Read Me Like A Book Quotes

Her hair is tucked behind her ears, a few stray strands lazily brushing her cheek. I suddenly have the strongest sensation of wanting to reach out and curl them in place behind her ear. ~ Liz Kessler

Too many people have claimed they can read me like a book
and then they went and put me on a shelf. ~ Jamie Mortara

It's been the longest time
Since I've been in this place,
Where I spend my whole day
Hoping I'll see your face.
Then I script things to say,
And maybe what you'd say back.
You don't know it yet,
But, girl, it's a fact

That I can see us
Staying up late,
Talking all night,
But I guess I'll have to wait.
'Cause it's brand-new,
Yeah, I know we just met.
I want to be there with you,
But not just yet.

Girl, you've got that look,
Like you're hard to impress.
So I'm bumbling with words,
'Cause my mind is a mess.
You were out of the blue
And you caught me by surprise,
With a slight smile, that long stare,
And a challenge in your eyes

I could feel all this
In that single look,
Like you could see my soul.
You could read me like a book,
And I think it's something.
Though I know we just met,
I'm gonna get there with you.
You just don't know it ... yet. ~ Emery Lord

I was doing great plays. It wasn't changing the world. I was getting good agents and doing film and TV and I wasn't happier. I was like "Wow, there is an unease inside of me." And that led me back on my kind of more spiritual path to the Baha'i faith in a new and fresher way and I came to also understand at that point that there was no difference between being devout and being an artist. There is no difference between creativity and spirituality and philosophy and that is what Soul Pancake, the book, it's about human expression and it's about seeking to transcend. ~ Rainn Wilson

John Updike, in that book you gave me, he said the dead make space. Do you know what I think? Updike doesn't know dick about what it's like to be a homicide cop in Baltimore. ~ Laura Lippman

Her fire red hair curled just above the curve of her buttocks, drawing his eye to their sweet, toned shape. Mercy was a soldier, her muscles lean and strong. But she was also very much a woman - all smooth, soft skin and luscious, strokable curves. And her breasts. He swallowed a groan as he caught teasing glimpses of them as she jumped lightly on top of the rock - very much like the cat she was - and lay down on her front, giving a moan of pure, sensual bliss at the heat. "Stop checking me out and come give me a massage."Read ~ Nalini Singh

My phone beeped. I took it from my handbag and saw
a text message from Dixie.
It read: that man is sizzling HOT HOT HOT!!!!
truth! I texted back.
omg! his accent! his body! im in lurv
i noticed!
hes a bilf
wtf???
boss id like 2 fuk!
I snorted out loud with laughter.
Heller flicked his cold eyes to me.
I wrote: norty girl!
ooh! does he like norty asian girls?
Another involuntary snort from me.
"Ms Chalmers," he warned.
gotta go. my new daddys strict, I texted.
spankz for u 2nite!
lolz! only if im lucky! c u soon xx
- heller 1 ~ J.D. Nixon

There was a bowl of tuna salad. She grabbed two slices of the closest bread and smacked on a gob, squashing it flat. She sliced it with one long cut and dropped down into a chair at the far end of the table.
David sat at the other end, one of the old tablets next to him, facedown.
"I don't eat tuna salad," he said, grabbing a piece of bread. "It's too mysterious. People sneak things into it. It's a sneak food."
"I like it," Hunter said. "We make it at home with sliced-up dill pickle and Old Bay Seasoning."
"Good to know," David said. "Nate, where do you come down on tuna salad?:
Nate was trying to read and eat some cold mac and cheese in peace.
"I don't eat fish," he said. "Fish freak me out. ~ Maureen Johnson

I hardly ever think about audience. I just try to tell a story for me. I write the kind of story I would like to read. ~ Brent Runyon

Don't let reading make you arrogant. It can happen-believe me. Maybe you've even met a person or two like this, someone who thinks that being an English literature major or particularly well read puts them above the crowd. Take my advice:even if it's true, don't go there.
...
I urge you to read, knowing the words you absorb will come out in your life in ways that inspire, uplift and encourage someone else. Life is meant to be passed on. Read with a servant's heart. ~ Pat Williams

I've always thought Harper Lee might have made a great decision. Much as you'd like to have more books by her, there's something about just one that's kind of mysterious and nice. On the other hand, the New York gossip about me was that I'd never write another book. So I thought, 'Well, I will then.' ~ Charles Frazier

Hear me now or regret it later: Everything you write must be read aloud. Once all the context items are in place, this is the final test for any written piece...Do not neglect your sense of hearing in the process of writing and reading. As a longtime teacher of English as a foreign language, I can tell you on good authority that you have been listening to the English language at least five or six years longer than you have been writing and reading. And, most probably, your ears also had eighteen or more years of familiarity with the language before you began to read or write with a writer's sensibility. For these reasons, your ears know when things sound okay, good, beautiful, strange, awkward, or just plain bad, before your eye can pick up on such things...Your written voice should burn with the fire of fervent prayer, soothe like a friend's voice during a late-night phone call, alure like a lover's whisper. You must, through your accessible, infinitely read-aloudable voice, make your audience into an insatiable reader of your words. ~ Jiro Adachi

I've always liked getting away with just a little bit of what you're not supposed to. Like my first book, Billy's Booger, got me in trouble with the principal's office. ~ William Joyce

Take it from me. Now is always the answer. Besides, do you have anything better to do? Mope around for a decade or two?"
Casiopea drummed her fingers against her skirt and chewed her lip. The dramatic poetry she'd read would have called for this and more. There was sadness in her, of course, but she didn't wish to crack like fine china either. She could not wither away. In the world of the living, one must live. And had this not been her wish? To live. Truly live. ~ Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Whenever I'm giving talks, I always ask people to think of the most obscure questions because I enjoy those the most. I always get the same questions: Why does Pickwick say "plock" and will there be a movie? I like the really obscure questions because there's so much in the books. There are tons and tons of references and I like when people get the little ones and ask me about them. It's good for the audience [and also] they realize there's more there. ~ Jasper Fforde

Sex," the driver said, "Has no one ever told you about it?"

I took the New York Times from my carry-on bag and pretended to read, an act that apparently explained it all.

"Ohhh," the driver said, "I understand. You do not like pussy. You like the dick. Is that it?" I brought the paper close to my face, and he stuck his arm through the little window and slapped the back of his seat. "David," he said, "David, listen to me when I am talking to you. I asked do you like the dick?"

"I just work," I told him. "I work, and then I go home, and then I work some more." I was trying to set a good example, trying to be the person I'd imagined him to be, but it was a lost cause.

"I fucky-fuck every day," he boasted. "Two women. I have a wife and another girl for the weekend. Two kind of pussy. Are you sure you no like to fucky-fuck?"

If forced to, I can live with the word "pussy," but "fucky-fuck" was making me carsick. "That is not a real word," I told him. "You can say fuck, but fucky-fuck is just nonsense. Nobody talks that way. You will never get ahead with that kind of language."

Traffic thickened because of an accident, and, as we slowed to a stop, the driver ran his tongue over his lips. "Fucky-fuck," he repeated. "I fucky-fucky-fucky fuck. ~ David Sedaris

This is a Personal Poem

My self's self is thinking about itself.
Trying to sell its self a new self.

Don't worry, reader,
I'm not trying to fool you with language,

I have eyes to do that with.
I have forgotten our history,

I have forgotten how we met.
Reader, are you upset at how fast we're moving?

I'm likely with you in your bed,
between your hands, somewhere

in your mouth before
whatever it is you'll say next.

Say yes and now and love too.
Say what did Judith Butler say when saying,

" … one is undone, in the face of the other,
by the touch, by the scent, by the feel,

by the prospect of the touch,
by the memory of the feel."

I want to know you, reader.
I want to know a lot of things.

Can we ever truly forget about ourselves?
Is every self a self that makes itself available to love?

Like death. And its kind availability.
Like language, reader,

would we still be so unhappy if we could escape it?
To name the namelessness that is love,

in what we read, and what we see,
and what are feelings really?

Facts or flaws,
or something tells me now

that I must leave you, reader.
It's not you, it's me.

We guess at why things end,
we ruin things, we start and stall,

and all all all we do
is want. ~ Alex Dimitrov

I've got to get Brittany alone if I'm gonna have any chance of saving face and saving my Honda. Does her freakout session mean she really doesn't hate me? I've never seen that girl do anything not scripted or 100 percent intentional. She's a robot. Or so I thought. She's always looked and acted like a princess on camera every time I've seen her. Who knew it'd be my bloody arm that would crack her.
I look over at Brittany. She's focused on my arm and Miss Koto's ministrations. I wish we were back in the library. I could swear back there she was thinking about getting it on with me.
I'm sporting la tengo dura right here in front of Miss Koto just thinking about it. Gracias a Dios the nurse walks over to the medicine cabinet. Where's a large chem book when you need one? ~ Simone Elkeles

George Bailey: [on Mary being caught naked in the bushes after her robe slips off] This is a very interesting situation!
Mary: Please give me my robe.
George Bailey: A man doesn't get in a situation like this every day.
Mary: I'd like to have my robe.
George Bailey: Not in Bedford Falls anyway.
Mary: [after the bushes' thorns starting hurting her] Ouch! Oh!
George Bailey: Gezundheit.
Mary: George Bailey!
George Bailey: Inspires a little thought!
Mary: Give me my robe.
George Bailey: I've read about things like this.
Mary: Shame on you! I'm going to tell your mother on you.
George Bailey: Well, my mother is way up on the corner.
Mary: I'll call the police!
George Bailey: Well, they're all the way downtown. They'd be on my side.
Mary: Then I'll scream!
George Bailey: Maybe I can sell tickets. ~ It's A Wonderful Life

You think I like this?" I say defensively. "Trust me, I don't need this headache in my life." I swallow a mouthful of beer. "Hey. You know Twilight?" He blinks. "Excuse me?" "Twilight. The vampire book." His wary eyes study my face. "What about it?" "Okay, so you know how Bella's blood is extra special? Like how it gives Edward a raging boner every time he's around her?" "Are you fucking with me right now?" I ignore that. "Do you think it happens in real life? Pheromones and all that crap. Is it a bullshit theory some horndog dreamed up so he could justify why he's attracted to his mother or some shit? Or is there actually a biological reason why we're drawn to certain people? Like goddamn Twilight. Edward wants her on a biological level, right?" "Are you seriously dissecting Twilight right now?" God, I am. This is what Allie has reduced me to. A sad, pathetic loser who goes to a bar and forces his friend to participate in a Twilight book club. ~ Elle Kennedy

As I take up my pen I feel myself so full, so equal to my subject, and see my book so clearly before me in embryo, I would almost like to try to say it all in a single word. ~ Georg C. Lichtenberg

When I didn't say anything, he came closer, dropping slowly to his haunches so we were at eye level. My eyes searched his gorgeous face and for once, I wished I could break my own damn rules. I had a feeling Braden would be able to make me forget everything for a while.
We gazed at one another for what seemed like forever, not saying a word. I was expecting a lot of questions since it must have been clear to everyone, or at least the adults at the table, that I had had a panic attack. Surely, they were all wondering why, and I really didn't want to go back out there.
"Better?" Braden finally asked softly.
Wait. Was that it? No probing questions?
"Yeah." No, not really.
He must have read my reaction to his question in my face because he cocked his head to the side, his gaze thoughtful. "You don't need to tell me."
I cracked a humorless smile. "I'll just let you think I'm bat-shit crazy."
Braden smiled back at me. "I already know that. ~ Samantha Young

My name is Kyran. You look like an honorable woman," he whispered, practicing what he would say to any prospective mate. "I have a home with my parents and my brother. There we will live and you will be part of our family. Would you like to give me many children? ~ Michelle M. Pillow

I feel like a divorced wife once my book is published and has left me, and hate to be brought back into intimate contact! ~ Freya Stark

Gray and Drew sitting side by side, with their muscled physiques taking up a good portion of the booth, look like a comic book come to life.

They catch me staring and both say, "What?" at the same time.

Smiling, I shake my head. "Nothing. I just had this image of Thor and Captain America having a beer."

They both color at the same time. Which is kind of cute.

"Ha!" cries Anna at my side. Her cheeks plump with a wide grin. "I had that Captain America thought about Drew too."

Drew perks up. "You did, huh?"

Gray snorts. "Dude, I've just been compared to Thor. I totally win."

"What the hell does Thor have? A little hammer?" Drew waves a hand as if to say, please.

But Gray smirks. "At least he isn't hiding behind a wussy shield. Thor is a god. Enough said."

"A boring god with the personality of a post," Drew volleys.

"And you're saying Captain America isn't boring? Dude. He doesn't even understand modern culture. He's like a 1940s Boy Scout."

Drew and Gray eyeball each other for a second. Then Drew relents with a laugh. "Touché. ~ Kristen Callihan

In the first year of my grief, there were times when I felt like hiding my personal story of loss and other times when I wanted to wear a sign on my body that read "Be nice to me, I'm grieving," or "Don't tick me off; I've already got the world on my shoulders," or maybe even "BEWARE - don't upset the widow!" I needed a variety of signs that I could switch out depending on my daily mood. ~ Elizabeth Berrien

I just don't trust any of it. Every time I read something about how there's been another ridiculous climb of the Dow Jones, there's a part of me that goes, "This can't be good." None of this is real money. You know what I mean? It's not like there's actually more of anything. It's just ideas. When people are getting richer and richer but they're not actually producing anything, it can't end well. ~ Louis C.K.

If you want to be a big success then it becomes a dick showing contest, and that's not what it's about. It can't be about 'My book sold more copies than your book.' It can't be about 'More people went to see my movie than went to see your movie.' If it is about that, then Danielle Steel must be an extraordinarily wonderful author because she sells so many copies. You can't do calculations that way.
What interests me is holding the vision: doing something that is yours and making sure that it can't be like anyone else's. ~ Clive Barker

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

At times, I was so confused that I felt like the stem of a pinwheel surrounded by whir and clatter, but through that whole unsettling time I knew that it simply would not do to hide in the barn with a book and an apple and let events plunge forward without me. ~ Lauren Wolk

It's not that I liked lunacy for the sake of lunacy, but if a writer can truly surprise me without throwing logic completely out the window, then that writer has me for good. Most book surprises aren't surprising at all but follow a formula, like the dead body that's certain to lurch out of a wreck being explored by deep-sea divers in just about every book that involves wrecks and divers. ~ Will Schwalbe

It's our turf," the younger woman barked.
"Actually it's my turf."
The thugs spun to me.
"Let's see . . . You're hassling people in my territory, so you owe me a fee. A couple of fingers ought to do it. Do we have a volunteer?"
The small thug pulled a bowie knife from a sheath on his waist.
I kept coming. "That's a mistake."
The thug crouched down. He clenched his knife, like he was drowning and it was a straw that would pull him out. A little crazy light danced in his eyes. "Come on, whore. Come on."
The oldest bluff in the book: get a crazy glimmer in your eyes, look like you're ready to fight, and the other guy might back off. Heh.
"That might work better for you if you held the knife properly. You were doing okay until you pulled the blade. Now I know that you have no clue how to use it and I'll have to chop your hand off and shove that knife up your ass just to teach you a lesson. Nothing personal. I have a reputation to uphold."
I pulled Slayer out. I had years of practice to back me up and I made the draw fast.
The two bravos behind the knife-wielding thug backed away.
I looked at Slayer's blade. "Well, check this out. Mine is bigger. Let's go, knife-master. I don't have all day. ~ Ilona Andrews

They reminded me somehow of the peasants in a book by Steinbeck: they were of the city, but they dressed like peasants, they looked like peasants, and they talked like peasants. Their cows were motor-driven milk floats; their tools were mop and pail and kneeling pad; their farms a forest of steel and concrete. In spite of the hairgrips and headscarves, they had their own kind of dignity. They ~ E.R. Braithwaite

I'd much rather you licked my wounds for me. My heart pounded, faster and faster, and a strange sort of rush went through my veins as I read the sentence again and again. A challenge. I clamped my lips shut to keep from smiling as I wrote, Lick you where, exactly? The paper vanished before I'd even completed the final mark. His reply was a long time coming. Then, Wherever you want to lick me, Feyre. I'd like to start with "Everywhere," but I can choose, if necessary. ~ Sarah J. Maas

The easiest words for an autistic child to learn are nouns, because they directly relate to pictures. Highly verbal autistic children like I was can sometimes learn how to read with phonics. Written words were too abstract for me to remember, but I could laboriously remember the approximately fifty phonetic sounds and a few rules. ~ Temple Grandin

A local butcher offered me money to put in my next book a portrayal of a customer he didn't like that would make him ashamed to show his face in the town. It was like the tradition of the Gaelic poets, who were paid money to write in derision about people. ~ John McGahern

The Pepto?" I asked.
"The Pepto," he sighed and read the label. "Yes, the Pepto. This, yes. The candies. They're in here. I found them, yes. I found them here. You. You were sleeping. I found these. They're yours, yes? I want them. If I can have them. These. These Pepto. Oh… yes. If I can have them I'd be grateful, yes… I'd follow you. I'd follow you now until the day you die. From now until then, yes. I'd follow you and I would be your one true compatriot. The Don Quixote to your Sancho Panza, the Batman to your Robin, the Huckleberry Finn to your Nigger Jim. Yours. You. And… hm… yes. From then on I'd do what you ask of me. As your one true ally to do what you need. I'd be the best friend you have. Best. All I ask for, to be yours until forever, is that you bestow upon me these delightful morsels I have found of yours for my consumptive pleasure."
"Yes," I said, not thinking twice. "Take it. Eat'em."
"Eat'em, great," he said. "Yes. A strange name, but I like it. That's what you will call me then. Eat'em. Thank you for this. ~ Chase Webster

What I discovered is I don't like to repeat lead characters because one of the most pleasurable things in a book to me is learning about the lead. ~ Alan Furst

After a while the Senior Wrangler said, "Do you know, I read the other day that every atom in your body is changed every seven years? New ones keep getting attached and old ones keep on dropping off. It goes on all the time. Marvelous, really."

The Senior Wrangler could do to a conversation what it takes quite thick treacle to do to the pedals of a precision watch.

"Yes? What happens to the old ones?" said Ridcully, interested despite himself.

"Dunno. They just float around in the air, I suppose, until they get attached to someone else."

The Archchancellor looked affronted.

"What, even wizards?"

"Oh, yes. Everyone. It's part of the miracle of existence."

"Is it? Sounds like bad hygiene to me," said the Archchancellor. "I suppose there's no way of stopping it?"

"I shouldn't think so," said the Senior Wrangler, doubtfully. "I don't think you're supposed to stop miracles of existence."

"But that means everythin' is made up of everythin' else," said Ridcully.

"Yes. Isn't it amazing? ~ Terry Pratchett

Reading all the quotes in the world won't make you or me into Plato, Gandhi Or Einstein, just like watching hundreds games of soccer won't make you a soccer player or taking a yoga class will make u a yogini, or reading a golf book will make you a golfer. We need to put the Knowledge to practice and that is the challenge. Put it to work for you, make the effort to Follow Through ~ Pablo

I tried - not because I really had an appetite for genetics - but because I couldn't bear the thought that Will would go on and on at me if I didn't. He was like that now. He was actually a bit of a bully. And, really annoyingly, he would quiz me on how much I had read of something, just to make sure I really had. ~ Jojo Moyes

And the whole online thing is like, I just, that to me is a world that doesn't exist. It's not something you could touch or lick or smell. And as my eyes get worse, it's very hard to read. And there's no money in it. I mean, it's like they pay, like the best you can go is 1970 prices. ~ Richard Meltzer

In my light-headedness and fatigue, which made me feel drastically cut off from myself and as if I were observing it all at a remove, I walked past candy shops and coffee shops and shops with antique toys and Delft tiles from the 1800s, old mirrors and silver glinting in the rich, cognac-colored light, inlaid French cabinets and tables in the French court style with garlanded carvings and veneerwork that would have made Hobie gasp with admiration - in fact the entire foggy, friendly, cultivated city with its florists and bakeries and antiekhandels reminded me of Hobie, not just for its antique-crowded richness but because there was a Hobie-like wholesomeness to the place, like a children's picture book where aproned tradespeople swept the floors and tabby cats napped in sunny windows. But there was much too much to see, and ~ Donna Tartt

When it comes to books ... They're like lifelong friends to me; I need to know they're there, even if I don't check in with them on a regular basis. ~ Vendela Vida

A mix from the book: "Aren't you going to tell me why you're leaving?" Drake asked. He wasn't growling at her anymore. His voice was as gentle as she supposed one could make gravel."

"I know, but seeing as you view yourself as human, I decided that I have to court you before I can claim you as my mate."

"What, and have you pissed off at me? No thanks. I'd like to have my mate happy."

She still had her purse on her shoulder. "Spend the day with me? ~ Chudney Thomas

I love getting attention, just like a child loves it, and it's never worn off. So when people say, oh the book signings go on, why would I shoo away someone who's giving me attention? What part of standing in line for 10 hours to say how much they love you is bad to you? ~ David Sedaris

No, Dan."

"And you want me to go."

I looked into his eyes. "No. I don't."

He moved closer, encouraged, and put his hand on my shoulder. "Then what do you want, Elle?"

"I want you not to have to settle," I told him.

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"I know that's what you'll be doing. Because if you want more from me, you're not going to get it."

He said nothing for a long time. "When I readThe Little Prince, I thought you must be the rose. You with your four thorns, convincing me you're able to defend yourself. But now I know you hate roses. So you must be the fox instead.

So maybe what you really want is for me to tame you."

From a lot of men, that speech would have made me laugh, or roll my eyes. Then again, a lot of men wouldn't have

read Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's classic story ofThe Little Prince, or bothered to try and understand it.

I reached for his hand and held it between both of mine. "The fox tells the Little Prince he is a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. Just like the flower was like a hundred thousand other flowers."

Dan tucked a strand of hair behind my ear with the hand I wasn't holding. "But the fox asked the prince to tame him.

To make it so they'd need each other and be unique to each other. And he did it."

"And then the prince went away, Dan, and left the fox bereft." I looked down at my hands ~ Megan Hart

Proust so titillates my own desire for expression that I can hardly set out the sentence. Oh if I could write like that! I cry. And at the moment such is the astonishing vibration and saturation and intensification that he procures - there's something sexual in it - that I feel I can write like that, and seize my pen and then I can't write like that. Scarcely anyone so stimulates the nerves of language in me: it becomes an obsession. But I must return to Swann.


My great adventure is really Proust. Well - what remains to be written after that? I'm only in the first volume, and there are, I suppose, faults to be found, but I am in a state of amazement; as if a miracle were being done before my eyes. How, at last, has someone solidified what has always escaped - and made it too into this beautiful and perfectly enduring substance? One has to put the book down and gasp. The pleasure becomes physical - like sun and wine and grapes and perfect serenity and intense vitality combined.


Jacques Raverat...sent me a letter about Mrs Dalloway which gave me one of the happiest moments days of my life. I wonder if this time I have achieved something? Well, nothing anyhow compared with Proust, in whom I am embedded now. The thing about Proust is his combination of the utmost sensibility with the utmost tenacity. He searches out these butterfly shades to the last grain. He is as tough as catgut & as evanescent as a butterfly's bloom. And he will I suppose ~ Virginia Woolf

History is written by the winners. The books say the Indians were bad guys and the whites just needed a little land. It's like, Excuse me, let me take your car. I'm discovering it. I'm putting my flag on your windshield. ~ Mario Van Peebles

But I read so seldom, that I prefer books suited exactly to my taste. And I like those authors best whose scenes describe my own situation in life, - and the friends who are about me, whose stories touch me with interest, from resembling my own homely existence,- which, without being absolutely paradise, is, on the whole, a source of indescribable happiness. ~ Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe