the little intimacies, the feel of his skin against yours, the way he liked to be touched, the velvet nap of his member, the way he tasted. You thought of him even though you could never be with him. His absence nagged like an itch you could never scratch. ~ Alma Katsu

I've just finished reading Reality Hunger and I'm lit up by it-astonished, intoxicated, ecstatic, overwhelmed ... It really is an urgent book: a piece of art-making itself, a sublime, exciting, outrageous, visionary volume. ~ Jonathan Lethem

The whole of Paris was lit up. The tiny dancing flames had bespangled the sea of darkness from end to end of the horizon, and now, like millions of stars, they burned with a steady light in the serene summer night. There was no breath of wind to make them flicker as they hung there in space. They made the unseen city seem as vast as a firmament, reaching out into infinity. ~ Emile Zola

In the Sapient tongue he said softly, 'Tell
me, Master, did you know Incarceron was tiny?'
'Is it?' Sapphique replied in the same language, his green
eyes as he looked up lit by deep points of flame. 'To you,
perhaps. Not to its Prisoners. Every prison is a universe for
its inmates. And think, Jared Sapiens. Might not the Realm
also be tiny, swinging from the watchchain of some being in
a world even vaster? ~ Catherine Fisher

Daddy?" said Lily. Her face was all lit up as she spoke into the phone. "I'm in the safe place now. ~ Leylah Attar

All I had to see was his face. Unaware of an audience, lost in the repeated rhythm of the piano riff, lit by the evening, it was like all of Cole's armor had fallen off. This was not the aggressively handsome, cocky guy that I had met a few days ago. This was just a boy getting to know a tune. He looked young and uncertain and endearing, and I felt betrayed that he was somehow getting himself together when I couldn't.
Somehow, he was yet again being honest, sharing another secret, when I didn't have anything I was willing to give in return. For once, I saw something in his eyes. I saw that he was feeling again, and that whatever he was feeling was hurting him.
I wasn't ready to hurt. ~ Maggie Stiefvater

It's not as if I don't like men, I just have more respect for my washing machine. ~ Lois Greiman

The first thing you see, directly in front of you, is a dim-lit tunnel receding deep under the island. The tunnel is paved with tiny glass beads of light, one for each of the two hundred thousand deportees. On the end wall of the tunnel is a bright light, almost a searchlight, which I've been told is intended to represent hope. But it ~ Paul Monette

The thick, stagnant air reeked of perfume, cigarettes, and exhaust. Everyone was barefaced, wanting to flaunt their features instead of hiding beneath blank masks. To be able to flirt with their lips, to be able to kiss. But I wasn't fooled by the dark - the air was still poisonous. Even if we couldn't see the brown haze, it smothered our city lit in neon. ~ Cindy Pon

He lit a lamp in broad daylight and said, as he went about, I am looking for a human . ~ Diogenes

At first, you fall in love. You wake in the morning woozy and your twilight is lit with astral violet light. You spelunk down into each other until you come to possess some inner vision of each other that becomes one thing. Us. Together. And time passes. Like the forming of Earth itself, volcanoes rise and spew lava. Oceans appear. Rock plates shift. Sea turtles swim half the ocean to lay eggs on the mother island; songbirds migrate over continents for berries from a tree. You evolve
cosmically and geologically. You lose each other and find each other again. Every day. Until love gathers the turtles and the birds of your world and encompasses them, too. ~ Michael Paterniti

The soul is a verb." He impales a lit candle on a spike. "Not a noun. ~ David Mitchell

First, he though, I need shoes with rubber on the bottom. I need gelato. ~ Michael Ondaatje

I wanted to eat of the fruit of all the trees in the garden of the world ... And so, indeed, I went out, and so I lived. My only mistake was that I confined myself so exclusively to the trees of what seemed to me the sun-lit side of the garden, and shunned the other side for its shadow and its gloom. ~ Oscar Wilde

His gaze wandered over my face like a caress. "I can't stop thinking about kissing you."

I ran my hand up his chest, my voice suddenly a raw whisper, each word a puff of fog. "What are you waiting for?"

A playful gleam sparked in his dark eyes, and suddenly he was on the move, gripping my hand as we wove through the people toward a dimly lit archway.

He stopped underneath and pointed up. "Finally found some mistletoe. ~ Lisa Kessler

Nowadays we voyage through time so easily and so well, in our dreams and in our art. Time travel feels like an ancient tradition, rooted in old mythologies, old as gods and dragons. It isn't. Though the ancients imagined immortality and rebirth and lands of the dead time machines were beyond their ken. Time travel is a fantasy of the modern era. When Wells in his lamp-lit room imagined a time machine, he also invented a new mode of thought. ~ James Gleick

It's not about surviving. It should be about love. When you know love ... that's what makes this life worth it. When you live with it everyday. Wake up with it, hold on to it during the thunder and after a nightmare. When love is your refuge from the death that surrounds us all and when it fills you so tight that you can't express it. ~ Carrie Ryan

The weak grey light that serves as harbinger of red and golden dawn faintly lit my window. I fumbled for a candle, found and lit it, and by its little light saw that the rose floating in the bowl was dying. It had already lost most of its petals, which floated on the water like tiny, un-seaworthy boats, deserted for safer craft.
"Dear God," I said. "I must go back at once. ~ Robin McKinley

... and do you know what?"
"What?"
"People don't talk about anything."
"Oh, they must!"
"No, not anything. They name a lot of cars or clothes or swimming pools mostly and say how swell! But they all say the same things and nobody says anything different from anyone else. And most of the time in the caves they have the joke boxes on and the same jokes most of the time, or the musical wall lit and all the colored patterns running up and down, but it's only color and all abstract. And at the museums, have you ever been? All abstract. That's all there is now. My uncle says it was different once. A long time back sometimes pictures said things or even showed people. ~ Ray Bradbury

All people, whether Aspie or neuro-typical are predisposed by their society to make guesses, jump to conclusions and then seek to defend those conclusions, regardless of logic or changing circumstance. This is sloppy, illogical thinking which may not hinder your life too much, under normal circumstances. But if you want to be a great detective, then such thinking will absolutely ruin your chances. ~ Alexei Maxim Russell

Ah, how often she dreamed of nocturnal oceans
bringing the taste of blood and salt
back to our throats
dreamed
as if she knew all the words
to assemble
so that a door would open
a people arise

and the sea finally flood
into our heads' lit coals
where there is so little space so that a woman
keeps shouting
a door keeps closing... ~ Rachida Madani

It isn't possible," she said. "But there it is. Look again." In the distance, pinpricks of light arranged into a grid. There, plainly visible on the side of a hill some miles distant: a town, or a village, whose streets were lit up with electricity. ~ Emily St. John Mandel

Going to high school in rural Florida, we always partied down in the woods. Somebody - one of the rednecks - would leave class and mow a path out to a field, and we'd drive out there. Dude, every party I went to was lit by a bonfire. Acoustic guitar. ~ Miles Teller

I'm making out with a dead girl in my dreams. I'm screwing women I have no business screwing. I'm pushing away the one person who actually gives a damn about me. It's like the Bermuda Triangle of heartache and I'm sinking fast. ~ Faith Sullivan

The fuses had been lit and could not be extinguished. All that remained was to observe the speed of the spark, and the size of the explosions. ~ Michael Lewis

Love is like skydiving without a parachute. ~ Lois Greiman

The urge to change my mind and not go at all is enormous. I'm absolutely terrified to leave on that boat. But, if I don't go, there'll be one more broken person in this world who gave up a dream to sit in a chair, pick up the TV remote and shrink. ~ Lexis De Rothschild

Ridley nodded. 'She told me I couldn't ever tell General Harding or anybody else. Told me I wouldn't be safe.'
'Safe?' Uncle Bob stopped rocking and took the pipe from between his teeth. 'She started in talkin' 'bout you bein' safe, sir?'
Ridley nodded again, and that's when Uncle Bob grinned.
'Well, shoot ... you ain't lost her yet, sir. Not altogether, anyhow. Any female goes to talkin' 'bout you bein' safe ... hmmph. There still be somethin' left in her heart for ya. ~ Tamera Alexander

She had lived the idea of spreading truth like a fire, like touching a lit candle to another candle and watching its flame come to life, until the whole world was bright and you saw everything clear. ~ Sarah Rees Brennan

Are you dying?"
Cato lit his cigarette. "It's not acute, perhaps, but we're all dying, Harry. ~ Jo Nesbo

And yet it's there, we witnessed it being lit. And fires once lit have to burn until they spend themselves or someone extinguishes them, Anaxantis said, with some deep regret coating his voice. ~ Andrew Ashling

The Old Woman asked, "Here you are, dear Youth, you are looking at the Garden and do not know that it is an evil Garden. Here you are waiting for the Beautiful Woman and do not know that her beauty is destructive. You have been living in my room for two years and never before have you become so engrossed as you have today. Apparently your turn has come too. Go away from the window before it is too late, do not breathe the evil fragrance of these deceitful flowers and do not wait for the Beautiful Woman to appear below your window and enchant you. She will come, she will enchant you, and you will follow her against your will.

Speaking thus, the Old Woman lit two candles on the table where some books were lying, banged the window shut and drew the curtain tightly across the window. The curtain rings scraped lightly along the bronze curtain rod, and the yellow linen of the curtain fluttered and once again lay motionless - and the room became cheerful, comfortable and peaceful. And it seemed that there was no longer any garden beyond the window, nor was there any sorcery in the world, and everything was simple, ordinary, and would remain so once and for all.

("The Poison Garden") ~ Valery Bryusov

He lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply, the tip flaring an angry red. Isn't love a beautiful goddamn liar? ~ Paula McLain

Work or suffering found her listless and dejected, powerles and repining; but gaiety expanded her butterfly's wings, lit up their gold-dust and bright spots, made her flash like a gem, and flush like a flower. ~ Charlotte Bronte

There was the odd suburban thunderbolt, but they were mostly those people who'd found each other; they were golden and bright-lit and funny. Often they seemed in cahoots somehow, like jailbirds who wouldn't leave; they loved us, they liked us, and that was a pretty good trick. ~ Markus Zusak

Expect stupid. It's everywhere. ~ Lois Greiman

I counted his failings in my head: his obnoxious, cocky attitude; his pierced and painted wannabe girlfriend; his leather jacket and black motorcycle; his tattoos and multiple piercings. Even his name rankled. Dante. I'd spent my formative years dodging his type. I refused to be intimidated by him. That poncy lot. I seethed some more. And geeks? Surely he could come up with something more original. My entire year's work depended on a successful outcome here, and Tristan had assured me this guy was the real deal, not just another charlatan. We only had two night's use of the control tower. As of next week, it was scheduled for demolition. I'd convinced myself Dante was just a means to an end, and then he smiled at me, his hard, uncompromising face lighting up for just a second. With his sharp cheekbones and proud chin, he looked almost beautiful, and my stomach turned cartwheels. His eyes glittered like diamonds, pale silver that appeared luminous in the badly lit room. ~ Sofia Grey

Have you forgotten yet?...
For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days,
Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways:
And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow
Like clouds in the lit heaven of life; and you're a man reprieved to go,
Taking your peaceful share of Time, with joy to spare.
But the past is just the same--and War's a bloody game...

Have you forgotten yet?...
Look down, and swear by the slain of the War that you'll never forget.

Do you remember the dark months you held the sector at Mametz
The nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets?
Do you remember the rats; and the stench
Of corpses rotting in front of the front-line trench--
And dawn coming, dirty-white, and chill with a hopeless rain?
Do you ever stop and ask, 'Is it all going to happen again?'

Do you remember that hour of din before the attack--
And the anger, the blind compassion that seized and shook you then
As you peered at the doomed and haggard faces of your men?
Do you remember the stretcher-cases lurching back
With dying eyes and lolling heads--those ashen-grey
Masks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?

Have you forgotten yet?...
Look up, and swear by the green of the spring that you'll never forget. ~ Siegfried Sassoon

Why did you jilt Sophie?" He fired the question with no warning, hoping to catch the younger man off guard, and he did. "Young men do stupid things. Letting go of Sophie has always been my biggest mistake." "What a pity that some mistakes are fatal and can never be forgiven." A confident gleam lit Marten's eyes. "Have you talked to Sophie about that? Because Sophie is the most loving, forgiving woman I've ever met. She and I are friends again. She knows I regret what happened and forgave me long ago. ~ Elizabeth Camden

The naturalistic hypothesis that it's the brain that constructs the sense of self, now being explored by neuroscientists and neuro-philosophers worldwide, is entirely consistent with what meditation might reveal. Since experience seems a function (somehow – explaining consciousness is just getting underway) of what the brain and body do, the very sense of being a subject which purportedly "has" experience and "to whom" things happen is itself simply another neurally-instantiated aspect of subjectivity, albeit psychologically fundamental. What the brain constructs can perhaps be temporarily deconstructed, given the right conditions and sufficient practice. Thus the first-person meditative experience of the dropping away of ego, should it occur, is to experience what third-person science shows to be the dependent arising, and non-arising, of the phenomenal self. In this way, the scientific-physicalist and meditative-experiential perspectives, both empirical in different senses, end up with the same conclusion: the very core of self – the experienced locus of all our concern and striving – is a mutable, perishable, dependent phenomenon, just as the Buddha taught. Seeing this clearly from both perspectives might give us some psychological distance from the very self on behalf of which we're striving, giving us a measure of equanimity and opening space for compassion centered on others. Science and Buddhist practice are thus consilient partners in the quest for liberation. ~ Thomas W. Clark

Just like that - in one apocalyptic moment - simple and beautiful. A birth. But also a kind of death. Like lightning in a storm. In one flash of light, the whole desert was lit, and you could see the universe. That's what she had seen - the universe in the hands of a child feeling the face of a man. ~ Benjamin Alire Saenz