The Lost Saint Quotes

Caleb offered me a family, but you offered me something worth so much more: myself. ~ Bree Despain

Maven Calore is not his own self. He told me as much. He is a construct, a creation of his mother's additions and subtractions. A mechanical, a machine, soulless and lost. What a horror, to know that someone like this holds our fates in the palm of his quivering hand. ~ Victoria Aveyard

When someone's lost, aimless and adrift
Take the time, give 'em a lift
Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery
But today, you can be their gift. ~ Squire Rushnell

Brian Posehn went up at 4:45 in the morning. And he gets lost at a certain point. I don't know if we kept him getting lost on the CD. That joke isn't as technically well delivered as I'm sure it is in his Comedy Central special. But the whole disk has this looseness and flavor to it where anything can happen that a lot of people will prefer. ~ B. J. Porter

This was an adventure. She was alive and awake and in charge, and Devin needed to see that. A kaleidoscope of landscapes passed like a slide show- farmland, sandy pine barrens, cypress ponds. This is what Kate's mother had referred to as the "Wet South, as they'd made their way to Lost Lake the last time. She'd made it sound unexplored and exotic, something untoward and almost fearful. ~ Sarah Addison Allen

Dante had wings. And, holy mother of saints, they were beautiful-soulless jet-black with midnight-blue veins, the color of lost wishes and fallen stardust. ~ Stephanie Garber

Once my father told me: When a Jew prays, he is asking God a question that has no end.

Darkness fell. Rain fell.

I never asked: What question?

And now it's too late. Because I lost you, Tateh. One day, in the spring of 1938, on a rainy day that gave way to a break in the clouds, I lost you. You'd gone out to collect specimens for a theory you were hatching about rainfall, instinct, and butterflies. And then you were gone. We found you lying under a tree, your face splashed with mud. We knew you were free then, unbound by disappointing results. And we buried you in the cemetery where your father was buried, and his father, under the shade of the chestnut tree. Three years later, I lost Mameh. The last time I saw her she was wearing her yellow apron. She was stuffing things in a suitcase, the house was a wreck. She told me to go into the woods. She'd packed me food, and told me to wear my coat, even though it was July. "Go," she said. I was too old to listen, but like a child I listened. She told me she'd follow the next day. We chose a spot we both knew in the woods. The giant walnut tree you used to like, Tateh, because you said it had human qualities. I didn't bother to say goodbye. I chose to believe what was easier. I waited. But. She never came.
Since then I've lived with the guilt of understanding too late that she thought she would have been a burden to me. I lost Fitzy. He was studying in Vilna, Tateh - someone who knew someone tol ~ Nicole Krauss

In lightness the root is lost. In haste the ruler is lost. ~ Laozi

Passion is what we live for. The excitement it brings us, the drive we feel to do it, the feeling of emptiness and confusion if we ever lost it. Like a lover, it can cheat and leave us, but also infatuate us. With drool dripping down our chins, we lunge and become one with it so we are inseparable - complete - as our insides begin exploding like fireworks. We claw ourselves onto it like we aren't ever going to let go of that single craving. Sometimes, it feels like we won't.... ~ Monique N. Peterson

What we say or do is unimportant; it is merely semblance, beyond which our real life lies concealed ... We know this better than we can prove, but in order to prove it we have to express it, and on the path to speech the essential somehow gets lost. ~ Hermann Bahr

We are all the authors of our own fates; but we have gotten so lost in the technicalities of forming letters and stringing words together that we've forgotten what it really means to write. ~ Cristen Rodgers

My delightful, my love, my life, I don't understand anything: how can you not be with me? I'm so infinitely used to you that I now feel myself lost and empty: without you, my soul. You turn my life into something light, amazing, rainbowed - you put a glint of happiness on everything - always different: sometimes you can be smoky-pink, downy, sometimes dark, winged - and I don't know when I love your eyes more - when they are open or shut. It's eleven p.m. now: I'm trying with all the force of my soul to see you through space; my thoughts plead for a heavenly visa to Berlin via air . . . My sweet excitement . . .

Today I can't write about anything except my longing for you. I'm gloomy and fearful: silly thoughts are swarming - that you'll stumble as you jump out of a carriage in the underground, or that someone will bump into you in the street . . . I don't know how I'll survive the week.

My tenderness, my happiness, what words can I write for you? How strange that although my life's work is moving a pen over paper, I don't know how to tell you how I love, how I desire you. Such agitation - and such divine peace: melting clouds immersed in sunshine - mounds of happiness. And I am floating with you, in you, aflame and melting - and a whole life with you is like the movement of clouds, their airy, quiet falls, their lightness and smoothness, and the heavenly variety of outline and tint - my inexplicable love. I cannot express these cirrus-cumulus sensations ~ Vladimir Nabokov

You're saying we lost the powers of magic because we grew lazy. ~ Michael Scott

Othalas: Words. What are they but shadows on a page or howling on the wind? They are as ever-changing as the mists below us and it is just as easy to lose sense of yourself among them. I am older than most sorcerers so what I know may, indeed, be close to the truth. Magic, wyrd, words, dreams, they all come from the spirit. Within them lie both power and peril. For to misuse any is to warp your sense of self. To lie in words, or in magic, or in dreams
that is how you become lost. The lights you see, they were lost long before they came to the Vale. ~ Robert Fanney

No, none of us seem so very real.
We're only supporting characters in the lives of each other.
Any real truth, any precious fact will always be lost in a mountain of shattered make-believe. ~ Chuck Palahniuk

What can I say to convince you
the Houses of Parliament dissolve
night after night to become
the fluid dream of the Thames?
I will not return to a universe
of objects that don't know each other,
as if islands were not the lost children
of one great continent. The world
is flux, and light becomes what it touches. ~ Lisel Mueller

Don't give up on hope just yet. It's the last thing to go. When you have lost hope, you have lost everything. And when you think all is lost, when all is dire and bleak, there is always hope ~Henri - I am number four ~ Pittacus Lore

We were on a family holiday to Cyprus to visit my aunt and uncle. My uncle Andrew was then the brigadier to all the British forces on the island, and as such a senior military figure I am sure he must have dreaded us coming to town.
After a few days holed up in the garrison my uncle innocently suggested that maybe we would enjoy a trip to the mountains. He already knew the answer that my father and I would give. We were in.
The Troodos Mountains are a small range of snowy peaks in the center of the island, and the soldiers posted to Cyprus use them to ski and train in. There are a couple of ski runs, but the majority of the peaks in winter are wild and unspoiled.
In other words, they are ripe for an adventure.
Dad and I borrowed two sets of army skis and boots from the garrison up in the hills and spent a great afternoon together skiing down the couple of designated runs. But designated runs can also be quite boring. We both looked at each other and suggested a quick off-piste detour.
It was all game…age eleven.
It wasn't very far into this between-the-trees deep-powder detour that the weather, dramatically, and very suddenly, took a turn for the worse.
A mountain mist rolled in, reducing visibility to almost zero. We stopped to try and get, or guess, our directions back to the piste, but our guess was wrong, and very soon we both realized we were lost. (Or temporarily geographically challenged, as I have learned to call it.)
Dad and I ~ Bear Grylls

Someday, she'll trust me enough to tell me the truth. For now, I'll be that home she lost – I'll be that soft, secure place where she can land. ~ Katie McGarry

Khadi work without the mastery of the science of khadi will be love's labour lost in terms of Swaraj. ~ Mahatma Gandhi

You can never replace what you've lost, can you?" Tessa said. "You can only find new love to fill the void left behind." As always, the memory of Will sat between them, his absence a presence. "We both learned that lesson too young," Jem said, "but I suppose everyone learns it eventually. Loss is what it means to be human. ~ Cassandra Clare

It slowly began to dawn on me that I had been staring at her for an impossible amount of time. Lost in my thoughts, lost in the sight of her. But her face didn't look offended or amused. It almost looked as if she were studying the lines of my face, almost as if she were waiting.
I wanted to take her hand. I wanted to brush her cheek with my fingertips. I wanted to tell her that she was the first beautiful thing that I had seen in three years. The sight of her yawning to the back of her hand was enough to drive the breath from me. How I sometimes lost the sense of her words in the sweet fluting of her voice. I wanted to say that if she were with me then somehow nothing could ever be wrong for me again.
In that breathless second I almost asked her. I felt the question boiling up from my chest. I remember drawing a breath then hesitating--what could I say? Come away with me? Stay with me? Come to the University? No. Sudden certainty tightened in my chest like a cold fist. What could I ask her? What could I offer? Nothing. Anything I said would sound foolish, a child's fantasy.
I closed my mouth and looked across the water. Inches away, Denna did the same. I could feel the heat of her. She smelled like road dust, and honey, and the smell the air holds seconds before a heavy summer rain.
Neither of us spoke. I closed my eyes. The closeness of her was the sweetest, sharpest thing I had ever known. ~ Patrick Rothfuss

Please, Matsu-san,' I told him, not long after the house was completed. 'I don't wish to have any flowers.'
Never once did he question me. I needed my life to be simple without any beauty to remind me of all I had lost. And though I had not told him that, Matsu must have seen it in my eyes. 'Don't worry, Sachi,' he said, 'there will be no flowers. ~ Gail Tsukiyama

What's lost is nothing to what's found, and all the death that ever was, set next to life, would scarcely fill a cup. ~ Frederick Buechner

I almost feel like if I didn't have the gallery and museum content it would be easy to get lost. People's attention spans are so short; they see something and it trends for a few days and then it goes away and something else comes. ~ Kalup Linzy

It seems that the people who come into our lives and stay for the briefest amount of time have the greatest impact upon us. Time may change some things, but not all things. Each day brings me closer to him, and the age in which he passed from this world into the next, but I still fight the urge, on rare occasions, to pick up the phone and dial his number, which I still remember. It's decades later, but that last meal we shared, laughing and smiling at each other from across the table, lost in harmony, seems but yesterday. Then there was the last lingering look and the final wave goodbye. ~ Donna Lynn Hope

Should I trust this man? I want to. I want to just throw caution to the wind and shout, Yes! Yes! Fix me! Please make me normal. However, a nagging negative feeling restrains me. I know that if I accept this offer, something terrible will happen. Something terrible always does. ~ Loretta Lost

Are you some kind of tree police?" Joshua asked without opening his eyes. "Do you feel as if you have some kind of civic duty to come out here and - and - annoy the hell out of me?"
"Well - yes - I do have a civic duty to stop you - that is - if you needed stopping. If you'd kept to simple tree assault, I would have just kept watching. It was fairly entertaining, in a train wreck kind of way. You've moved up to tree homicide."
"Homicide?" Joshua opened his eyes to give the man an annoyed glare. "That implies intent. At most, this is tree slaughter. Maybe even just reckless endangerment - it might not be dead."
They eyed the tree in silence. His kick had sheered the tree trunk off five inches from the roots, leaving behind a jagged white stump, flowing with sap.
"No, that's dead," the man said.
"Yeah." Joshua had to agree. It occurred to Joshua that this person might be undercover cop or some off-duty park ranger or a very lost Canadian Mountie or something. He'd seen Joshua destroy a piece of public property worth hundreds of dollars. The man might try to arrest him. That wouldn't end well for either one of them. ~ Wen Spencer

Kids didn't just disappear unless someone made them disappear.'Relax, mate,' the head of security said. 'We've never lost one yet.' Lots of kids wandered off at the Easter Show, he told them. They were always found, usually somewhere near the food.Doug had tried to relax, to stay calm, but he could feel the panic building inside him.The place was too big.There were too many people.Lockie could be anywhere. The police were called. It took hours for everyone to leave the showgrounds because every family was stopped. Every parent was questioned and every child identified. It was way past midnight when everyone had finally gone home, and still they had not found Lockie.The head of security changed his tone. The police held whispered conversations in groups. They began to look at him with sympathy in their eyes.Doug felt his heart slow down. There was a ringing in his ears. He was underwater and he couldn't swim.Lockie was gone.They had lost one.Sammy had gone from impatience to hunger to exhaustion. She didn't understand what was happening.Sarah sat next to the pram twisting her hands. She did not cry. She didn't cry for days, but every time Doug went near her he could hear her muttering the word 'please'. 'Please, please, please, please.' It drove Doug mad and he had to move away because he wanted to hit her, to snap her out of her trance. He had never lifted a hand to his wife or his children, but now he had to close his fist and dig his nails into his palm to keep himself from ~ Nicole Trope

The Beginning is lost;
the End stretches into eternity.
Don't bother with them, they're all irrelevant.
And since all is really nothing,
then nothing is truly everything. ~ Attar Of Nishapur

The fate of all things cherished and expensive, to be lost at hazard, and well before their time ~ Stephanie Barron

There are no new stories in the world anymore, and no more storytellers. There is nothing left but fragments of phrases that signaled their telling: once upon a time; why; and then; the end. But these phrases have lost their meanings through endless repetition, like everything else in this modern, mechanical age. And this machine age has no room for stories. These days we seek our pleasures out in single moments cast in amber, as if we have no desire to connect the future to the past. Stories? We have no time for them; we have no patience. ~ Dexter Palmer

The significant difference between Proust and Faulkner, for Sartre, is that where Proust discovers salvation in time, in the recovery of time past, for Faulkner time is never lost, however much he may want, like a mystic, to forget time. Both writers emphasize the transitoriness of emotion, of the condition of love or misery, or whatever passes because it is transitory in time. "Proust really should have employed a technique like Faulkner's," Sartre legislates, "that was the logical outcome of his metaphysic. Faulkner, however, is a lost man, and because he knows that he is lost he risks pushing his thoughts to its conclusion. Proust is a classicist and a Frenchman; and the French lose themselves with caution and always end by finding themselves. ~ John McCormick

Everyone had lost someone. Why'd they bury it, pretend it was all okay? Until someone didn't. Like the traitor. He hadn't been able to live with what had been taken from him. Could she? ~ Autumn Kalquist

How wonderful it is to celebrate a 27 years career! When you moved from basket ball to music, the world of sports lost a great player, but music won a great singer. You transmit good vibrations, a wonderful energy on the stage. ~ Simone Bittencourt De Oliveira

But sometimes it is just when everything seems to be lost that we experience a presentiment that may save us; one has knocked on all the doors which lead nowhere, and then, unwittingly, one pushes against the only one through which one may enter and for which one would have searched in vain for a hundred years, and it opens. ~ Marcel Proust

I like places like this," he announced.

I like old places too," Josh said, "but what's to like about a place like this?"

The king spread his arms wide. "What do you see?"

Josh made a face. "Junk. Rusted tractor, broken plow, old bike."

Ahh...but I see a tractor that was once used to till these fields. I see the plow it once pulled. I see a bicycle carefully placed out of harm's way under a table."

Josh slowly turned again, looking at the items once more.

And i see these things and I wonder at the life of the person who carefully stored the precious tractor and plow in the barn out of the weather, and placed their bike under a homemade table."

Why do you wonder?" Josh asked. "Why is it even important?"

Because someone has to remember," Gilgamesh snapped, suddenly irritated. "Some one has to remember the human who rode the bike and drove the tractor, the person who tilled the fields, who was born and lived and died, who loved and laughed and cried, the person who shivered in the cold and sweated in the sun." He walked around the barn again, touching each item, until his palm were red with rust." It is only when no one remembers, that you are truely lost. That is the true death. ~ Michael Scott

I am what became of your child. I found an old baby picture of me. And it was somebody else, not me. It was somebody pink and fat who never heard of sick or lonely, somebody who cried and got fed,, and reached up and got held and kicked but didn't hurt anybody, and slept whenever she wanted to, just by closing her eyes. Somebody who mainly just laid there and laughed at the colors waving around over her head and chewed on a polka-dot whale and woke up knowing some new trick nearly every day and rolled over and drooled on the sheet and felt your hand pulling my quilt back up over me. That's who I started out and this is who is left. That's what this is about. It's somebody I lost, all right, it's my own self. Who I never was. Or who I tried to be and never got there. Somebody I waited for who never came. And never will. So, see, it doesn't much matter what else happens in the world or in this house, even. I'm what was worth waiting for and I didn't make it. Me...who might have made a difference to me...I'm not going to show up, so there's no reason to stay, except to keep you company, and that's...not reason enough because I'm not...very good company. Am I. ~ Marsha Norman

Every saved person this side of heaven owes the gospel to every lost person this side of hell. ~ David Platt

The Recovered Thing is not quite the same as the Thing-never-lost. It is often more precious. As Grace, recovered by repentance, is not the same as primitive Innocence, but is not necessarily a poorer or worse state. ~ J.R.R. Tolkien

My trip to the former Yugoslavia had opened the world for me, and my hunger for the world. In doing so, it undid the contained, safe borders of my existence. Suddenly a woman weeping over her lost son in an image on the front page of The New York Times was no longer a theoretical entity. She was real, a woman I might have met, might have known. I was connected to her. I could no longer divorce myself from her pain, her suffering. Initially this was overwhelming. I had nightmares. I felt restless and wrong in my comforting life in America. Everything seemed absurd and pointless. I came to understand why we block out the pain and atrocities of others. That pain, if we allow it to enter us, makes our lives impossible. It forces us to examine our own values and reality. It insists that we be responsible for others. It thrusts us into the messy world where there are no easy solutions or reasons, only struggles and questions. It creates great fissures in the landscape of our insulated, so-called safe reality. Fissures that, once split open, can never close again. It compels us to act. ~ Eve Ensler

As a young physician in the mid-'80s, caring for people who had contracted H.I.V., I lost two of my patients to suicide at a time when the virus was doing very little harm to them. I have always thought of them as having been killed by a metaphor, by the burden of secrecy and shame associated with the disease. ~ Abraham Verghese

Now came still evening on; and twilight gray Had in her sober livery all things clad: Silence accompanied; for beast and bird, They to they grassy couch, these to their nests, Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale. ~ John Milton

The economy is very sick. We're losing our jobs to China to Japan to every country. We're making horrible trade deals. We are losing jobs in this country. Hundreds and hundreds of thousands of jobs are being lost. And part of the reason is our taxes are so high in this country. I'm also cutting, you know they don't talk about that. ~ Donald Trump