The Waster S Tale Quotes

Well ah woke up aboot hauf ten an' ah wiz still pissed fae the Friday night. Oan the table beside ma bed wiz hauf a spliff, hauf a boatle a wine an' a can ay beer. Ah smoked the spliff an' drank the wine fur ma breakfast then rolled another joint tae huv wae the beer. ~ Stephen Livingston

As for you and your heart and the things you said and didn't say, she will remember them all when men are fairy tales in books written by rabbits. ~ Peter S. Beagle

Never submit an idea or chapter to an editor or publisher, no matter how much he would like you to. Writing from the approved idea is (another) gravely serious time-waster. This is your story. Try and find out what your editor wants in advance, but then try and give it to him in one piece. ~ John Creasey

I would there were no age between sixteen and three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting ~ William Shakespeare

All action must be performed with detachment. Regard pain, pleasure; gain, loss; victory, defeat as equal. Battle for battle's sake with your mind completely on what you must do. With this knowledge there is no waster even in the first attempt. There are no impediments. ~ Meera Uberoi

You know what's worse than burying your own child? Not burying your own child. ~ John Hennessy

Sooner or later, fate puts us together with all the people, one by one, who show us what we could, and shouldn't, let ourselves become. Sooner or later we meet the drunkard, the waster, the betrayer, the ruthless mind, and the hate-filled heart. But fate loads the dice, of course, because we usually find ourselves loving or pitying almost all of those people. And it's impossible to despise someone you honestly pity, and to shun someone you truly love. ~ Gregory David Roberts

She squinted at his nametag. Her eyes weren't quite working. "What's your name?"
"Stig."
"Stick?" she asked, half ready to believe it.
He shook his head and pointed his long index finger at the name stitched on his uniform. "S-T-I-G. Stig."
Harriet's breath caught. "I can't believe it. I've been looking for you. ~ Kimberly Karalius

Like many of the kids I write about, I once was a runaway myself - and a few (but not all) of the other writers in the series also come from troubled backgrounds. That early experience influences my fiction, no doubt, but I don't think it's necessary to come from such a background in order to write a good Bordertown tale. To me, "running away to Bordertown" is as much a metaphorical act as an actual one. These tales aren't just for kids who have literally run away from home, but also for every kid, every person, who "runs away" from a difficult or constrictive past to build a different kind of life in some new place. Some of us "run away" to college . . . or we "run away" to a distant city or state . . . or we "run away" from a safe, secure career path to follow our passions or artistic muse. We "run away" from places we don't belong, or from families we have never fit into. We "run away" to find ourselves, or to find others like ourselves, or to find a place where we finally truly belong. And that kind of "running away from home" - the everyday, metaphorical kind - can be just as hard, lonely, and disorienting as crossing the Nevernever to Bordertown . . . particularly when you're in your teens, or early twenties, and your resources (both inner and outer) are still limited. I want to tell stories for young people who are making that journey, or contemplating making that journey. Stories in which friendship, community, and art is the "magic" that lights the way.

(s ~ Terri Windling

Sarcasm is waster on the young. ~ Bert McCoy

You know, I sometimes think that we Sort too soon ... ~ J.K. Rowling

Most people surrendered fairy tale hopes in exchange for cookie cutter lives ~ Roy L. Pickering Jr.

I want anything that breaks the monotony, subverts the perceived respectable order of things. ~ Margaret Atwood

The imagined beings have their insides on the outside; they are visible souls. And man as a whole, Man pitted against the universe, have we seen him at all till we see that he is like a hero in a fairy tale? ~ C.S. Lewis

The TELL-TALE BRAIN A Neuroscientist's Quest for What Makes Us Human V. S. RAMACHANDRAN ~ V.S. Ramachandran

Perfectionism is a time waster - 20 percent of the effort you put into any project accomplishes 80 percent of the outcome - so this is a time to ask yourself when good enough is enough and then stop. ~ Mira Kirshenbaum

There is an old Chinese tale about the woman whose only son had died. In her grief, she went to the holy man and said, 'What prayers, what magical incantations do you have to bring my son back to life?' Instead of sending her away or reasoning with her, he said to her, 'Fetch me a mustard seed from a home that has never known sorrow. We will use it to drive the sorrow out of your life.' The woman set off at once in search of that magical mustard seed. She came first to a splendid mansion, knocked at the door and said, 'I am looking for a home that has never known sorrow. Is this such a place? It is very important to me.' They told her 'You've certainly come to the wrong place,' and began to describe all the tragic things that had recently befallen them. The woman said to herself, 'Who is better able to help these poor unfortunate people than I, who have had misfortune of my own?' She stayed to comfort them, then went on in her search for a home that had never known sorrow. But wherever she turned, hovels and in palaces, she found one tale after another of sadness and misfortune. Ultimately, she became so involved in ministering to other people's grief that she forgot about her quest for the magical mustard seed, never realizing that it had in fact drive the sorrow out of her life. ~ Harold S. Kushner

Too high for common selfishness , he could
At times resign his own for others' good,
But not in pity - not because he ought,
But in some strange perversity of thought,
That swayed him onward with a secred pride
To do what few or none could do beside;
And this same impulse would, in tempting time,
Mislead his spirit equally to crime;
So much he soared beyond, or sank beneath,
The men with whom he felt condemned to breathe
And longed by good or ill to seperate
Himself from all who shared his mortal fate. ~ Lord Byron

I wrote fairy tales because the Fairy Tale seemed the ideal Form for the stuff I had to say.
Then of course the Man in me began to have his turn. I thought I saw how stories of this kind could steal past a certain inhibition which had paralyzed much of my own religion in childhood. Why did one find it so hard to feel as one was told one ought to feel about God or about the sufferings of Christ? I thought the chief reason was that one was told one ought to. As obligation to feel can freeze feelings. (from the essay Sometimes Fairy Stories May Say Best What's To Be Said) ~ C.S. Lewis

Roses bloom and cease to be, but we shall the Christ-child see ~ Hans Christian Andersen

It was the tale of a woman scorned, a woman locked in battle over her man, her money, her children, and her rights as a long-term wife. It was a morality tale of Biblical proportions, involving adultery and covetousness, all of it wrapped in a great big flag emblazoned with the almighty U.S. dollar - and concluding in what, on the face of it, appeared to be a most blood-curdling case of stark, premeditated murder in the first degree. Shooting them in their sleep? No soap opera writer could have concocted better. ~ Bella Stumbo

Haven't you ever been in a fairy tale before? ~ Peter S. Beagle

I find the entrance to the women's washroom ... There's a rest area, gently lit in pinkish tones, with several easy chairs and a sofa, in a lime-green bamboo-shoot print, with a wall clock above it in a gold filigree frame. Here they haven't removed the mirror, there's a long one opposite the sofa. You need to know, here, what you look like. ~ Margaret Atwood

But come on - tell me the proposal story, anyway."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Really. Just keep in mind that I'm a guy, which means I'm genetically predisposed to think that whatever mushy romantic tale you're about to tell me is highly cheesy."

Rylann laughed. "I'll keep it simple, then." She rested her drink on the table. "Well, you already heard how Kyle picked me up at the courthouse after my trial. He said he wanted to surprise me with a vacation because I'd been working so hard, but that we needed to drive to Champaign first to meet with his former mentor, the head of the U of I Department of Computer Sciences, to discuss some project Kyle was working on for a client." She held up a sparkly hand, nearly blinding Cade and probably half of the other Starbucks patrons. "In hindsight, yes, that sounds a little fishy, but what do I know about all this network security stuff? He had his laptop out, there was some talk about malicious payloads and Trojan horse attacks - it all sounded legitimate enough at the time."

"Remind me, while I'm acting U.S. attorney, not to assign you to any cybercrime cases."

"Anyhow. . . we get to Champaign, which as it so happens, is where Kyle and I first met ten years ago. And the limo turns onto the street where I used to live while in law school, and Kyle asks the driver to pull over because he wants to see the place for old time's sake. So we get out of the limo, and he's making thi ~ Julie James

My eyelashes tickled the peephole. from Fogged Up Fairy Tale (Summer 2014) ~ Denise Baer

Ay me! For aught that I could every read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth,
But either it was different in blood- ~ William Shakespeare

All old stories, my cousin, will bear telling and telling again in different ways. What is required is to keep alive, to polish, the simple clean forms of the tale which must be there - in this case the angry Ocean, the terrible leap of the horse, the fall of Dahud from the crupper, the engulfment etc etc. And yet to add something of yours, of the writer, which makes all these things seem new and first seen, without having been appropriated for private or personal ends. ~ A.S. Byatt

Perhaps you have never watched people go raving mad or drop dead because of blood shortages." Crimson. Starlight. The taste of death. The nightmare tugged at her mind. Ishtaka fought back, focusing her gaze on The Blood Waster. "Perhaps, because of all this, you are not used to our ways. Let me remind you: My clan collects every last drop of blood. Every. Last. Drop." Her lips curled over her fangs. "Understood? ~ Hannah Heath

Patience is a conquering virtue. ~ Geoffrey Chaucer

The world of magic is double, natural, and supernatural. Magic is impossible in a purely materialist world, a purely sceptical world, a world of pure reason. Magic depends on, it makes use of, the body, the body of desire, the libido, or life-force which Sigmund Freud said stirred the primitive cells as the sun heated the stony surface of the earth-cells which, according to him, always had the lazy, deep desire to give up striving, to return to the quiescent state from which they were roused.
-The Biographer's Tale ~ A.S. Byatt

The paralytic on his couch can have if he wants them wider experiences than Stanley slaughtering the savages, the two roomed cottage may enclose an infinitely richer, sweeter domestic harmony than the palace; and the peaceful cotton-spinner win victories beside which those of the reverberating general are dust and ashes -- let us not waster the sacred fire and wear away the tissues in the vulgar pursuit of what others have and we have not; admitting defeat isn't the way to conquer and from every failure imperishable experience survives ~ Alice James

The Grum's Ledger is a tale of regret. In real life, there was no happy ending. Alexander Grum died alone because he was afraid to seize love and risk and all the unknowns that go with it. He chose certainty- and it was his ruin. ~ Jon Cohen

I mean," he said, "that by your own showing, the greatest threat to heaven comes from within the ranks of the angels themselves. Before you can prove to me that heroes can defeat villains with nothing but the purest chivalric ideals, you must convince me that heroes do exist, and that villains are not a fanciful tale for children. You must tell me, sir, if you dare, that you are incorruptible, and that your colleagues and commanders are as pure as you. ~ Suzannah Rowntree

Let me guess. You think we're going to live happily ever after, like some stupid fairy tale?"
"Why not?" His stare dared me to laugh or, worse, to argue.
"Because the whole thing is ridiculous," I said. I despised the bitterness in my own voice. I sounded so damaged. Good. If he thought I was his soul mate for some mysterious reason he wouldn't let on, let him see the worst of me.
"It's not ridiculous to me. Perhaps that's the difference between predators and prey, love. I'll never stop hunting. But I expect that one day, you'll stop running."
"Because I want to die?"
"Because you want to live. ~ Delilah S. Dawson

Though I am not a fan of TV - it's mankind's greatest time-waster, the gift was completely appropriate, since I'll be in bed so much at the end. TV will be one of my last links to the outside world. ~ Randy Pausch

Divine open doors are not for the arrogant, adulterers and wasters, they are only meant for the humble that will be wise with the opportunity and blessing that comes from them. ~ Bamigboye Olurotimi

In biology, fungus is a kingdom unto itself, a documented land of rot and decay, a place for yeasts and molds and spores and every manner of thing that grows in the dark, a fairy tale gone wrong. ~ A.S.A Harrison

I want to be held and told my name. I want to be valued, in ways that I am not; I want to be more than valuable. I repeat my former name; remind myself of what I once could do, how others saw me. I want to steal something. ~ Margaret Atwood

Indecision is a major time waster; 80% of decisions should be made the first time they come up ~ Brian Tracy

I'll take you home," I say, and my words are simple, obvious. I'm surprised when she follows me to the passenger door of the Merc and slips into the seat without hesitation, but she seems dazed somehow. Naïve, maybe. Maybe that's what got her into this mess in the first place. I suspect as much.
Young, naïve and vulnerable.
No way should she be out alone this late at night. No way should she be here, in this shithole part of Brighton. I feel the anger, at some unknown parents who should be worried sick, parents who should have taught her more fucking sense.
A father who should be driving around looking for his daughter, who should be protecting her from pieces of shit like that fucking waster back there.
I ignore the twitch in my jaw. Push aside that feeling.
She needs a ride home. Just a ride home. ~ Jade West

One incident preserved by General Ismay in an apocryphal and somewhat lively form may be allowed to lighten the narrative. His orderly, a Royal Marine, was shown the sights of Moscow by one of the Intourist guides. "This," said the Russian, "is the Eden Hotel, formerly Ribbentrop Hotel. Here is Churchill Street, formerly Hitler Street. Here is the Beaverbrook railway station, formerly Goering railway station. Will you have a cigarette, comrade?" The Marine replied, "Thank you, comrade, formerly bastard!" This tale, though jocular, illustrates none the less the strange atmosphere of these meetings. ~ Winston S. Churchill