Caledvwlch Quotes & Sayings

Leonardo da Vinci had foreseen that beginning humanistically with mathematics one has only particulars and will never come to universals or meaning, but will end only with mechanics. It — Francis A. Schaeffer

Is it not strange that sheep's guts could hail souls out of men's bodies? — William Shakespeare

The fiending for a state of stasis, for the safety of childhood and the nostalgia of the madeleine in the tea or an eternal library is not too far removed from the desire for death. The idealizing of the past is a kind of death. — John Thomas Allen

My agent called me and said, they watched you do Chopped Champions and they thought you'd be good for this competition. What do you think? And I said, well, what do you think? He said he thought it would be great and I said let's do it. When you decide to do this, you don't really think that you're going to win it. I thought it would be fun, good to test my mettle; games are fun like that. Why not? I'll try it. — Geoffrey Zakarian

The cops got out of the car and came straight towards me. My first thought was, How hypocritical ... They head straight for the kid all in black ... — Bella Shadow

Since thou wilt not remain here, chieftain, thou shalt receive the boon whatsoever thy tongue may name, as far as the wind dries, and the rain moistens, and the sun revolves, and the sea encircles, and the earth extends; save only my ship; and my mantle; and Caledvwlch, my sword; and Rhongomyant, my lance; and Wynebgwrthucher, my shield; and Carnwenhau, my dagger; and Gwenhwyvar, my wife — Anonymous

When I was young, when I started to write, we were totally convinced that literature was a kind of weapon. — Mario Vargas-Llosa

The historic atmosphere was there, certainly; but the historic atmosphere, scientifically considered, was no better than a villainous miasma — Henry James

And although he hadn't fretted over whether his life was worthwhile, he had always wondered why he, why so many others, went on living at all; it had been difficult to convince himself at times, and yet so many people, so many millions, billions of people, lived in misery he couldn't fathom, with deprivations and illnesses that were obscene in their extremity. And yet on and on and on they went. So was the determination to keep living not a choice at all, but an evolutionary implementation? Was there something in the mind itself, a constellation of neurons as toughened and scarred as tendon, that prevented humans from doing what logic so often argued they should? And yet that instinct wasn't infallible - he had overcome it once. But what had happened to it after? Had it weakened, or become more resilient? Was his life even his to choose to live any longer? — Hanya Yanagihara