Vadkerti Strand Quotes

When is your birthday?" ( ... )
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. ~ Gena Showalter

The Buried Melancholy of the Poet"

One summer when he was still young he stood at the window and wondered where they had gone, those women who sat by the ocean, watching, waiting for something that would never arrive, the wind light against their skin, sending loose strands of hair across their lips. From what season had they fallen, from what idea of grace had they strayed? It was long since he had seen them in their lonely splendor, heavy in their idleness, enacting the sad story of hope abandoned. This was the summer he wandered out into the miraculous night, into the sea of dark, as if for the first time, to shed his own light, but what he shed was the dark, what he found was the night. ~ Mark Strand

When I read poetry, I want to feel myself suddenly larger ... in touch with - or at least close to - what I deem magical, astonishing. I want to experience a kind of wonderment. And when you report back to your own daily world after experiencing the strangeness of a world sort of recombined and reordered in the depths of a poet's soul, the world looks fresher somehow. Your daily world has been taken out of context. It has the voice of the poet written all over it, for one thing, but it also seems suddenly more alive ... ~ Mark Strand

What came next is very hard to tell. Indeed, I have told it but once before, when I needed to, and I will tell it this time only becaude it forms a strand in the fabric of my story, and it wove itself into what came after. ~ Juliet Marillier

Sublime tobacco! which from east to west, Cheers the tar's labour or the Turkman's rest; Which on the Moslem's ottoman divides His hours, and rivals opium and his brides; Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand, Though not less loved, in Wapping or the Strand: Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe, When tipp'd with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe; Like other charmers wooing the caress, More dazzlingly when daring in full dress; Yet thy true lovers more admire by far Thy naked beauties Give me a cigar! ~ Lord Byron

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 ELFIN KNIGHT

Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
Remember me to one who lives there
She must be a true love of mine

Tell her she'll sleep in a goose-feather bed
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
Tell her I sear she'll have nothing to dread
She must be a true love of mine

Tell her tomorrow her answer make known
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
What e'er she may say I'll not leave her alone
She must be a true love of mine

Her answer came in a week and a day
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
I'm sorry good sir, I must answer thee nay
I'll not be a true love of thine

From the sting of my curse she can never be free
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
Unless she unravels my riddlings three
She will be a true love of mine

Tell her to make me a magical shirt
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
Without any seam or needlework
Else she'll be a true love of mine

Tell her to find me an acre of land
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
Between the salt water and the sea strand
Else she'll be a true love of mine

Tell her to plow it with just a goat's horn
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
And sow it all over with one grain of corn
Else she'll be a true love of mine
And her daughters forever possessions of mine ~ Nancy Werlin

A gospel which contains judgement as a prominent strand, as does the New Testament gospel, is relevant to men and women everywhere and in every age and culture. It does not need indigenization,57 so popular a catchword today, but requires only clarity of language and faithfulness in proclamation. The sense of right and wrong is universal in the human race and so is the knowledge that we fall below our own standards of what is right, and that this entails death. ~ Broughton Knox

Well, poetry - at least lyric poetry - tries to lead us to relocate ourselves in the self. But everything we want to do these days is an escape from self. People don't want to sit home and think. They want to sit home and watch television. Or they want to go out and have fun. And having fun is not usually meditative. It doesn't have anything to do with reassessing one's experience and finding out who one is or who the other guy is. It has to do with burning energy. When you go to the movies, you're overcome with special effects and monstrous goings-on. Things unfold with a rapidity that's thrilling. You're not given a second to contemplate the previous scene, to meditate on something that's just happened - something else takes its place.

We seem to want instant gratification. Violent movies give you instant gratification. And drugs give you instant gratification. Sporting events give you instant gratification. Prostitutes give you instant gratification. This is what we seem to like. But that which requires effort, that which reveals itself only in the long term, that which demands some learning, patience, or skill - and reading is a skill - there's not enough time for that, it seems. We forget that there is a thrill that attends the slower pleasures, pleasures that become increasingly powerful the more time we spend pursuing them.

SHAWN

Maybe people avoid poetry because it somehow actively makes them nervous or anxious.

STRAND
Mark Strand

What about the hero of The House on the Strand? What did it mean when he dropped the telephone at the end of the book? I don't really know, but I rather think he was going to be paralysed for life. Don't you? ~ Daphne Du Maurier

Everything is connected, like a delicate web. Ever growing, ever changing. New silvery strands come together every day, and once the strand is formed, no matter what superficial circumstances may sometimes keep you apart, it is never broken. You will meet again, perhaps in another lifetime. The connection is unbreakable, lying dormant in your subconscious. ~ Chelsie Shakespeare

I heard the Candor made ice cream," says Marlene, twisting her head around to see the lunch line. "You know, as a kind of 'it sucks we got attacked, but at least there are desserts' thing."
"I feel better already," says Lynn dryly.
"It probably won't be as good as Dauntless cake," says Marlene mournfully. She sighs, and a strand of mousy brown hair falls in her eyes.
"We had good cake," I tell Caleb.
"We had fizzy drinks," he says.
"Ah, but did you have a ledge overlooking an underground river?" says Marlene, waggling her eyebrows. "Or a room where you faced all your nightmares at once?"
"No," says Caleb, "and to be honest, I'm kind of okay with that."
"Si-ssy," sings Marlene.
"All your nightmares?" says Caleb, his eyes lighting up. "How does that work? I mean, are the nightmares produced by the computer or by your brain?"
"Oh God." Lynn drops her head into her hands. "Here we go. ~ Veronica Roth

Zane awakened them both early. By the time Chase stirred, he had both their tents down and was on his third cup of coffee. Phoebe had promised she could act completely normal, but looking at her from across the fire, he wasn't so sure. There was no way anyone could see her dreamy expression and not know something was different.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "What? You keep looking at me. I know my makeup can't be smudged. I'm not wearing any."
It didn't matter; she was still beautiful.
"You look different," he told her. "Satisfied?"
Color flared on her cheeks. "You're only saying that because you know the truth."
"Uh-huh."
He doubted that, but maybe she was right. Or maybe the weather would be enough of a distraction to keep everyone from figuring out the truth.
"How long is it going to rain?" she asked as she fingered a pole holding up the canvas sheet they put up to protect the fire and the seating area around it. "It sure got cold and damp in a hurry."
Zane shrugged. "No way to tell. The storm is supposed to hang around for a few days, but maybe it will blow over."
He hoped it would. Traveling in the rain wouldn't be fun for anyone. And he couldn't simply turn them around, head to the ranch and be there in time for lunch. They were at the farthest point from his house. It was a full two-day ride back.
Phoebe finished her coffee. "I'm going to check and see if my things are dry," she said as she stood.
He ~ Susan Mallery

The fairest state of them all, this tranquil and beloved domain - what has it now become? A nursery for Mississippi, Alabama, Arkansas. A monstrous breeding farm to supply the sinew to gratify the maw of Eli Whitney's infernal machine, cursed be that blackguard's name! In such a way is our human decency brought down, when we pander all that is in us noble and just to the false god which goes by the vile name of Capital! Oh, Virginia, woe betide thee! Woe, thrice woe, and ever damned in memory be the day when poor black men in chains first trod upon thy sacred strand! ~ William Styron

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

Kate looked like the last strand of her patience was about to snap. She took in a breath, pumping her hands into fists.

"Aaron. Go upstairs. Gather your things, or so help me, I'll–"

"What?" Aaron challenged. "You'll do what? Yell at me? Raise your hand again?" His green eyes slit with rage. "Go ahead. Maybe this time you'll actually hit me. ~ S.F. Mazhar

I blew a strand of hair out of my face and wandered to a table where spices and herbs were laid out in jewellike bowls. Rosemary, thyme, spearmint, cinnamon, cardamom. Their fragrance beckoned me. My fingers twitched.
A pinch of delicate reddish-orange threads lay in a clear bowl. They smelled of sunshine.
Saffron. For success.
I knew exactly what to make. ~ Rajani LaRocca

I was born in Rome on March 11, 1923. Because of my age, I've become a piece of this country's history, but it's also true that a certain strand of Italy's film history has passed though me. ~ Giovanna Cau

I'd say ... " Petra crossed her legs, tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "I'd say, I am too fucking fabulous for one gender. Oh, and can we please get rid of the cheesy dance numbers? It's like torture step-ball-change."
"I'd say I am not a race. I am an individual," Nicole said.
Sosie moved her fingers gracefully, but no one understood. She waited for a moment. "I would say, learn to hear me in my own voice. I'm hearing impaired, not invisible. ~ Libba Bray

For some of the kids on my bus, the deviation is so small: an imperfection in the DNA strand so tiny that an electron microscope cranked to 100,000X magnification shows but a shadow. A knot of rogue atoms. Weightless. A body forms itself around that anomaly, and next comes a life, and the lives of that person's family. ~ Craig Davidson

I like to photograph people who have strength and dignity in their faces. Whatever life has done to them, it hasn't destroyed them. ~ Paul Strand

Remember that your tracks are one strand of the web woven endlessly in the hand of god. They're tied to those of the mouse in the field, the eagle on the mountain, the crab in its hold, the lizard beneath its rock. The leaf that falls to the ground a thousand miles away touches your life. The impress of your foot in the soil is felt through a thousand generations. ~ Daniel Quinn

When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body's been. ~ Mark 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

We are reading the story of our lives
As though we were in it
As though we had written it. ~ Mark Strand

Poetry is about slowing down. You sit and you read something, you read it again, and it reveals a little bit more, and things come to light you never could have predicted. ~ Mark Strand

Sawyer reached out and twirled a strand of my hair around his finger. "Even if I was wrong to take you without a thought to Beau's feelings, I can't make myself regret it. I've had three amazing years with you, Ash."
I didn't know what to say. I'd had good times too but I did regret choosing the wrong Vincent boy. He gave me one last sad smile then dropped my hair and walked away. ~ Abbi Glines

Perhaps [he had] persevered for too long, in the face of too many obstacles, his hair proof of his tenacity - the stark black streaked with white or, in certain light, stark white shot through with black, each strand of white attributable to the jungle fever (so cold it burned, his skin glacial), each strand of black a testament to being alive afterwards. ~ Jeff VanderMeer

When you write, you are telling a story ... to yourself. When you revise, you are telling a story to yourself ... over and over again. ~ Kai Strand

I didn't call you here to bust my chops." I clarified, "I need some advice." He sarcastically replied, "Awesome. How may I assist the almighty Nik Strand?" "Fuck you," I said with no heat. My brother knew how much his opinion mattered to me. He laughed, "No, thanks. I'm really not into that sort of thing. Besides, incest is illegal," he pointed out. "Hardy ~ Lora Ann

I certainly can't speak for all cultures or all societies, but it's clear that in America, poetry serves a very marginal purpose. It's not part of the cultural mainstream. ~ Mark Strand

He noticed that she threw away the crumbled bus ticket on the street as soon as she got down. He picked it up and put it in his pocket along with his own a memorabilia of their first date together, just like a strand of her hair he would find later on his shirt and the broken pen cap that she would go on to search in the laboratory and so many other such small things which he would collect. ~ Faraaz Kazi

He took a strand of hair that had fallen loose from her chignon between his fingers. The gesture shocked her, not because his self-control seemed to have snapped, but the exact opposite - it felt like a deliberate choice on his part. ~ Sherry Thomas

Another strand of my writing is the importance of the idea. If you think about fiction writing as a spectrum, where at one end of the spectrum in the infrared, are the story tellers, and the people for whom creation of wonderful characters and telling a good story is the most important thing. ~ Alan Lightman

Each person is a strand of story. ~ Neil Gaiman

You'd need a very specialized electron microscope to get down to the level to actually see a single strand of DNA. ~ Craig Venter

A final reminder. Whenever you are in Paris at twilight in the early summer, return to the Seine and watch the evening sky close slowly on a last strand of daylight fading quietly, like a sigh. ~ Kate Simon

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

VII"

Oh you can make fun of the splendors of moonlight,
But what would the human heart be if it wanted
Only the dark, wanted nothing on earth

But the sea's ink or the rock's black shade?
On a summer night to launch yourself into the silver
Emptiness of air and look over the pale fields

At rest under the sullen stare of the moon,
And to linger in the depths of your vision and wonder
How in this whiteness what you love is past

Grief, and how in the long valley of your looking
Hope grows, and there, under the distant,
Barely perceptible fire of all the stars,

To feel yourself wake into change, as if your change
Were immense and figured into the heavens' longing.
And yet all you want is to rise out of the shade

Of yourself into the cooling blaze of a summer night
When the moon shines and the earth itself
Is covered and silent in the stoniness of its sleep. ~ Mark Strand

Did I express my personality? I think that's quite unimportant because it's not people's selves but what they have to say about life that's important. ~ Paul Strand