Without A Trace Movie Quotes

Without a trace of irony I can say I have been blessed with brilliant enemies. I owe them a great debt, because they redoubled my energies and drove me in new directions. ~ E. O. Wilson

Nothing. I have no way of getting in touch with Machiavelli."
Virginia produced her wooden flute and spun it in her fingers. "I don't know why you're so worried, Doctor. I can easily lull them to sleep with-"
Before she could finish her sentence a green-skinned, green-haired, fish-tailed woman had leapt straight up out of the sea, snatched the flute from Virginia's fingers and splashed back into the water on the opposite side of the boat, leaving her empty-handed.
Virginia Dare's scream was hideous. Flinging off her smoke-stained jacket and pulling off her shoes,she launched herself over the side of the boat and disappeared beneath the waves without a trace. ~ Michael Scott

We will never have any memory of dying.

We were so patient
about our being,
noting down
numbers, days,
years and months,
hair, and the mouths we kiss,
and that moment of dying
we let pass without a note -
we leave it to others as memory,
or we leave it simply to water,
to water, to air, to time.
Nor do we even keep
the memory of being born,
although to come into being was tumultuous and new;
and now you don't remember a single detail
and haven't kept even a trace
of your first light.

It's well known that we are born.

It's well known that in the room
or in the wood
or in the shelter in the fishermen's quarter
or in the rustling canefields
there is a quite unusual silence,
a grave and wooden moment as
a woman prepares to give birth.

It's well known that we were all born.

But if that abrupt translation
from not being to existing, to having hands,
to seeing, to having eyes,
to eating and weeping and overflowing
and loving and loving and suffering and suffering,
of that transition, that quivering
of an electric presence, raising up
one body more, like a living cup,
and of that woman left empty,
the mother who is left there in her blood
and her lacerated fullness,
and its end and its beginning, and disorder
tumbling the pulse, the floor, the covers
till ev ~ Pablo Neruda

I was afraid. Of getting hurt in other ways. To be truthful, I still am."
His thumb stroked her cheek. "I would never hurt you."
"I don't think you can promise me that." She squeezed his bruised fingers. "But it makes things a bit more equal, to know that I can hurt you, too."
His gaze fell to her lips. He said simply, without any trace of irony, "You are killing me. ~ Tessa Dare

We women, me and you. Tell me something real. Don't just say I'm grown and ought to know. I don't. I'm fifty and I don't know nothing. What about it? Do I stay with him? I want to, I think. I want ... well, I didn't always ... now I want. I want some fat in this life."
"Wake up. Fat or lean, you got just one. This is it."
"You don't know either, do you?"
"I know enough to know how to behave."
"Is that it? Is that all it is?"
"Is that all what is?"
"Oh shoot! Where the grown people? Is it us?"
"Oh, Mama." Alice Manfred blurted it out and then covered her mouth.
Violet had the same thought: Mama. Mama? Is this where you got to and couldn't do it no more? The place of shade without trees where you know you are not and never again will be loved by anybody who can choose to do it? Where everything is over but the talking?
- Violet Trace and Alice Manfred ~ Toni Morrison

Burns immediately left the class, and going into the small inner room where the books were kept, returned in half a minute, carrying in her hand a bundle of twigs tied together at one end. This ominous tool she presented to Miss Scatcherd with a respectful curtesy; then she quietly, and without being told, unloosed her pinafore, and the teacher instantly and sharply inflicted on her neck a dozen strokes with the bunch of twigs. Not a tear rose to Burns' eye; and, while I paused from my sewing, because my fingers quivered at this spectacle with a sentiment of unavailing and impotent anger, not a feature of her pensive face altered its ordinary expression. "Hardened girl!" exclaimed Miss Scatcherd; "nothing can correct you of your slatternly habits: carry the rod away." Burns obeyed: I looked at her narrowly as she emerged from the book-closet; she was just putting back her handkerchief into her pocket, and the trace of a tear glistened on her thin cheek. ~ Charlotte Bronte

I'm heading out."
Her gaze searched his and, a little breathless, she asked, "Leaving?"
"Yeah." He stepped closer. Any second how Trace would intrude. "Thing is, Alani, I can't be around you without wanting you. Bad. Really bad."
"Oh."
"If that's crude, well, then screw it, I'm crude. I know we'd have a great time in bed, but since you aren't ready for that yet, well . . . I promised Trace I wouldn't pressure you."
Her neck went stiff. "Dear God. You discussed this with my brother?"
"No!" He cut a hand through the air and his voice lowered. "When . . . if . . . I get you out of your panties, believe me, it'll be a private thing between us. No way in hell would I discuss that with anyone else."
Her face went as red as Priss's had.
"Trace and I talked about you maybe decorating my house, that's all."
"Oh." Face still hot, she said, "I - "
"Yeah, forget it. That's off. Like I said, I'd just hanker for you, and you aren't exactly reciprocating. So that's that."
She blinked fast.
"But if you ever change your mind, all you have to do is let me know." He reached out and touched her cheek. Her skin was soft and warm and he wanted to feel her all over.
All over him. Naked. Hungry. Wet . . .
Damn, he had it bad. "I can promise you, if you do come to me, you won't regret it."
She swallowed, licked her lips and damned if her eyes didn't heat. She wanted him, too. He had to believe that. But Trace was starting up t ~ Lori Foster

Many a trace, and many a germ of this infantile disease, to which without a doubt, I also am a victim, has been chased away by your brochure, or will yet be eradicated by it. ~ Herman Gorter

But a punishment like forced labour or even imprisonment – mere loss of liberty – has never functioned without a certain additional element of punishment that certainly concerns the body itself: rationing of food, sexual deprivation, corporal punishment, solitary confinement … There remains, therefore, a trace of 'torture' in the modern mechanisms of criminal justice – a trace that has not been entirely overcome, but which is enveloped, increasingly, by the non-corporal nature of the penal system ~ Michel Foucault

In England, one without a trace of Royalty will master. Twenty months he will rule; twenty months he will bleed the lands, then his end comes quickly. ~ Nostradamus

Small wonder, then, that an institution like the Library found space to take root. It was presented as a good cause, created in the hope of encouraging people to be more open with one another. Its creators were little more than boys: perky, smiling youngsters, well groomed and well dressed, without a trace of facial hair. They looked designed to win people's trust. And who wouldn't trust a cheerful, articulate young man who came calling at your door, inviting you to chat with him about this and that, about the meaning of life, about all the hunger and suffering in the world? It's true; it was whispered that dark forces acted behind them, national and international groups hungry for vengeance after certain recent defeats. But who could believe such things in front of polite young lads who always looked you in the eyes and shook your hand. ~ Giorgio De Maria

For the same reason there is nowhere to begin to trace the sheaf or the graphics of differance. For what is put into question is precisely the quest for a rightful beginning, an absolute point of departure, a principal responsibility. The problematic of writing is opened by putting into question the value of the arkhe. What I will propose here will not be elaborated simply as a philosophical discourse, operating according to principles, postulates, axioms, or definitions, and proceeding along the discursive lines of a linear order of reasons. In the delineation of differance everything is strategic and adventurous. Strategic because no transcendent truth present outside the field of writing can govern theologically the totality of the field. Adventurous because this strategy is a not simple strategy in the sense that strategy orients tactics according to a final goal, a telos or theme of domination, a mastery and ultimate reappropriation of the development of the field. Finally, a strategy without finality, what might be called blind tactics, or empirical wandering if the value of empiricism did not itself acquire its entire meaning in opposition to philosophical responsibility. If there is a certain wandering in the tracing of differance, it no more follows the lines of philosophical-logical discourse than that of its symmetrical and integral inverse, empirical-logical discourse. The concept of play keeps itself beyond this opposition, announcing, on the eve of philosophy an ~ Jacques Derrida

The black magic that evil-minded people of all religions practice for their ugly and inhuman motives. The modern world ignores that and even do not believe in it; however, it exists, and it sufficiently works too.

When I was an assistant editor, in an evening newspaper, I edited and published such stories. As a believer, I believe that. However, not that can affect everyone; otherwise, every human would have been under the attack of it.

No one can explain and define black magic and such practices. The scientists today fail to recognize such a phenomenon; therefore, routes are open for black magic to proceeds its practices without hindrances.

One can search online websites, and YouTube; it will realize a large number of the victims of that the evil practice by evil-minded peoples of various societies. The magic, black magic, or evil power exists, and it works too.

Evil power causes, effects, and appears, as diseases and psychological issues since no one can realize, trace, and prove that horror practice; it is the secret and privilege of the evil-minded people that law fails to catch and punish them, for such crime.

I exemplify here, the two events briefly, one a very authentic that I suffered from it and another, a person, who also became a victim of it.

The first, when I landed on the soil of the Netherlands, I thought, I was in the safest place; however, within one year, I faced the incident, which was a ~ Ehsan Sehgal

It was such a radiant smile, without a trace of shadow, that I couldn't help smiling myself. ~ Haruki Murakami

If tone is granted to be subjected to control, why not line also, which has equal emotional significance? And if line, why not shapes and forms? And if shapes and forms, why not allow elision or emphasis of detail? And if all these things are allowed, what becomes of the record of actuality ? ... Sunk without a trace! ~ William Mortensen

They vanished in the same forest without a trace. Not one of them was ever found or heard from again.'
'And you suspect what?' Scully asked. 'Bigfoot maybe?'
'Not likely,' Mulder answered deadpan. 'That's a lot of flannel to choke down. Even for Bigfoot.'
Scully sighed. She should have known better than to joke about Bigfoot to Mulder. Bigfoot wasn't a joke to him. ~ Les Martin

If we allow our thoughts to arise and dissolve by themselves,
they will pass through our mind as a bird flies through the sky,
without leaving a trace. ~ Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche

The feeling of inner detachment and isolation is not in itself an abnormal phenomenon but is normal in the sense that consciousness has withdrawn from the phenomenal world and got outside time and space.

You will find the clearest parallels in Indian philosophy, especially in Yoga.

In your case the feeling is reinforced by your psychological studies.

The assimilated unconscious apparently disappears in consciousness without trace, but it has the effect of detaching consciousness from its ties to the object.

I have described this development in my commentary on the Golden Flower. It is a sort of integration process and an anticipation of consciousness.

The cross is an indication of this, since it represents an integration of the 4 (functions).

It is perfectly understandable that, when consciousness detaches itself from the object, the feeling arises that one does not know where one stands.

Actually one is standing nowhere, because standing has a below and an above.

But there one has no below and above at all, because spatiality pertains to the world of the senses, and consciousness possesses spatiality only when it is in participation with that world.

It is a not-knowing, which has the same positive character as nirvana in the Buddhist definition, or the wu-wei, not-doing, of the Chinese, which does not mean doing nothing.

The profound doubt you seem to be suffering fr ~ C.G. Jung

Women are hard to keep track of, most of them. They slip into other names, and sink without a trace. ~ Margaret Atwood

The person who did all of these things has gone away, vanished without a trace in the ecstasy of existence. ~ Frederick Lenz

Maybe I had had an illusion, I thought. I stood there a long time, gazing at the rainswept streets. Once again, I was a twelve-year-old boy staring for hours at the rain. Look at the rain long enough, with no thoughts in your head, and you gradually feel your body falling loose, shaking free of the world of reality. Rain has the power to hypnotize.
But this had been no illusion. When I went back into the bar, a glass and an ashtray remained where she had been. A couple of lightly crushed cigarette butts were lined up in the ashtray, a faint trace of lipstick on each. I sat down and closed my eyes. Echoes of music faded away, leaving me alone. In that gentle darkness, the rain continued to fall without a sound. ~ Haruki Murakami

Does anyone swim in there?"
"Everyone does." Without thinking, he added, "I can bring you back sometime when we're not so pressed for - " Trace caught himself before finishing that awesome thought. Pressed for time or not, the odds of him ever returning here with Priss were slim to none.
Gaze cynical, Priss looked at him over her shoulder. "Yeah, right. Maybe we'll do that." She turned to face him. "Sometime when we're not at odds, when we're not dealing with a madman who enjoys selling women, when you haven't just drugged me earlier in the day?"
Trace rubbed the back of his neck. "All of the above. ~ Lori Foster

The minute Molly and Priss disappeared inside, Trace cursed. He actually wanted to hit something, but a tree would break his knuckles, he didn't want to put another dent in the truck, and Dare would hit back.
Chris Chapey, Dare's longtime best friend and personal assistant, approached with the enormous cat draped over one shoulder so that he could keep an eye on the trailing dogs. The bottom half of Liger filled his arms, and the long tail hung down to the hem of Chris's shorts.
Without even thinking about it, Trace started petting the cat. After a few hours in the truck together, he and Liger had an understanding of sorts.
Dare watched him, but said only, "That cat is a beast."
"He's an armful, that's for sure." Chris hefted him a little higher, and got a sweet meow in return.
Both dogs barked in excitement, but quited when Liger gave them a level stare.
Chris laughed at that. "You want me to head in to keep an eye on things"
"That's why I pay you the big bucks, right?" Dare stared toward the house. "You can tell Trace's lady - "
"She's not mine."
Both Chris and Dare gave him a certain male-inspired look, a look that said they understood his bullshit and would let it slide - for now. ~ Lori Foster

His hands fist in my hair as he pulls my face up to his, and his mouth is on mine, a passionate desperation in his kiss. I don't know why this takes me by surprise, but it does. I taste his relief, his longing, and his residual anger while his tongue possesses my mouth. He stops, gazing down at me, resting his weight against me so I can't move. He leaves me breathless, clinging to him for support, staring up into that beautiful face etched with determination and without any trace of humor. ~ E.L. James

It never ceased to amaze me how she just had the facts always, in her head. It occured to me that if, or when, she died, a whole load of facts, a body of knowledge, might disappear without a trace. ~ Olivia Sudjic

Only the passionate were immortal, it seemed. If you fought, screwed, screamed, laughed, or otherwise experienced life intensely, for better or worse, you left a record. Those who lived a quiet, well-behaved, well-tempered life? Gone without a trace. ~ Magnus Flyte

How did you merit so much devotion so quickly?' I asked, making no attempt to keep the sarcasm from my voice.
'I show them Heaven', said she, without a trace of irony. 'People are so desperate for light'. ~ Rachel Hartman

They weren't on a yacht that was devoured by a hurricane. Yet they vanished. They weren't in a private plane that dropped off the radar in a remote area. Yet they vanished. They're home wasn't washed away in a flood, they weren't on the run from the law and didn't owe the mafia a bunch of money but they vanished, without reason and without a trace.
The Prophet of Life From The Family That Vanished ~ The Prophet Of Life

In nature nothing remains constant. Everything is in a perpetual state of transformation, motion, and change. However, we discover that nothing simply surges up out of nothing without having antecedents that existed before. Likewise, nothing ever disappears without a trace, in the sense that it gives rise to absolutely nothing existing in later times. ~ David Bohm

God help me, how Tolstoy sweats over drying up people's sources of life, of wild and joyful life, drying them up and making the world fat with the love of God and everyman ... But the man is old, after all, his fountains of life run dry, without a trace remaining of human affections ... Only someone who has become slow and watertight with old age, satiated and hardened with pleasure, will go to youth and say, Renounce! ... And yet the youth renounces nothing, but sins royally for forty years. Such is the course of nature! ~ Knut Hamsun

We do not disappear without a trace. We leave a wake that never quite disappears, a gash in time that we so laboriously leave behind us. ~ Lars Saabye Christensen

But most of all, where did this deeply complex sweetness come from?! It's far too nuanced to be solely brown sugar!"
"Oh, the answer to that is in the flavoring I used."
"Soy sauce?!"
"Oh my gosh, she added soy sauce to a dessert?!"
"I used it at the very end of the recipe.
To make the whipped-cream filling, I used heavy cream, vanilla extract, light brown sugar and a dash of soy sauce.
Once the cakes were baked, I spread the whipped cream on top, rolled them up and chilled them in the fridge for a few minutes.
All of that made the brown sugar in the cake both taste and look even cuter than it did before."
"Aah, I see. The concept is similar to that of salted caramels. Add salt to something sweet..
... and by comparison the sweetness will stand out on the tongue even more strongly.
She's created a new and unique dessert topping- Soy Sauce Whipped Cream!"
"Soy sauce whipped cream, eh? I see! So that's how it works!"
Since it isn't as refined as white sugar, brown sugar retains trace amounts of minerals, like iron and sodium.
The unique layered flavor these minerals give to it matches beautifully with the salty body of soy sauce!
"Without brown sugar as the main component, this exquisite deliciousness would not be possible!"
"It tastes even yummier if you try some of the various fruits in between each bite of cake.
The candy sculptures are totally edible too.
If you break one up into crumbs an ~ Yuto Tsukuda

Spooky Twisties:

All things Spooky, here begin
They lay and wait, in books within.
They sometimes pass, in open space.
Then leave and go, without a trace.
Some appear on the spot.
Some we know, others not.
Sometimes we are afraid to say,
"leave us now", or beg to stay.
At times they leave a sign beyond,
A gentle breeze, or note from song.
Be not afraid, to read story's close.
For in the dark, your spirit goes. ~ Terri Bertha

On the whole, mental archaeology was a sordid digging proposition. The evil men did endured, the good was infinitely more ephemeral. You could generally find out whether a man had been a horse-thief, or an embezzler or a wife-beater, if you worked hard enough, but acts of kindness, of charity, a gay spirit, vanished without leaving a trace. ~ Helen Kieran Reilly

Is it not a pity when some stylistic subtlety is lost without trace by the reader's inattention? ~ David Richards

I looked into his sandy brown eyes, at one with the hair. At the business- like outward presentation of the man who daily printed sneers, innuendo, distrust and spite and spoke without showing a trace of them. 'Off the record,' I said,'bash his face in'. ~ Dick Francis

All Hell is smaller than one pebble of your earthly world: but it is smaller than one atom of this world, the Real World. Look at yon butterfly. If it swallowed all Hell, Hell would not be big enough to do it any harm or to have any taste'
'It seems big enough when you're in it, Sir.'
'And yet all loneliness, angers, hatreds, envies, and itchings that it contains, if rolled into one single experience and put into the scale against the least moment of the joy that is felt by the least in Heaven, would have no weight that could be registered at all. Bad cannot succeed even in being bad as truly as good is good. If all Hell's miseries together entered the consciousness of yon wee yellow bird on the bough there, they would be swallowed up without trace, as if one drop of ink had been dropped into that Great Ocean to which your terrestrial Pacific is only a molecule'
'I see,' said I at last. 'She couldn't fit into Hell. ~ C.S. Lewis

Tis long since I beheld that eye
Which gave me bliss or misery;
And I have striven, but in vain,
Never to think of it again:
For though I fly from Albion,
I still can only love but one.
As some lone bird, without a mate,
My weary heart is desolate;
I look around, and cannot trace
One friendly smile or welcome face,
And ev'n in crowds am still alone,
Because I cannot love but one.
And I will cross the whitening foam,
And I will seek a foreign home;
Till I forget a false fair face,
I ne'er shall find a resting-place;
My own dark thoughts I cannot shun,
But ever love, and love but one. ~ George Gordon Byron

For I have indeed been torn from all my roots, even from the earth that nourished them, more entirely than most in our times. I was born in 1881 in the great and mighty empire of the Habsburg Monarchy, but you would look for it in vain on the map today; it has vanished without trace. I grew up in Vienna, an international metropolis for two thousand years, and had to steal away from it like a thief in the night before it was demoted to the status of a provincial German town. My literary work, in the language in which I wrote it, has been burnt to ashes in the country where my books made millions of readers their friends. So I belong nowhere now, I am a stranger or at the most a guest everywhere. Even the true home of my heart's desire, Europe, is lost to me after twice tearing itself suicidally to pieces in fratricidal wars. Against my will, I have witnessed the most terrible defeat of reason and the most savage triumph of brutality in the chronicles of time. Never - and I say so not with pride but with shame - has a generation fallen from such intellectual heights as ours to such moral depths. ~ Stefan Zweig

It is the prerogative of night, when thoughts, like relentless waves, break on the impressionable sands of the mind. Questions, theories, and suppositions come crashing ashore, and just like waves, they disappear into the grains of the mind without a trace. In this sea of uncertainty, stormed by nocturnal nightmares, the mind slips in and out of consciousness. It is the melting pot where logic and fantasy combine until supposition becomes hypothesis and hypothesis morphs into unsubstantiated fact. ~ Luke Gracias

In this modern world of ours many people seem to think that science has somehow made such religious ideas as immortality untimely or old fashioned. I think science has a real surprise for the skeptics. Science, for instance, tells us that nothing in nature, not even the tiniest particle, can disappear without a trace. Nature does not know extinction. All it knows is transformation. If God applies this fundamental principle to the most minute and insignificant parts of His universe, doesn't it make sense to assume that He applies it to the masterpiece of His creation, the human soul? ~ Wernher Von Braun

Only you could climb the highest mountain in the Empire, hunt down a fallen star, and escape the Fifth Army without a trace. - Tem, to Kamzin ~ Heather Fawcett