Palatinus Strand Quotes

The Coming of Light
Even this late it happens:
the coming of love, the coming of light.
You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves,
stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows,
sending up warm bouquets of air.
Even this late the bones of the body shine
and tomorrow's dust flares into breath. ~ Mark Strand

So I take it you and Gansey get along, then?" Maura's expression was annoyingly knowing.
"Mom."
"Orla told me about his muscle car," Maura continued. Her voice was still angry and artificially bright. The fact that Blue was well aware that she'd earned it made the sting of it even worse. "You aren't planning on kissing him, are you?"
"Mom, that will never happen," Blue assured her. "You did meet him, didn't you?"
"I wasn't sure if driving an old, loud Camaro was the male equivalent of shredding your T-shirts and gluing cardboard trees to your bedroom walls."
"Trust me," Blue said. "Gansey and I are nothing like each other. And they aren't cardboard. They're repurposed canvas."
"The environment breathes a sigh of relief." Maura attempted another sip of her drink; wrinkling her nose, she shot a glare at Persephone. Persephone looked martyred. After a pause, Maura noted, in a slightly softer voice, "I'm not entirely happy about you're getting in a car without air bags."
"Our car doesn't have air bags," Blue pointed out.
Maura picked a long strand of Persephone's hair from the rim of her glass. "Yes, but you always take your bike."
Blue stood up. She suspected that the green fuzz of the sofa was now adhered to the back of her leggings. "Can I go now? Am I in trouble?"
"You are in trouble. I told you to stay away from him and you didn't," Maura said. "I just haven't decided what to do about it yet. My feelings are hurt. I've consul ~ Maggie Stiefvater

When the genetic code was solved, in the early 1960s, it turned out to be full of redundancy. Much of the mapping from nucleotides to amino acids seemed arbitrary - not as neatly patterned as any of Gamow's proposals. Some amino acids correspond to just one codon, others to two, four, or six. Particles called ribosomes ratchet along the RNA strand and translate it, three bases at a time. Some codons are redundant; some actually serve as start signals and stop signals. The redundancy serves exactly the purpose that an information theorist would expect. It provides tolerance for errors. Noise affects biological messages like any other. Errors in DNA - misprints - are mutations. ~ James Gleick

And at least in poetry you should feel free to lie. That is, not to lie, but to imagine what you want, to follow the direction of the poem. ~ Mark Strand

At New York City's Rose Center of Earth and Space, we display a timeline spiral of the Universe that begins at the Big Bang and unfolds 13.8 billion years. Uncurled, it's the length of a football field. Every step you take spans 50 million years. You get to the end of the ramp, and you ask, where are we? Where is the history of our human species? The entire period of time, from a trillion seconds ago to today, from graffiti-prone cave dwellers until now, occupies only the thickness of a single strand of human hair, which we have mounted at the end of that timeline. You think we live long lives, you think civilizations last a long time, but not from the view of the cosmos itself. ~ Neil DeGrasse Tyson

A great many people seem to think writing poetry is worthwhile, even though it pays next to nothing and is not as widely read as it should be. ~ Mark Strand

Okay, sweetheart. I'll be up front checking in with Dora."
Kellan froze, staring up at him with his lip trembling again.
Shit. What did I do now?
"Are you okay?"
Kellan sniffed. "You called me sweetheart."
Vic brushed back a strand of Kellan's hair that had come loose and was dangling across his forehead. "Well, that's what you are to me. Is that all right?"
He gave a shaky nod, pressing his lips together as if trying to keep control. "No one's ever said that about me before."
Vic stroked his cheek. "They do now." He pressed another quick kiss to Kellan's lips. ~ M.M. Wilde

All good art is abstract in its structure. ~ Paul Strand

My Happily Ever After was a strand of strung-together happy-for-nows, extending back not to just a year ago, but to thirty years before. ~ Emily Henry

The greatest work of art about New York? The question seems nebulous. The city's magic and majesty are distilled in the photographs of Alfred Stieglitz and Paul Strand. ~ Jerry Saltz

Shallow ecology is anthropocentric, or human-centred. It views humans as above or outside nature, as the source of all value, and ascribes only instrumental, or 'use', value to nature. Deep ecology does not separate humans - or anything else - from the natural environment. It does see the world not as a collection of isolated objects but as a network of phenomena that are fundamentally interconnected and interdependent. Deep ecology recognizes the intrinsic value of all human beings and views humans as just one particular strand in the web of life. ~ Fritjof Capra

Every artist I suppose has a sense of what they think has been the importance of their work. But to ask them to define it is not really a fair question. My real answer would be, the answer is on the wall. ~ Paul Strand

The graves grow deeper.
The dead are more dead each night.

Under the elms and the rain of leaves,
The graves grow deeper.

The dark folds of the wind
Cover the ground. The night is cold.

The leaves are swept against the stones.
The dead are more dead each night.

A starless dark embraces them.
Their faces dim.

We cannot remember them
Clearly enough. We never will. ~ Mark Strand

It has always been my belief that the true artist, like the true scientist, is a researcher using materials and techniques to dig into the truth and meaning of the world in which he himself lives; and what he creates, or better perhaps, brings back, are the objective results of his explorations. The measure of his talent
of his genius, if you will
is the richness he finds in such a life's voyage of discovery and the effectiveness with which he is able to embody it through his chosen medium. ~ Paul Strand

To be a photographer you must have something to say about the world. ~ Paul Strand

Time was being served behind the walls of Newgate jail, and wasted by philosophers in cafes on the Strand; it was lost by those who wished the past were present, and loathed by those who wished the present past. ~ Sarah Perry

I believe in hope, in what is something called "radical hope." I believe there is hope for all of us, even amid the suffering. And that's why I write fiction, probaby. It's my attempt to keep that fragile strand of radical hope, to buld a fire in the darkness.r ~ John Green

He laughed. "Kelsey, we all have some animalistic tendencies. I loved hunting, even when I was young."
I shuddered. "Fine. Just keep your animalistic tendencies to yourself."
He leaned toward me again and pulled on a strand of my hair. "Now, Kells, there are some of my animalistic tendencies that you seem to like." He started making a rumbling sound in his chest, and I realized that he was purring.
"Stop that!" I sputtered ~ Colleen Houck

Is someone in my tree?" I fought panic, and through Herculean effort managed to keep my pants dry. "No," I answered. She wasn't fooled. ~ Jeff Strand

And yet Nothing here is certain; ~ Mark Strand

Say something," he whispered. "Please…say you despise me for withholding the truth, that you'll never forgive me…say anything, just don't hide your thoughts from me."

"I will," she said evenly, eyeing him past a loose strand of hair that had fallen across her face. "Once I figure out the best way to cut out your heart and eat it."

The laugh that burst from his chest was little more than a weak chuckle. "I wish you would. At least then you might see the whole of the sorry thing, the absolute mastery you have held over it from the moment I saw you. ~ Alexandra Bracken

A poem is a place where the conditions of beyondness and withinness are made palpable, where to imagine is to feel what it is like to be. It allows us to have the life we are denied because we are too busy living. Even more paradoxically, a poem permits us to live in ourselves as if we were just out of reach of ourselves. ~ Mark Strand

London opens to you like a novel itself. [ ... ] It is divided into chapters, the chapters into scenes, the scenes into sentences; it opens to you like a series of rooms, door, passsage, door. Mayfair to Piccadilly to Soho to the Strand. ~ Anna Quindlen

Between the inner and outer beaches, a strand of woods thrived: palms, palmettos, mahogany, figs, and calabash. Coconut palms and fig trees dropped enough fruit to feed the wildlife that swooped by in droves. It was so easy to catch a fish with your bare hands, Tristan and I had made a game of it during our weeks of lovemaking on the warm, supple sand. It truly was paradise. ~ A. Violet End

Lines for Winter

Tell yourself
as it gets cold and gray falls from the air
that you will go on
walking, hearing
the same tune no matter where
you find yourself -
inside the dome of dark
or under the cracking white
of the moon's gaze in a valley of snow.
Tonight as it gets cold
tell yourself
what you know which is nothing
but the tune your bones play
as you keep going. And you will be able
for once to lie down under the small fire
of winter stars.
And if it happens that you cannot
go on or turn back
and you find yourself
where you will be at the end,
tell yourself
in that final flowing of cold through your limbs
that you love what you are. ~ Mark Strand

Each of us is a unique strand in the intricate web of life and here to make a contribution. ~ Deepak Chopra

Time overlaps itself. A breath breathed from a passing breeze is not the whole wind, neither is it just the last of what has passed and the first of what will come, but is more
let me see
more like a single point plucked on a single strand of a vast spider web of winds, setting the whole scene atingle. That way; it overlaps ... As prehistoric ferns grow from bathtub planters. As a shiny new ax, taking a swing at somebody's next year's split-level pinewood pad, bites all the way to the Civil War. As proposed highways break down through the stacked strata of centuries. ~ Ken Kesey

What I had not realized then, but now know only too well, is that sparks carry within them the wish to be relieved of the burden of brightness. And that is why I no longer write, and why the dark is is my freedom and my happiness. ~ Mark Strand

Love is, in its essence, a free, formless strand of luminosity. ~ Frederick Lenz

There was a sudden sunburst in my head. And then black night. That blackness was sublime. I felt distributed through space and time: One foot upon a mountaintop, one hand 150 Under the pebbles of a panting strand, One ear in Italy, one eye in Spain, In caves, my blood, and in the stars, my brain. There were dull throbs in my Triassic; green Optical spots in Upper Pleistocene, An icy shiver down my Age of Stone, And all tomorrows in my funnybone. During ~ Vladimir Nabokov

Then a man turned
And said to me: Although I love the past, the dark of it,
The weight of it teaching us nothing, the loss of it, the all
Of it asking for nothing, I will love the twenty-first century more ... ~ Mark Strand

It is frightening, how one lie is just the first strand in an ever increasing fabric of untruth. And once this fabric is woven, it is very hard to unravel. ~ Juliet Marillier

Then you agree that you should keep me." With the smug satisfaction of an argument won, he propped his shoulder against the stall door. Her eyes picked him over as if he were a carved goose on a table. "Aye, I'll have to either keep you ... or kill you." "I vote for keeping me." A glint of humor shone in her eyes. "And I shall so long as you behave yourself." "And if I don't behave? If I try to escape?" "I'll hunt you down and kill you." The conviction in her voice chilled him, and yet he felt something else, an ache of pity that a wonderful creature like Caitlin MacBride should be compelled to have the heart of a murderer. "Then you leave me no alternative," he said lightly. "I shall stay. Think of it, Cait, we'll grow old together. We'll walk on the strand and watch the sunset, and you'll sing songs to me in that lovely voice of yours. ~ Susan Wiggs

Tiko has taught me, a sometimes headstrong and often ferociously independent woman, the importance of interdependence, the importance of taking care, and the importance of being cared for. It's a necessary part of being human and being connected to the world around us that we realize and acknowledge our vulnerability and the vulnerability of all creatures, and that we act in accord with that knowledge. It is critical that we allow the empathetic and altruistic part of ourselves to be the guiding force behind the way that we conduct our lives, whether we give to those less fortunate than ourselves, take care of the magnificent creatures that share our world, work tirelessly to preserve native habitat or separate each strand of an unruly mass of hair so gently that we do not wake our loved one as she sleeps. ~ Joanna Burger

It wasn't supposed to. It was just supposed to stop you from hurting yourself." "It helps - " "No it doesn't. It just pushes it away temporarily. Just like the booze." "But I need - " "You need to let yourself feel. Feel it, own it. Then move on." "You make it sound so easy." Bitterness drips from each syllable. "It's not. It's the fucking hardest thing a person can do." I smooth a damp strand out of her face and away from my mouth. "It's the hardest fucking thing. It's why we drink and do drugs and fight. It's why I play music and build engines. ~ Jasinda Wilder

Sometimes he did not know if he slept or just thought about sleep. ~ Mark Strand

Speaking of, "When is your birthday?" Strider asked Kaia.
Wide silver-gold eyes swung to him. "You don't know?"
"No."
Pouting, she twirled a strand of her hair. "How can you not know?"
"Do you know mine?" he asked.
"Of course I do. It's the day you met me.
As good a day as any. "No, it's not, because that was a trick question, baby doll. I don't actually have a birthday. I was created fully formed, not born." True story.
"You can be such a moron." She threw up her arms, exasperated. "Don't argue with me about this kind of thing. I'll always be right. Seriously. You were dead until you met me and we both know it. Which means I brought you to life. So, happy belated birthday. ~ Gena Showalter

She knows we can see her, right?"

"The light's behind her," Teagan pointed out. "All she sees is her own reflection."

"Face check," Abby said, as Ms Skinner stretched her lips again, then puckered. She dug a lipstick out of her purse and applied it. "Uh-huh. Now the hair," Abby said. As if on cue, Ms. Skinner rearranged her ginger bangs, fluffed them, then twisted a strand around her finger to make it curl. "That woman's man-hunting. Hide your dad, Tea."

"Don't ler her get Dad!" Aiden shouted from his fort.

"Nobody is getting Dad," Teagan assured him. ~ Kersten Hamilton

Increasing numbers of Pagans are identifying themselves as animists or naming their worldview as animism. Some Pagans use the term animism to refer to one strand within their Paganism, while others identify it as the most appropriate label for everything they do. ~ Graham Harvey

We are far from liking London well enough till we like its defects: the dense darkness of much of its winter, the soot on the chimney-pots and everywhere else, the early lamplight, the brown blur of the houses, the splashing of hansoms in Oxford Street or the Strand on December afternoons.
There is still something that recalls to me the enchantment of children - the anticipation of Christmas, the delight of a holiday walk - in the way the shop-fronts shine into the fog. It makes each of them seem a little world of light and warmth, and I can still waste time in looking at them with dirty Bloomsbury on one side and dirtier Soho on the other. ~ Henry James

I fell asleep right away. It was a deep sleep, the kind I used to enjoy in study hall. ~ Jeff Strand

She stood beside me for years, or was it a moment? I cannot remember. Maybe I loved her, maybe I didn't. There was a house, and then no house. There were trees, but none remain. When no one remembers, what is there? You, whose moments are gone, who drift like smoke in the afterlife, tell me something, tell me anything. ~ Mark Strand

tamed his blond hair by cropping it short, but a rebellious sun-streaked strand curls over one tawny brow. Tall, broad-shouldered, ~ Magda Alexander

Those hours given over to basking in the glow of an imagined
future, of being carried away in streams of promise by a love or
a passion so strong that one felt altered forever and convinced
that even the smallest particle of the surrounding world was
charged with purpose of impossible grandeur; ah, yes, and
one would look up into the trees and be thrilled by the wind-
loosened river of pale, gold foliage cascading down and by the
high, melodious singing of countless birds; those moments, so
many and so long ago, still come back, but briefly, like fireflies
in the perfumed heat of summer night. ~ Mark Strand

Rightly looked upon,' mused Gotthold, 'it is ourselves that we cannot forgive, when we refuse forgiveness to our friend. Some strand of our own misdoing is involved in every quarrel. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson