Page 223 Quotes

Winter was usually the slow season at the menagerie, with so many of the animals hibernating, but that year I was busier than a hen with a double set of chicks. ~ Patricia C. Wrede

I'm a huge Sissy Spacek fan. ~ Ellen Page

Books - the warm, leather-skinned weight of them in your hands, the way they smelled when you lifted them close to your face. The unfeasibly heart-jolting shock once, as a tome fell heavily open at some much-visited page, divided itself neatly in two blocky halves along the spine - and you thought, guiltily, that you'd broken it. ~ Richard K. Morgan

I do not begin my novel at the beginning, I do not reach chapter three before I reach chapter four, I do not go dutifully from one page to the next, in consecutive order; no, I pick out a bit here and a bit there, till I have filled all the gaps on paper. This is why I like writing my stories and novels on index cards, numbering them later when the whole set is complete. Every card is rewritten many times. ~ Vladimir Nabokov

History Eraser

I got drunk and fell asleep atop the sheets but luckily i left the heater on.
And in my dreams i wrote the best song that i've ever written...can't remember how it goes.
I stayed drunk and fell awake and i was cycling on a plane and far away i heard you say you liked me.
We drifted to a party -- cool. The people went to arty school. They made their paints by mixing acid wash and lemonade

In my brain I re-arrange the letters on the page to spell your name

I found an ezra pound and made a bet that if i found a cigarette i'd drop it all and marry you.
Just then a song comes on: "you can't always get what you want" -- the rolling stones, oh woe is we, the irony!
The stones became the moss and once all inhibitions lost, the hipsters made a mission to the farm.
We drove by tractor there, the yellow straw replaced our hair, we laced the dairy river with the cream of sweet vermouth.

In my brain I re-arrange the letters on the page to spell your name

You said "we only live once" so we touched a little tongue, and instantly i wanted to...
I lost my train of thought and jumped aboard the Epping as the doors were slowly closing on the world.
I touched on and off and rubbed my arm up against yours and still the inspector inspected me.
The lady in the roof was living proof that nothing really ever is exactly as it seems.

In my brain I re-arrange the letters on the p ~ Courtney Barnett

You do not question an author who appears on the title page as T.V.N. Persaud, M.D., Ph.D., D.Sc., F.R.C.Path. (Lond.), F.F.Path. (R.C.P.I.), F.A.C.O.G. ~ Mary Roach

A book is a human-powered film projector (complete with feature film) that advances at a speed fully customized to the viewer's mood or fancy. This rare harmony between object and user arises from the minimal skills required to manipulate a bound sequence of pages. Each piece of paper embodies a corresponding instant of time which remains frozen until liberated by the
act of turning a page. ~ John Maeda

Gary Larson: The funniest cartoonist I've ever seen. His two-volume set (The Complete Far Side) should be the textbook in any course taught on how to be funny on the comics page. ~ Stephan Pastis

Like sexual intercourse, death needs foreplay. ~ Martin Page

At heart, I would have to say I'm a pantser. I fully embrace the chaos of letting the unintended happen, on life and on the page. ~ Margaret Stohl

I just wish I got a quarter every time someone clicks on 'Little Women, Big Cars.' We had a 125-page script for this show. We used the creator's house to shoot. But it's expensive to do these shows. They're eventually not going to be able to get the quality of actors. ~ Julie Warner

I have over 2 million followers now on Google Plus. ~ Larry Page

Looking back through the last page or two, I see that I have made it appear as though my motives in writing were wholly public-spirited. I don't want to leave that as the final impression. All writers are vain, selfish, and lazy, and at the very bottom of their motives there lies a mystery. Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand. For all one knows that demon is simply the same instinct that makes a baby squall for attention. And yet it is also true that one can write nothing readable unless one constantly struggles to efface one's own personality. Good prose is like a windowpane. I cannot say with certainty which of my motives are the strongest, but I know which of them deserve to be followed. And looking back through my work, I see that it is invariably where I lacked a POLITICAL purpose that I wrote lifeless books and was betrayed into purple passages, sentences without meaning, decorative adjectives and humbug generally. ~ George Orwell

I choose to be known as scythe Anastasia
after the youngest member of the family Romanov
she was the product of a corrupt system, and because of that, was denied her very life - as I almost was
had she lived who knows what she might have done. perhaps she could have changed the world and redeemed her family name. choose to be scythe Anastasia. I vow to become the change that night have been ~ Neal Shusterman

Boswell, like Lecky (to get back to the point of this footnote), and Gibbon before him, loved footnotes. They knew that the outer surface of truth is not smooth, welling and gathering from paragraph to shapely paragraph, but is encrusted with a rough protective bark of citations, quotations marks, italics, and foreign languages, a whole variorum crust of "ibid.'s" and "compare's" and "see's" that are the shield for the pure flow of argument as it lives for a moment in one mind. They knew the anticipatory pleasure of sensing with peripheral vision, as they turned the page, gray silt of further example and qualification waiting in tiny type at the bottom. (They were aware, more generally, of the usefulness of tiny type in enhancing the glee of reading works of obscure scholarship: typographical density forces you to crouch like Robert Hooke or Henry Gray over the busyness and intricacy of recorded truth.) They liked deciding as they read whether they would bother to consult a certain footnote or not, and whether they would read it in context, or read it before the text it hung from, as an hors d'oeuvre. The muscles of the eye, they knew, want vertical itineraries; the rectus externus and internus grow dazed waggling back and forth in the Zs taught in grade school: the footnote functions as a switch, offering the model-railroader's satisfaction of catching the march of thought with a superscripted "1" and routing it, sometimes at length, through abandoned stations and submerged, ~ Nicholson Baker

If you look closely, there is no book more visual than Three Trapped Tigers, in that it is filled with blank pages, dark pages, it has stars made of words, the famous magical cube made of numbers, and there is even a page which is a mirror. ~ Guillermo Cabrera Infante

I vanish westward
into smoke. ~ Geoff Page

As Jess watched in numb horror, the man tore a page from the book and stuffed it into his mouth. ~ Rachel Caine

Ordinary Bibles often include cross-references and brief concordances; Study Bibles include much more, all bound up in one fat volume, so that readers can find a lot of useful explanation on each page without having to hunt through Bible dictionaries and commentaries and the like. ~ D. A. Carson

After a time, my hand had become as skilled as my eyes. So if I was drawing a very fine tree, it felt as if my hand was moving without me directly it. As I watched the pencil race across the page, I would look on it in amazement, as if the drawing were the proof of another presence, as if someone else had taken up residence in my body. As I marveled at his work aspiring to become his equal, another part of my brain was busy inspecting the curves of the branches, the placement of mountains, the composition as a whole, reflecting that I had created this scene on a blank piece of paper. My mind was at the tip of my pen, acting before I could think; at the same time it could survey what I had already done. This second line of perception, this ability to analyse my progress, was the pleasure this small artist felt when he looked at the discovery of his courage and freedom. To step outside myself , to know the second person who had taken up residence inside me, was to retrace the dividing line that appeared as my pencil slipped across the paper, like a boy sledding in the snow. ~ Orhan Pamuk

I wasn't good at this dating business. If that's what we were doing. I wasn't very good at predating either. I'd say I wasn't good at postdating, but I hadn't yet had an opportunity to prove it. ~ Cassandra Page

Wanting to Die

Since you ask, most days I cannot remember.
I walk in my clothing, unmarked by that voyage.
Then the almost unnameable lust returns.

Even then I have nothing against life.
I know well the grass blades you mention,
the furniture you have placed under the sun.

But suicides have a special language.
Like carpenters they want to know which tools.
They never ask why build.

Twice I have so simply declared myself,
have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy,
have taken on his craft, his magic.

In this way, heavy and thoughtful,
warmer than oil or water,
I have rested, drooling at the mouth-hole.

I did not think of my body at needle point.
Even the cornea and the leftover urine were gone.
Suicides have already betrayed the body.

Still-born, they don't always die,
but dazzled, they can't forget a drug so sweet
that even children would look on and smile.

To thrust all that life under your tongue! -
that, all by itself, becomes a passion.
Death's a sad Bone; bruised, you'd say,

and yet she waits for me, year after year,
to so delicately undo an old wound,
to empty my breath from its bad prison.

Balanced there, suicides sometimes meet,
raging at the fruit, a pumped-up moon,
leaving the bread they mistook for a kiss,

leaving the page of the book carelessly ~ Anne Sexton

I think whenever a writer is really enjoying themselves and liking what they are doing, that shows on the page. ~ Sarah Dessen

Read this morning of a black family - husband and wife both work in govt. printing office. They live in a nice house near U. of Maryland. They have been harassed and even had a cross burned on their lawn. It was all on the front page of the "Post." I told Mike & Jim I'd like to call on them. We cleared the last part of the afternoon schedule & Nancy & I went calling. They were a very nice couple with a 4 year old daughter - grandma (a most gracious lady) lived with them. Their home was very nice & tastefully furnished. They were very nice about our coming & expressed their thanks. The whole neighborhood was lining the street - most of them cheering and applauding us. I hope we did some good. There is no place in this land for the hate-mongers & bigots. ~ Ronald Reagan

He set the RAM on the desk, then reached into his back pocket to pull out his grimoire. The size of a small paperback novel, it'd been a gift from Ambrose to help him understand some of the madness that surrounded him, and to answer some of the "other" questions that came up.

"All right, Nashira," Nick said in a low tone. "Talk to me. What the heck is watching me?"

He slid his knife out of his pocket, opened the book, and pricked his finger, allowing three drops of blood to touch a blank page. "Dredanya eire coulet" he whispered, waking the female spirit who lived inside the enchanted pages. The moment he finished speaking, his blood began swirling until it formed words:

Do not fear that which cannot be seen.
For they are lost in between.
'Tis the ones who come alive
That your blood will allow to thrive.

Nick snorted at the cryptic stanzas. "Not really useful, Nashira. Doesn't answer my question."

His blood crawled over to the next page.

Answer, answer, you always say,
But it doesn't work that way.
In time, the truth you shall find.
And then you will understand my rhyme.

"I'm such a masochist to even try talking to you"

Underneath the words, a picture of an obscene gesture formed.

"Oh very nice, Nashira. Very nice. Wherever did you learn that?"

In your pocket I reside.
Ever privy to your deride.
But more than that, I can see.
Sherrilyn Kenyon

Being a sea gypsy means going with the seas, winds and currents, not fighting them ~ Rick Page

We create an interior 'movie' in the reader's head through words on the page. ~ Philip Gerard

Didn't they like you? Didn't they, like you, need a heart that was a book with no last page? Turn the leaves. ~ Jeanette Winterson

I do think there is an important artistic component in what we do. As a technology company I've tried to really stress that. ~ Larry Page

But I see history as a book with many pages
and each day we fill a page with acts of hopefulness and meaning. ~ George H. W. Bush

In the mental disturbance and effort of writing, what sustains you is the certainty that on every page there is something left unsaid. ~ Cesare Pavese

But when I close my eyes, I'm more like THIS under the surface: I'm laughing and scheming and dreaming. ~ Laura Lee Gulledge

So I'm over there in England, you know, trying to get news about the [L.A.] riots ... and all these Brit people are trying to sympathize with me ... 'Oh Bill, crime is horrible. Bill, if it's any consolation crime is horrible here, too.' ... Shutup. This is Hobbitown and I am Bilbo Hicks, Okay? This is a land of fairies and elves. You do not have crime like we have crime, but I appreciate you trying to be, you know, Diplomatic. You gotta see English crime. It's hilarious, you don't know if you're reading the front page or the comic section over there. I swear to God. I read an article - front page of the paper - one day, in England: 'Yesterday, some Hooligans knocked over a dustbin in Shafsbry.' Wooooo ... 'The hooligans are loose! The hooligans are loose! What if they become roughians? I would hate to be a dustbin in Shafsbry tonight. ~ Bill Hicks