Story Of My Assassins Quotes

There was too much opinion in this country, too many sob stories. Nobody wanted to put a lid on anything; everyone wanted to say it all, about everything. If you as much as said hello to someone on a train or a plane, you were in for the unexpurgated memoirs. Nehru in 1947 had declared us a nation finding utterance - but in fifty years the utterance had become a mad clamour, a crazed babble, an unending howl. We were a nation of Scheherzades, afraid we'd die if, for a moment, we shut up. For myself, I'd mastered a face of steel, and an inscrutable nod. It did not always shut everyone up, but it did to some extent dam the ghastly flow. ~ Tarun J. Tejpal

Why would anyone be interested in my little personal story if we can do without Homer's or Shakespeare's? Someone who truly loves literature is like a person of faith. The believer knows very well that there is nothing at all at the bureau of vital statistics about the Jesus that truly counts for him. ~ Elena Ferrante

You spoke of a wolf god,' Skintick said. 'You began to tell us a story.'
'So I did. But you must be made to understand. It is a question of essences. To see a wolf and know it as pure, one must possess an image in oneself of a pure wolf, a perfect wolf.'
'Ridiculous,' Kallor grunted. 'See a strange beast and someone tells you it is a wolf - and from this one memory, and perhaps a few more to follow, you have fashioned your image of a wolf. In my empires, philosophers spewed such rubbish for centuries, until, of course, I grew tired of them and had them tortured and executed. ~ Steven Erikson

All this to say: I am forty-three years old. I may yet live another forty. What do I do with those years? How do I fill them without Lexy? When I come to tell the story of my life, there will be a line, creased and blurred and soft with age, where she stops. If I win the lottery, if I father a child, if I lose the use of my legs, it will be after she has finished knowing me. "When I get to Heaven", my grandmother used to say, widowed at thirty-nine, "your grandfather won't even recognize me. ~ Carolyn Parkhurst

I've been doing morning pages: the first thing I do when I wake up is sit down and write three pages of whatever comes into my head. The more I do them, the more creative I get and the smaller my problems seem. I can turn something that I hated a few days ago into a short story or a song. ~ T. Mills

You have to know, to see with whom
you are Dancing Through All Ages,
The Love Of My Life,
Michael Andreas Helmuth Ende
Religious Leader Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans
Our One Neverending Story ~ Petra Hermans

Sophia could just as well have gutted me. In Allah's name, I drank beer for you. I dismantled my entire value system of holding Allah's word above all for you. I reinterpreted my Islamic teachings to justify being with you. ~ Sam Wazan

You have filled every fibre of my soul and the spaces in between ~ Zahraa Arif

Do not laugh! But once upon a time (my crest has long since fallen) I had a mind to make a body of more or less connected legend, ranging from the large and cosmogonic, to the level of romantic fairy-story – the larger founded on the lesser in contact with the earth, the lesser drawing splendour from the vast backcloths – which I could dedicate simply to: to England; to my country. It should possess the tone and quality that I desired, somewhat cool and clear, be redolent of our 'air' (the clime and soil of the North West, meaning Britain and the hither parts of Europe: not Italy or the Aegean, still less the East), and, while possessing (if I could achieve it) the fair elusive beauty that some call Celtic (though it is rarely found in genuine ancient Celtic things), it should be 'high', purged of the gross, and fit for the more adult mind of a land long now steeped in poetry. I would draw some of the great tales in fullness, and leave many only placed in the scheme, and sketched. The cycles should be linked to a majestic whole, and yet leave scope for other minds and hands, wielding paint and music and drama. Absurd.

Of course, such an overweening purpose did not develop all at once. The mere stories were the thing. They arose in my mind as 'given' things, and as they came, separately, so too the links grew. An absorbing, though continually interrupted labour (especially since, even apart from the necessities of life, the mind would wing to the other pole and spen ~ J.R.R. Tolkien

One of the things I do is try to get a positive message out there in the local schools and tell my story. I also do a lot of faith-based speaking, sharing my story and testimony, to help show what God has done in my life and what he can do in others' lives. ~ Lex Luger

I felt his pain as my own and I wanted to touch him, feel him, reach inside his fractured heart and pull out all of the love he buried inside. I wanted to kiss every inch of his skin. I wanted to feel his brokenness against mine, like if we held each other hard enough something within each of us would finally heal. ~ Jacqueline Simon Gunn

I think I take what you might call a B-movie story, deal with B-movie subjects, and I treat it as if it's an A-movie in terms of my approach, my crew, my actors, my ethics and so on. I guess that's my trademark or one of them, anyway! ~ M. Night Shyamalan

I read about the rising tide of illegal drug cartels moving their products from more developed countries to the United States, while using the Caribbean as a conduit. My home is Jamaica, and I'm a former international flight attendant, so I began to think about how I could use my personal background to spotlight issues surrounding the illicit drug trade, while also drawing in readers with a captivating story. ~ Norma Jennings

And by the way, Lanwa, you must stop preaching the sermon of our people's old custom and tradition. This your long story of kinsman and cousin and half-brother connection with my late husband cannot catch me like a deer in a snare! I reserve the right to choose the type of life I want to lead. It could be that of woman deliberately aloof in self-contentment, untouched by the victimisation and oppression of the man; or that of a woman sulking the anger of an injury, protesting humiliations heaped on her, over the years by the man. I may choose to shield off man, permanently in my life, and transfer all affection and devotion to my children, spoiling them every minute with motherly love and care. I may deliberately engage in twenty different odd jobs, from cockcrow to cockroost, not resting and not sparing any moment to talk to men, or even look at any man's face. Not your business Lanwa, how I want to live my life! ~ Bayo Adebowale

And we love you but I have to ask you to help me, to help us, please."

"How?" I asked, "By pretending nothing ever happened? Act as if she and I were strangers? Stand the way your sister acts towards me after all of what we had? Forget my story by her side? Are you asking me for that, Gabriel, for God's sake?"

"It sounds pretty bad when you put it like that…" Gabriel said, "but yes, pretty much. ~ Emiliano Campuzano

Sitting on the train I watch the scenery speeding by, notice a cobweb in the top corner of the window, undulating with a gentle breeze I can't feel. I lean back in my seat and take my book out of the carrier bag. Turning it over in my hand, it feels warm. It feels how I want to feel; full of knowledge, full of the future.
The time I've spent staying in bed smoking dope I've been hibernating, recuperating and gaining strength. I'm weak socially, but being away from other drug users has made me resilient. It's allowed my mind and body to heal and mend. As if the winter is over, I've come out stronger now. I'm on my own. I have the choice of what to do with my life.
I'm going to stay clean. I'm going to be the woman I can be. ~ Christine Lewry

I have underlined words and sentences in one of the Bibles that has always been my study Bible, but when I look at those words and sentences now, I can't remember why they were underlined. One day I was rereading a short story by Joanne Greenberg, and I came across a long passage that I had marked off, but as I looked at it, I couldn't remember why. Perhaps I had meant to ask her about it the next time we talked on the phone, but now I have no idea what it could be that I wanted to ask her. My Revised Standard version of the Bible is filled with markings, for I have gone through it word for word with study groups at least four times, and of course, I have used it on various occasions to begin speeches. I know that the underlined passages served some purpose, but here and there are verses that have no special meaning to me. It is almost as if a friend had secretly opened the book and made some markings just to tease me. What was the spirit trying to say to me then that I no longer need to hear? Or, what was I listening for then that I no longer care about? ~ Charles M. Schulz

My father's death when I was eighteen and his struggles as a Jewish immigrant provided me with the raw material, but for a long time I went from painting to fiction and then finally to poetry before I could find the right way of telling this story. ~ Philip Schultz

I've already written 300 space poems. But I look upon my ultimate form as being a poetic prose. When you read it, it appears to be prose, but within the prose you have embedded the techniques of poetry. ~ Story Musgrave

I'm not particularly in favor of doctrine or creed, ordination, the elevation of holy texts, the institution of church, or, for that matter, Christianity. Like most religions, it has irreconcilable shortcomings and an unforgivable history. What I do favor is the attempt to make sense of things by living within a story. The Christian story, for good or ill, is my inheritance. ~ Elizabeth Jarrett Andrew

The beauty of Billie Holiday is that she gave every singer after her the license to interpret and perform music in ways that were unique to each of us. Her uniqueness was very much a part of the way she sang the songs, the story she wanted to tell through the songs. I didn't really have a full understanding of Billie until I left home
until I'd lived a little, shall we say. At different seasons of my life, when I'd sing her songs or listen to her albums, I'd hear things I didn't hear before. Wherever you are in life, you'll hear different things in her songs. ~ Dianne Reeves

All the movies that I make in some ways have to be the story of my life. There are different chapters in my life. ~ Jodie Foster

Once I shifted my thinking, though, I stopped roughing myself up and started asking Why? Why don't you want to write? What's wrong? And while the answers were never pleasant (because really, it's no fun to realize you messed up and now you have to rewrite a scene, or a chapter, or half a book), they were progress, and they were necessary. They were also extremely good for me, because once I got my story back on the right track, my bad writing days vanished, my daily word counts shot up, the quality of my writing improved, and life in general got a whole lot better. ~ Rachel Aaron

The Time that Remains is a way of interpreting a certain ambience or emotion. These are the stories that my father told me over the course of fifteen or twenty years. I used to listen to him. From the cowardly part of my character, I'm always in fear of not telling the right story. I'm not interested in making epics. ~ Elia Suleiman

I am repeatedly asked in interviews exactly 'what's wrong' with me, and I always give them the same answer; I don't identify the name of my condition in an interview unless it's relevant to the context of the story. ~ Stella Young

My husband jokes that I'll invite people over for dinner and he won't know who they are or where I met them. But in my work world, I've never really been tempted to tell too much of my story. ~ Carrie-Anne Moss

I am not much interested in discovering new territories to photograph. Instead, what I wish my pictures could do is lessen the distance one often feels when looking at landscape photographs ... The longer I work, the more important it is to me to make photographs that tell my story as a participant, and not just an observer of the land. ~ Mark Klett

My story is not about condemning white people but about rejecting the assumption - sometimes spoken, sometimes not - that white is right: closer to God, holy, chosen, the epitome of being. ~ Austin Channing Brown

My sister is a good story of resiliency. She had a full ride at UC Davis, but she left school to go to the Philippines - and then she decided to go back to school in her 40s, which surprised me. She went to UC Berkeley, and I think she was one of two African Americans in her class at Haas. She's really impressive. ~ Chili Davis

For the lady's husband to become actively jealous was considered both doltish and dishonorable, a breach of the spirit of courtesy. Yet the record suggests that this was a fairly common occurrence and one of the occupational hazards of being a troubadour. The most famous crime passionnel of the epoch was the murder of Guilhem de Cabestanh, a troubadour knight whose love for the Lady Seremonda aroused the jealousy of her husband, Raimon de Castel-Roussillon. The story goes that Raimon killed Guilhem while he was out hunting, removed the heart from the body, and had it served to his wife for dinner, cooked and seasoned with pepper. Then comes the great confrontation:
"And when the lady had eaten of it, RAimon de Castel-Roussillon said unto her: "Know you of what you have eaten?' And she said, 'I know not, save that the taste thereof is good and savoury.' Then he said to her that that she had eaten of was in very truth the head of SIr Guilhem of Cabestanh, and caused the head to be brought before her, that she might the more readily believe it. And when the lady had seen and heard this, she straightway fell into a swoon, and when she was recovered of it, she spake and said: "Of a truth, my Lord, such good meat have you given me that never more will I eat of other."
THen he, hearing this, ran upon her with his sword and would have struck at her head, but the lady ran to a balcony, and cast herself down, and so died."
...the story is probably apocryphal… grisly deta ~ Horizon Magazine, Summer 1970

Let me end this chapter with an encouraging story. A young man found his way up to the small apartment of Nisargadatta, my old Hindu guru in Bombay, asked him a spiritual question and then left after this one question. One of the regular students then asked, "What will happen to this man? Will he ever become enlightened or will he fall off the path and go back to sleep?" Nisargadatta said, "It's too late for him! He has already begun. Just the fact that he came up here and asked one question about what is his true nature means that that place in him that knows who he really is has started to wake up. Even if it takes a long, long time, there's no turning back. ~ Jack Kornfield

Losing was the story of life and depression was the one thing in my existence that was perfect. Flawless depression, it was, that covered the days of my life in a suffocating blanket. ~ Kirk Gollwitzer

Listen my hatchling, for now you shall hear
Of the only seven slayers a dragon must fear.

First beware Pride, lest belief in one's might
Has you discount the foeman who is braving your sight.
Never Envy other dragons their wealth, power, or home
For dark plots and plans will bring death to your own.

Your Wrath shouldn't win, when spears strike your scale
Anger kills cunning, which you will need to prevail.
A dragon must rest, but Sloth you should dread
Else long years of napping let assassins to your bed.

'Greed is good,' or so foolish dragons will say
Until piles of treasure bring killing thieves where they lay.
Hungry is your body, and at times you must feed
But Gluttony makes fat dragons, who can't fly at their need.

A hot Lust for glory, gems, gold, or mates
Leads reckless young drakes to the blackest of fates.
So take heed of this wisdom, precious hatchling of mine,
And the long years of dragonhood are sure to be thine. ~ E.E. Knight

For my 50th birthday, I got ahold of a new print of 'Saturday Night Fever.' I see it much more as a tough coming-of-age movie than as a disco story. ~ Gene Siskel

This is one of my favorite books Lisa has ever written. You couldn't ask for a better story. ~ Lisa Renee Jones

Writers always say, 'I always knew I wanted to be a writer; when I was a three-month-old foetus a pen formed in my hand and I began to scratch my first story on the inside of my mother's womb.' I started later, in my early twenties. ~ Harlan Coben

I stand here knowing that my story is part of the larger American story, that I owe a debt to all of those who came before me, and that in no other country on Earth is my story even possible. ~ Barack Obama

I wouldn't compare myself to any past Idol contestant, because I don't feel like I am like any of them. Maybe stories are cool but my story is different from most people's story. I don't like to compare myself to other people, I like to just be me. ~ Naima Adedapo

Perserverance ... that's been the story of my family. ~ Barry Goldwater

Are you mad at me?" Her brow was wrinkled and her eyes were worried, and she wasn't smiling anymore. "I thought you would laugh." She shrugged. "I told Kathleen I was going to surprise you. And she said, 'Go right ahead!' So I did. I used your paints, but I put everything back."
"Why are you kicking me in the head?"
"It's our story. We meet. You save me. I kiss you. You kiss me back, but you keep acting like you don't like me even though I know you do. So I'm kicking some sense into you. And man, does it feel good." She grinned cheekily, and I looked back at her depiction. That was some kick to the head.
"It's a terrible mural." It was terrible. And funny. And very Georgia.
"Well, we can't all be Leonardo DiCaprio. You painted on my walls, I'm painting on yours. And you don't even have to pay me. I'm just trying to bond with you over art."
"Leonardo da Vinci, you mean?"
"Him too." She smiled again and laid back on my bed, patting the spot beside her.
"You could have at least given me some biceps. That doesn't look anything like me. And why am I saying, 'Don't hurt me, Georgia!'"
I plopped down on the bed and purposely landed partially on top of her. She wiggled and scooted breathlessly, trying to free herself from my intentional squishing...
She stroked my head and I breathed against her skin.
"Are we bonding over art?" she whispered in my ear.
"No. ~ Amy Harmon

Writers of the world, if you've got a story, I want to hear it. I promise it will follow me to my last breath. My soul will dance with pleasure, and it'll change the quality of all my waking hours. You will hearten me and brace me up for the hard days as they enter my life on the prowl. I reach for a story to save my own life. Always. It clears the way for me and makes me resistant to all the false promises signified by the ring of power. In every great story, I encounter a head-on collision with self and imagination. ~ Pat Conroy

Each word was shaped with certainty, and I felt, more strongly than ever before in my life, that I had at last found my true path. I knew the story would change as I told it. No one can tell as tory without transforming it in some way; it is part of the magic of storytelling. Like the troubadors of the past, who hid their messages in poems, songs and fairy tales, I too would hide my true purpose [ ... ]
It was by telling stories that I would save myself. ~ Kate Forsyth

In my experience," the lantern began, his voice soft, "places like the oceans or the heavens, an undiscovered forest, a great underground chasm, or the mystery of a woman's heart and mind are not the end of a journey, but a beginning. Do not let fear of the unknown prevent you from discovery, vampire; otherwise the story of your life will be a dull tale indeed. ~ Colleen Houck

So my sister dances and the dead house burns, and I scrawl these few last words by the light of its burning. I know I should toss this story, too, on those flames. But I am still too much a storyteller -or at least a storykeeper-still too much my father's daughter to burn these pages. ~ Jean Hegland

Look, back in the old days, ravens used to be gentle and white, like doves, okay? But they were terrible gossips. One time I was dating this girl, Koronis. The ravens found out she was cheating on me, and they told me about it. I was so angry, I got Artemis to kill Koronis for me. Then I punished the ravens for being tattletales by turning them black."
Reyna stared at me like she was contemplating another kick to my nose. "That story is messed up on so many levels."
"Just wrong," Meg agreed. "You had your sister kill a girl who was cheating on you?"
"Well, I - "
"Then you punished the birds that told you about it," Reyna added, "by turning them black, as if black was bad and white was good?"
"When you put it that way, it doesn't sound right," I protested. "It's just what happened when my curse scorched them. It also made them nasty-tempered flesh-eaters."
"Oh, that's much better," Reyna snarled.
"If we let the birds eat you," Meg asked, "will they leave Reyna and me alone?"
"I - What?" I worried that Meg might not be kidding. Her facial expression did not say kidding. It said serious about the birds eating you. "Listen, I was angry! Yes, I took it out on the birds, but after a few centuries I cooled down. I apologized. By then, they kind of liked being nasty-tempered flesh-eaters. As for Koronis - I mean, at least I saved the child she was pregnant with when Artemis killed her. He became Asclepius, god of medicine!"
"Your girlfrien ~ Rick Riordan

I got interested in reading very early, because a story was read to me, by Hans Christian Andersen, which was The Little Mermaid, and I don't know if you remember The Little Mermaid, but it's dreadfully sad. The little mermaid falls in love with this prince, but she cannot marry him, because she is a mermaid. And it's so sad I can't tell you the details because I might weep. But anyway, as soon as I had finished this story I got outside and walked around and around the house where we lived, at the brick house, and I made up a story with a happy ending, because I thought that was due to the little mermaid, and it sort of slipped my mind that it was only made up to be a different story for me, it wasn't going to go all around the world, but I felt I had done my best, and from now on the little mermaid would marry the prince and live happily ever after, which was certainly her dessert, because she had done awful things to win the prince's power, his ease. She had had to change her limbs. She had had to get limbs that ordinary people have and walk, but every step she took, agonizing pain! This is what she was willing to go through, to get the prince. So I thought she deserved more than death on the water. And I didn't worry about the fact that maybe the rest of the world wouldn't know the new story, because I felt it had been published once I thought about it. ~ Alice Munro

Ebb and flow, ebb and flow, our lives. Is that why we're fascinated by the steadfastness of stars? The water reaches my calves. I begin the story of the Pleiades, women transformed into birds so Swift and bright that no man could snare them. ~ Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni