Notes Of An Idiot Quotes

The more impenetrable you are , the more you keep yourself hidden from people , lesser would be the damage that they can do to you . ~ Saurabh Aggarwal

Then you showed up on my doorstep, all good-looking and bleeding and..."

We were in front of my door now. He stepped up and draped his hand on the door above me. Leaned in just a fraction shy of intimate distance. Close enough I could feel the heat of him, smell the warm notes of the cologne he wore.

"Good-looking and what?" he asked with a burr in his voice that gave me shivers.
"And I couldn't leave you bleeding."
"For that, I should thank you." He moved just a half inch closer, his mouth opening slightly on a smile. "Thoroughly," he added. Then, "Unfortunately, I have other pressing matters to attend."

He reached behind me and was skillful enough that we didn't even touch as he opened the door. He leaned back so I wouldn't fall through it by accident and pointed at the room. "I do hope you will refrain from running out for another cup of coffee or starting an in-House war for the next few hours."

(...)"Sure," I said, trying not to sound hot or bothered. "For the next few hours anyway." I smiled innocently. ~ Devon Monk

For me, creative energy is like an old-fashioned ground-water well. When the well is dry, it's dry. I can dig all I like, and all I'll get for my pains is sore hands, some very bad prose, and maybe (if I'm lucky) a few odd droplets of notes I can actually use. Or not. It's usually not worth it. After many years, I've discovered that it's better to wait until some ground water seeps back into the well rather than to try and lick up every drop as it emerges. ~ Delia Sherman

Eldhusfifls!" Halfborn roared.
(That was another of his favorite insults. As he explained it, an eldhusfifl was a fool who sat by the communal fire all day, so basically, a village idiot. Plus, it just sounded insulting: el-doos-feef-full.) ~ Rick Riordan

The military authorities were concerned that soldiers going home on leave would demoralize the home population with horror stories of the Ostfront. 'You are under military law,' ran the forceful reminder, 'and you are still subject to punishment. Don't speak about weapons, tactics or losses. Don't speak about bad rations or injustice. The intelligence service of the enemy is ready to exploit it.'
One soldier, or more likely a group, produced their own version of instructions, entitled 'Notes for Those Going on Leave.' Their attempt to be funny reveals a great deal about the brutalizing affects of the Ostfront. 'You must remember that you are entering a National Socialist country whose living conditions are very different to those to which you have been accustomed. You must be tactful with the inhabitants, adapting to their customs and refrain from the habits which you have come to love so much. Food: Do not rip up the parquet or other kinds of floor, because potatoes are kept in a different place. Curfew: If you forget your key, try to open the door with the round-shaped object. Only in cases of extreme urgency use a grenade. Defense Against Partisans: It is not necessary to ask civilians the password and open fire upon receiving an unsatisfactory answer. Defense Against Animals: Dogs with mines attached to them are a special feature of the Soviet Union. German dogs in the worst cases bite, but they do not explode. Shooting every dog you see, although recommended in the ~ Antony Beevor

My life is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury. It means nothing. ~ David Hewson

You can kill the spell of identification just as easily as you
can create it - if you lose the readers' sympathy for the character.
You can lose reader sympathy by having your character commit
acts of cruelty to another character with whom the readers identify
more strongly or for whom they have strong sympathy. You
can lose reader sympathy by having the character make dumb
choices - acting at less than maximum capacity. The idiot in
the horror story who responds to creepy noises by going into
the attic armed only with a candle is an example. You can lose
reader sympathy when a character seems too ordinary, is stereotyped,
or doesn't struggle hard enough. The reader wants to
cheer a fighter, not witness a milquetoast wallowing in, say, selfpity. ~ James N. Frey

The problem with English is this: You usually can't open your mouth and it comes out just like that
first you have to think what you want to say. Then you have to find the words. Then you have to carefully arrange those words in your head. Then you have to say the words quietly to yourself, to make sure you got them okay. And finally, the last step, which is to say the words out loud and have them sound just right.
But then because you have to do all this, when you get to the final step, something strange has happened to you and you speak the way a drunk walks. And, because you are speaking like falling, it's as if you are an idiot, when the truth is that it's the language and the whole process that's messed up. And then the problem with those who speak only English is this: they don't know how to listen; they are busy looking at your falling instead of paying attention to what you are saying. ~ NoViolet Bulawayo

Yesterday when we went over the plan again and again, I never thought about Grandad showing up. Because I'm an idiot, basically
an idiot with poor planning skills. Of course he's here. Where else would he be?
Seriously, what else could go wrong? ~ Holly Black

He meant business; I could hear it in his voice.
Marlboro Man was talking about Chicago, about my imminent move. I'd told him my plans the first time we'd ever spoken on the phone, and he'd mentioned it once or twice during our two wonderful weeks together. But the more time we'd spent together, the less it had come up. Leaving was the last thing I wanted to talk about while I was with him.
I couldn't respond. I had no idea what to say.
"You there?" Marlboro Man asked.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm here." That was all I could manage.
"Well…I just wanted to say good night," he said quietly.
"I'm glad you did," I replied. I was an idiot.
"Good night," he whispered.
"Good night."
I woke up the next morning with puffy, swollen eyes. I'd slept like a rock, having dreamed about Marlboro Man all night long. They'd been vivid dreams, crazy dreams, dreams of us talking and playing chess and shooting each other with Silly String. He'd already become such a permanent fixture in my consciousness, I dreamed about him nightly…effortlessly. ~ Ree Drummond

Although I've made notes for things and even written synopses sitting in trains or on park benches, for the complete composition of things I need absolute solitude, preferably an empty house. ~ James Salter

I felt like I was faking all of this, like I was playing the part of a student. I had the costume and the props, but I didn't really belong here. I'd pinned notes on the stupid corkboard backing of my desk, and I'd highlighted things...But it was all so meaningless.

For about an hour, I had an overwheling urge to grab my bag, stuff in a few things, and take the next train to Bristol. I could be back on my parents' couch that night if I got moving. I could admit that I wasn't ready for this, that the semester was a wash. My parents would be thrilled, I was sure. Not about the semester being a wash--but certainly about having me back where they could keep me safe and sound. It would be so easy to do it. The very idea made me warm inside. It was okay to give up. I'd been brave. Everyone would say so.

And yet...even as I opened a dresser drawer and figured out which things I would take with me in this hypothetical scenario, i remembered the problem.

There would still be ghosts

i would still have a future.

I would still go back to school eventually. You can't curl up on the sofa and deny life forever. Life is always going to be a series of ouch-making moments, and the question was, was i going to go all fetal position, or was I going to woman up? ~ Maureen Johnson

Can I come look?"
He sat back on his heels and gestured to his artwork. "By all means. I'm done."
I got up, happily noting that my ankle was now pain free. I carefully tiptoed around the two square feet of floor over which his drawing sprawled, and settled in next to him. "It's beautiful," I told him. "I'm flattered. I've never had anyone draw a picture of me before."
Sage cocked his head and studied what he'd etched. "You think it looks like you?"
Again a hot crawl of embarrassment raced up my neck and flooded my face. I looked more closely at the etching. The image did look like me, but only if you really wanted to see the resemblance. The woman in it had the same hair, and slept in the same position I had, but on closer inspection her features were quite different. Her eyes were farther apart, her nose more pointed, her cheekbones less defined…differences that seemed insignificant when I'd assumed the picture was of me, but knowing it wasn't…
I was an egocentric idiot. My dreams about this man may have been vivid, but they were dreams. They had nothing to do with reality; not mine, and clearly not his. I stammered, groping for some kind of explanation. I had nothing.
"She does look like you, a little," Sage admitted. His eyes lingered on the contours of the drawing's face. I was eager to change the subject, but I felt like I had to ask.
"Who is she?"
"Someone I loved a long time ago," he murmured. ~ Hilary Duff

My father liked me, when I wasna being an idiot. And he loved me, too
enough to beat the daylights out of me when I was being an idiot. Jamie Fraser ~ Diana Gabaldon

Practicing self-love means learning how to trust ourselves, to treat ourselves with respect, and to be kind and affectionate toward ourselves. This is a tall order give how hard most of us are on ourselves. I know I can talk to myself in ways that I would never consider talking to another person. How many of us are quick to think, "God, I am so stupid" and "Man, I'm such an Idiot."? Just like calling someone we love stupid or an idiot would be incongruent with practicing love, talking like that to ourselves takes a serious toll on our self-love ~ Brene Brown

Suddenly an unexpected series of sounds began to be heard in this place up against the starry sky. They were the notes of Oak´s flute. It came from the direction of a small dark object under the hedge - a shephard´s hut - now presenting an outline to which an unintiated person might have been puzzled to attach either meaning or use. ... Being a man not without a frequent consciousness that there was some charm in this life he led, he stood still after looking at the sky as a useful instrument, and regarded it in an appreciative spirit, as a work of art superlatively beautiful. For a moment he seemed impressed with the speaking loneliness of the scene, or rather with the complete abstraction from all its compass of the sights and sounds of man. ... Oak´s motions, though they had a quiet energy, were slow, and their deliberateness accorded well with his occupation. Fitness being the basis of beauty, nobody could have denied tha his steady swings and turns in and about the flock had elements of grace. His special power, morally, physically, and mentally, was static. ... Oak was an intensely human man: indee, his humanity tore in pieces any politic intentions of his which bordered on strategy, and carried him on as by gravitation. A shadow in his life had always been that his flock should end in mutton - that a day could find a shepherd an arrant traitor to his gentle sheep. ~ Thomas Hardy

Meantime the Newspaper of Record goes around in a little pleated skirt shaking pompoms, leaping in the air with an idiot grin if so much as a cement mixer passes by. ~ Thomas Pynchon

...we are changed as technology offers us substitutes for connecting with each other face-to-face. We are offered robots and a whole world of machine-mediated relationships on networked devices. As we instant-message, e-mail, text, and Twitter, technology redraws the boundaries between intimacy and solitude. We talk of getting "rid" of our e-mails, as though these notes are so much excess baggage. Teenagers avoid making telephone calls, fearful that they "reveal too much." They would rather text than talk. Adults, too, choose keyboards over the human voice. It is more efficient, they say. Things that happen in "real time" take too much time. Tethered to technology, we are shaken when that world "unplugged" does not signify, does not satisfy. After an evening of avatar-to avatar talk in a networked game, we feel, at one moment, in possession of a full social life and, in the next, curiously isolated, in tenuous complicity with strangers. We build a following on Facebook or MySpace and wonder to what degree our followers are friends. We recreate ourselves as online personae and give ourselves new bodies, homes, jobs, and romances. Yet, suddenly, in the half-light of virtual community, we may feel utterly alone. As we distribute ourselves, we may abandon ourselves. Sometimes people experience no sense of having communicated after hours of connection. And they report feelings of closeness when they are paying little attention. In all of this, there is a nagging question: Does vir ~ Sherry Turkle

You don't get a rebate at the end of your life for living with an idiot. ~ Christopher Titus

God came up and kissed Day on his forehead. When Day looked over at Johnson, who was still slowly sipping his soda, the guy did look lonely as hell. Before Day could say something kind, his other headache strolled in.

"Oh hell. What the fuck is going on in here? This must be the officer's gay alliance club meeting."

Day blew an exasperated breath. "And now that you're here, Ronowski, all members are present and we can begin."

Day smiled as God and Johnson practically spit their drinks out laughing.

Ronowski fumed. "Day, you're going to stop calling me gay! I have never been gay! I will never be gay, and I don't like anyone that is gay! So stop saying that before people start believing your bullshit!"

Day clapped his hands together once. "Okay everyone those are the notes from last week's meeting, now on to new business." Day leveled Ronowski with a stern glare. "Ronowski, you are gay, man. You're tightly closeted. But you are indeed gay, ultra-gay. You're fuckin' Marvin Gay. You crash landed on Earth when your gay planet exploded." Day moved away from God and stood in front of an openmouthed Ronowski. "Come out of the closet already. It's so bright and wonderful out here. Dude, I've seen Brokeback Mountain too, don't believe that bullshit. No one cares who you fuck…ya know…like you tell me every. Single. Day. Of. My. Life," Day said exaggeratedly.

He stepped in so close to Ronowski that he could smell the body ~ A.E. Via

I've never really taken myself seriously as an actor, It is surprising the amount of people who think I'm going to be really dumb. I think they think anyone who has done teen movies is just an idiot. I don't know, maybe I am. Some of the best actors, if you talk to them, they're not the smartest people in the world. ~ Robert Pattinson

The door to the courtroom burst open and Lancelot swept in. Dressed in a full suit of armour, the idiot looked like an idiot. His idiot blond hair and idiot chiseled jaw line further contributed to his idiocy. The idiot cleft on his too pretty face and the idiot swagger to his too swaggering proclaimed to anyone that he was the biggest idiot in the kingdom. And, given that the Northlands was full to bursting with idiots, that was quite a feat of idiocy. ~ Cassandra Gannon

Sogol's aim was to measure the power of thought as an absolute value.
"This power," said Sogol, "is arithmetical. In fact, all thought is a capacity to grasp the divisions of a whole. Now, numbers are nothing but the divisions of the unity, that is, the divisions of absolutely any whole. In myself and others, I began to observe how many numbers a man can really conceive, that is, how many he can represent to himself without breaking them up or jotting them down: how many successive consequences of a principle he can grasp at once, instantaneously; how many inclusions of species as kind; how many relations of cause and effect, of ends to means; and I never found a number higher than four. And yet, this number four corresponded to an exceptional mental effort, which I obtained only rarely. The thought of an idiot stopped at one, and the ordinary thought of most people goes up to two, sometimes three, very rarely to four. ~ Rene Daumal

You can't rush art." I crumpled another lost attempt and tossed it behind me. "Besides, patience is a virtue."

"It's a virtue until it's a waste of time," he pointed out.

The cello unleashed a few notes that sounded strangely bright for such an instrument, and Hal nodded in its direction. "See; even a musical instrument agrees with me. ~ Mirriam Neal

No matter what I attempt, even if it's the most simple of tasks, it always ends in failure. Unfortunately, I find that my life is one big regret after another. Yet, after all these years, I still don't know when to give up. Is it my fault to keep trying when the results are always the same? Is it impossible for me to make things right? Even if I'd try to give up, I don't think I could. It's not in my nature to sumbit in the face of disappointment. In the end, I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment. I really am an idiot ... ~ Katsura Hoshino

It's a magical thing, the guitar. It allows you to be the whole band in one, to play rhythm and melody, sing over the top. And as an instrument for solos, you can bend notes, draw emotional content out of tiny movements, vibratos and tonal things which even a piano can't do. ~ David Gilmour

I wonder if my entire life will be a series of moments in which I realise I'm an idiot long after I can actually do anything about it. ~ Sabaa Tahir

Nor, perhaps, will it fail to be eventually perceived, that behind those forms and usages, as it were, he sometimes masked himself; incidentally making use of them for other and more private ends than they were legitimately intended to subserve. That certain sultanism of his brain, which had otherwise in a good degree remained unmanifested; through those forms that same sultanism became incarnate in an irresistible dictatorship. For be a man's intellectual superiority what it will, it can never assume the practical, available supremacy over other men, without the aid of some sort of external arts and entrenchments, always, in themselves, more or less paltry and base. This it is, that for ever keeps God's true princes of the Empire from the world's hustings; and leaves the highest honors that this air can give, to those men who become famous more through their infinite inferiority to the choice hidden handful of the Divine Inert, than through their undoubted superiority over the dead level of the mass. Such large virtue lurks in these small things when extreme political superstitions invest them, that in some royal instances even to idiot imbecility they have imparted potency. But when, as in the case of Nicholas the Czar, the ringed crown of geographical empire encircles an imperial brain; then, the plebeian herds crouch abased before the tremendous centralization. Nor, will the tragic dramatist who would depict mortal indomitableness in its fullest sweep and direct swing, ev ~ Herman Melville

Writing on Paper

A benefit of writing in a paper journal is that the only limitation is the size of the page. Be creative and make the book a reflection of your personality. Besides writing, you can draw or paint, glue in mementos like ticket stubs or photos, use different-colored pens and pencils, and insert letters and notes. You can write sideways or upside down on the page, and doodle in the margins. Writing in the journal can be fun. Your journal can be an expression of your individuality. ~ Heather Moehn

eventually you just stop saying that. because you realize you're an idiot. ~ Chris Arnade

I'm an all-things-in-moderation kind of person. I do eat a warm donut occasionally. I especially enjoy a cider donut when I'm apple picking. I don't think there's anything wrong with that. ~ Rachael Ray

Why do I keep performing at my age? What else am I going to do? Play golf? I tried that years ago and all I did was cuss. I can do that without the walk, cuss at Congress and let [Mark]Twain do it. "Imagine that you were an idiot. And then imagine that you were a member of Congress. Wait - I've repeated myself." ~ Hal Holbrook

It must have been Josh. He's up there with the paintball bow," Michael called up to her. A what? How come I don't get one of those? I'm up here shooting this junky thing like an idiot, while he's over there taking out my boyfriend from across the field like some kind of assassin. ~ Cindy Ray Hale

Matthey, a Geneva physician very close to Rousseau's influence, formulates the prospect for all men of reason: 'Do not glory in your state, if you are wise and civilized men; an instant suffices to disturb and annihilate that supposed wisdom of which you are so proud; an unexpected event, a sharp and sudden emotion of the soul will abruptly change the most reasonable and intelligent man into a raving idiot. ~ Michel Foucault

You okay?" he says, touching my cheek. His hand cradles the side of my head, his long fingers slipping through my hair. He smiles and holds my head in place as he kisses me. Heat spreads through me slowly.And fear, buzzing like an alarm in my chest.
His lips still on mine,he pushes the jacket from my shoulders.I flinch when I hear it drop,and push him back,my eyes burning. I don't know why I feel this way. I didn't feel like this when he kissed me on the train.I press my palms to my face,covering my eyes.
"What? What's wrong?"
I shake my head.
"Don't tell me it's nothing." His voice is cold.He grabs my arm. "Hey. Look at me."
I take my hands from my face and lift my eyes to his.The hurt in his eyes and the anger in his clenched jaw surprise me.
"Sometimes I wonder," I say,as calmly as I can, "what's in it for you. This...whatever it is."
"What's in it for me," he repeats. He steps back,shaking his head. "You're an idiot,Tris."
"I am not an idiot," I say. "Which is why I know that it's a little weird that,of all the girls you could have chosen,you chose me.So if you're just looking for...um,you know...that..."
"What? Sex?" He scowls at me. "You know, if that was all I wanted, you probably wouldn't be the first person I would go to."
I feel like he just punched me in the stomach. Of course I'm not the first person he would go to-not the first, not the prettiest,not desirable. I press my hands to my abdomen and look away, fightin ~ Veronica Roth

You're ... very resilient, for someone who's dead." Her voice was a little steadier.
"And I think you're far stronger than any of us were prepared to give you credit for." I kept shooting my mouth off like an idiot, telling her things I'd been ordered not to, and she kept going with it. I was impressed, honestly. ~ Lia Habel

Yes, that. Would you care to explain where the money is going, Madam President?"
Letty laughed up at him with warm, loving eyes. "Certainly, Mr. Blackstone. Do you want to hear the explanation before or after I tell you that I have
every reason to believe I'm pregnant?"
That very morning Joel had decided that it was probably not possible for him to be any happier than he was already. Now he realized he was
wrong. He forgot about the little matter of a fifty thousand dollar cost overrun and started to grin like an idiot.
"You're pregnant?" Joel ignored the embarrassed expression on the face of the blond Adonis. "You're going to have our baby?"
"It would appear so." Letty pushed her glasses up onto her nose and smiled demurely. "What do you say to that, Mr. Blackstone?"
Joel tossed the file over his left shoulder. The data on the ad budget was sent flying into the air.
Eyes gleaming, he walked over to Letty and lifted her carefully into his arms. "I say the hell with the fifty thousand dollars. What's a few bucks
between a president and her CEO?"
"I knew you'd be reasonable about it, Joel."
Joel carried her out the door and down the hall. "Let's go back to my office, Mrs. Blackstone, and discuss something far more important than ad
budget overruns."
"Yes, of course, Mr. Blackstone." Letty glowed up at him. "And this time we must remember to lock the door before we start our discussions."
Joel's laughter echoe ~ Jayne Ann Krentz

He who fights with guns and knives is a coward! For how easy is it to kill with the single pull of a trigger? And how does human flesh stand to a sharpened metal? Even an idiot can kill with a gun and a knife! A man needs no courage at all to stand behind these things that make him feel invincible and bigger than he ever will be! I don't say that no one should fight! Because battles must be fought, and wars will always be won! But let those who fight, fight with bare hands! The measure of true strength! With his hands and feet and nothing but! The country with truly strong men is able to have soldiers that need not a knife, that need no guns! And if you can soar even higher than that; fight with your pens! Let us all write! And see the substance of the man through his philosophies and through his beliefs! And let one philosophy outdo another! Let one belief outlast another! And let this be how we determine the outcome of a war! ~ C. JoyBell C.

Hey, I'm not a total idiot," said Nagasawa. "Of course life frightens me sometimes. I don't happen to take that as the premise for everything else, though. I'm going to give it a hundred percent and go as far as I can. I'll take what I want and leave what I don't want. That's how I intend to live my life, and if things go bad, I'll stop and reconsider at that point. If you think about it, an unfair society is a society that makes it possible for you to exploit your abilities to the limit." "Sounds like a pretty self-centered way to live," I said. "Maybe so, but I'm not just looking up at the sky and waiting for the fruit to drop. In my own way, I'm working hard. I'm working ten times harder than you are." "That's probably true," I said. ~ Haruki Murakami

It came as a gift. A large gray bird flew up with a loud alarm call as he approached. As it gained height and wheeled away over the valley, it gave out a piping sound on three notes, which he recognized as the inversion of a line he had already scored for a piccolo. How elegant, how simple. Turning the sequence round opened up the idea of a plain and beautiful song in common time, which he could almost hear. But not quite. An image came to him of a set of unfolding steps, sliding and descending-from the trap door of a loft, or from the door of a light plane. One note lay over and suggested the next. He heard it, he had it, and then it was gone. There was a glow of a tantalizing afterimage and the fading call of a sad little tune ... These notes were perfectly interdependent, little polished hinges swinging the melody through its perfect arc. He could almost hear it again as he reached the top of the angled rock slab and paused to reach into his pocket for notebook and pencil. ~ Steven Pinker

Physician Albert Scheweitzer said. " We are all so much together, but we are all dying of loneliness." Professor Leo Buscaglia notes, "There seems to be accumulating evidence that there is actually an inborn need for this togetherness, this human interaction, this love. It seems that without these close ties with other human beings, a new born infant, for example, can regress developmentally, lose consciousness, fall into idiocy and die. ~ Gary Chapman