Deep Last Words Quotes & Sayings

One might reasonably wonder whether any amount of failed results would cause liberals to reevaluate the wisdom - and even fairness - of their proposals. — David Limbaugh

As the chapters took shape, a change came over her. It was the double-sided recognition that this book, the last that she would write, might achieve esteem and success equal to her great novel, but that its emotional heart would lie in her own unhappiness for having failed to find the one thing she wanted. For the first time she was a character in her own writing, and her frailties and mistakes were trapped on the page by the beauty and unsparing focus of her prose. Towards the end it was a battle to finish a page. The story was the story she had told herself for decades, deep within her own mind, and now as it grew, line by line, on the paper before her, she wrestled with each turn in the path all over again, as if it were still possible to change its course with the power of her words. — Frederick Weisel

As close as we'd been when we were together, we were closer in our unraveling, telling each other everything at last, words that seemed to us might never have been spoken between two human beings before, so deep we went, saying everything that was beautiful and ugly and true. — Cheryl Strayed

It lies here deep in the heart, the small chest of pain
Sharp words like daggers placed it here
To fill with hurt
In filling it grew heavy and drug me down
For to not feel is not to live
Until I rest at last in dirt
The worst of you got the best of me ... — Neil Leckman

Kelly took a deep breath. "And I'm sorry I ignored you last week." She scratched her neck. "And you know what? If you think you're a girl..."

George braced for Kelly's next words.

"Then I think you're a girl too! — Alex Gino

If you swim effortlessly in the deep oceans, ride the waves to and from the shore, if you can breathe under water and dine on the deep treasures of the seas; mark my words, those who dwell on the rocks carrying nets will try to reel you into their catch. The last thing they want is for you to thrive in your habitat because they stand in their atmosphere where they beg and gasp for some air. — C. JoyBell C.

Nowhere can a secret keep
Always secret, dark and deep,
Half so well as in the past,
Buried deep to last, to last.
Keep it in your own dark heart.
Otherwise the rumors start.
After many years have buried
Secrets over which you worried,
No confidant can then betray
All the words you didn't say.
Only you can then exhume
Secrets safe within the tomb
Of memory, of memory,
Within the tomb of memory.
-The Book of Counted Sorrows — Dean Koontz

Words were his delight;
Hers, a gay gracefulness
Of dancing and moving.
But when to the place
Of deep loving
(Starlight at midnight)
At last they came,
Their full communion
And consummation,
Their complete sphere,
Was stillness for her,
Silence for him. — Theodore Spencer

He stared at her, his dark eyes unfathomable. "You could meet a better, worthier man."
She laughed, a strained, harsh sound. "I've already met one--he's marrying my sister!"
The words blazed forth, hanging in the air as though etched in fire, impossible to recall or deny. They stared at each other, scarcely breathing--then, in an instant, Trevenan closed the distance between them in one stride and pulled her to him, arms banding around her like iron.
Their mouths met in a fierce mutual claiming, and the world went white around them--white as lightning, white as the heart of a flame. Closing her eyes, Aurelia let herself fall, deep into a void where all that existed was his touch, his taste, and the hot, urgent press of his lips against hers. This, she thought hazily. Yes, this. And knew by his response, the guttural moan in his throat, that it was the same for him. Love, that is first and last of all things made...
"Damn you, James! Why couldn't you wait for me? — Pamela Sherwood

He had really a movement of anger against her at that moment, and it impelled him to go away without pause. It was all one flash to Dorothea - his last words - his distant bow to her as he reached the door - the sense that he was no longer there. She sank into the chair, and for a few moments sat like a statue, while images and emotions were hurrying upon her. Joy came first, in spite of the threatening train behind it - joy in the impression that it was really herself whom Will loved and was renouncing, that there was really no other love less permissible, more blameworthy, which honor was hurrying him away from. They were parted all the same, but - Dorothea drew a deep breath and felt her strength return - she could think of him unrestrainedly. At that moment the parting was easy to bear: the first sense of loving and being loved excluded sorrow. It was as if some hard icy pressure had melted, — George Eliot

In many chapels, reddened by the setting sun, the saints rest silently, waiting for someone to love them." These words, penned by an unknown priest, long dead,were the inspiration for my new series on the lives of saints who have fallen deep into the shadows of obscurity. My hope is that, in reading their heroic stories, you will make the acquaintance of some of God's Forgotten Friends. (From the Preface of "Saint Magnus The Last Viking") — Susan Peek

Brilliant blue gazes met. "I swear before you and God that I will. But if something should happen, and this morning should go awry, promise me you'll take care of her. Promise me you'll tell her ... " Ralston paused.
"Tell her what?"
Ralston took a deep breath, the words bringing a tightening in his chest. "Promise me you'll tell her that I was an idiot. That the money didn't matter. That, last night, faced with the terrifying possibility that I had lost her ... I realized that she was the most important thing I had ever had ... because of my arrogance and my unwillingness to accept what has been in my heart for too long ... " He trailed off. "What the hell have I done?"
"It appears that you've gone and fallen in love. — Sarah MacLean

Magic existed in his eyes, his energy as he lived his daily life. I could fall into his soul and lay my worries to rest, but if by chance this happened; it wouldn't last the test.
because there's much to learn, before we can meet, I want to collide with his heart; allow our souls to fleet.
His arms will hold my fears, but he won't carry the load; as it is my lesson to love myself, and find my own sense of hope.
When we cross our paths, our knowledge will last the test; as patience fills the air and our burdens are put to rest,
I will honour my truth, and seek what I desire; ever lasting love and passion set on fire. — Nikki Rowe

Fine. You can pull away from me for now. You can keep your distance and shake. But Eve, I'll not let you do it forever."
She looked up at that, blue eyes wide and startled. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he said, a deep sense of rightness spreading through him even as he gathered the words, "that I won't let this stand. I will touch you. Sometime. Somewhere. I'm going to touch you all over, Eve, and what's more, you'll enjoy it."
His voice had deepened as he'd spoken until the last words of his mouth left his mouth in a purring rumble. — Elizabeth Hoyt

If you are not radiant with joy and friendliness, if you are not filled to overflowing with love and goodwill for all beings and all creatures and all creation, one thing is certain: you do not know God! — Peace Pilgrim

She remembers blood.
A fine mist which goes deep into her lungs, over her skin and through the air. She remembers a desert at dusk. The sky indigo blue and the fire bright, so bright that she can see everything. Near the fire, in the night, all she knows is chaos wrapped in crimson. All is death and nightmare with a single solitary dancer who smiles cruelly as he moves. He is power and darkness. He is man and beast, silver coin eyes and that face, those claws and the agony of loss.
Time stretches wide; seconds like vast eons swallow up her world. Vince is dead, his mother, his brother and her small son ripped apart and gushing as he/it moves. She is screaming, a howl of agony beyond words, primal and wordless. Still he moves, faster than air, faster than she could ever be. Blood drips from her face as she grunts, running with her lungs on fire and her last remaining hope wrapped in her arms. — Amanda M. Lyons

Ramrod felt a great sadness building up, deep within. There were no words to express his feeling of loss. The sorrow rose up from the pit of his stomach and caught in his throat. He had a strangled ejaculation buried deep down in his soul. Yes, Ramrod missed his wife very, very much. He missed the warmth of her breasts pressed up against him in the night. He even missed her cold feet. And he especially missed her bedtime facial. Yes, it's true - he missed her eyes, he missed her mouth. He had trouble remembering how she wore her hair the last time he saw her, and he missed that, too. It's like, where Love was concerned, Ramrod's aim wasn't very good. Yes, life was becoming very, very hard on Ramrod. — Earl Lee

At last he stopped, and she stared down at the printed column of words, unable to comprehend a single one. His hand, warm and steady, wound its way around hers, wrapping it like a spider would its prey. She surrendered it to him, unable to watch even as his thumb traced the place, just above her knuckles, where he had once written his number in deep violet. Isobel ceased to breathe. Her heart pounded in her chest, her thoughts shattering into senseless fragments. All the while, her eyes remained trained and unblinking on the open page. Lines without meaning stared up at her, little more than black sticks in an otherwise white world. — Kelly Creagh

O, but they say, the tongues of dying men enforce attention, like deep harmony: where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain: for they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain. he, that no more must say, is listened more than they whom youth and ease have taught to gloze; more are men's ends marked, than their lives before: the setting sun, and music at the close, as the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last; writ in rememberance more than things long past — William Shakespeare

She smiled. She knew she was dying. But it did not matter any longer. She had known something which no human words could ever tell and she knew it now. She had been awaiting it and she felt it, as if it had been, as if she had lived it. Life had been, if only because she had known it could be, and she felt it now as a hymn without sound, deep under the little whole that dripped red drops into the snow, deeper than that from which the red drops came. A moment or an eternity- did it matter? Life, undefeated, existed and could exist. She smiled, her last smile, to so much that had been possible. — Ayn Rand

No one has ever properly understood me, I have never fully understood anyone; and no one understands anyone else — Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

With large eyes full of tears, but said nothing. 'This here young lady,' said the Gryphon, 'she wants for to know your history, she do.' 'I'll tell it her,' said the Mock Turtle in a deep, hollow tone: 'sit down, both of you, and don't speak a word till I've finished.' So they sat down, and nobody spoke for some minutes. Alice thought to herself, 'I don't see how he can even finish, if he doesn't begin.' But she waited patiently. 'Once,' said the Mock Turtle at last, with a deep sigh, 'I was a real Turtle.' These words were followed by a very long silence, broken only by an occasional exclamation of 'Hjckrrh!' from the Gryphon, and the constant heavy sobbing — Lewis Carroll

I think I read in at least two ways. First, by following, breathlessly, the events and the characters without stopping to notice the details, the quickening pace of reading sometimes hurtling the story beyond the last page < ... >. Secondly, by careful exploration, scrutinizing the text to understand its ravelled meaning, finding plesasure merely in the sound of the words or in the clues which the words did not wish to reveal, or in what I suspected was hidden deep in the story itself, something too terrible or too marvellous to be looked at. — Alberto Manguel

Afterwards, sitting on my bunk, I cried. I read somewhere that when you're a kid it's people's cruelty that makes you cry, then when you're an adult it's their kindness. I hadn't realised until that moment how completely I'd given up any entitlement to kindness.
And then when I saw Jake, so visibly strung out, looking so totally alone, the makeup felt cheap on my face, a stupid girl's gesture. (The girl's still in there, waist-deep in the blood and guts of the monster's victims. There might be something out there that'll kill the girl but if so I can't imagine what it could be.)
Are you okay? I'm fine. Are you all right? I'm fine. Weeks of waiting and then when the moment comes you trade the plainest words.
The nearness of him hurt, my heart, my head, my breasts, my womb, it felt like, started the wolf trying to tear itself free. — Glen Duncan

What my day is like depends on where I am. — Daniela Pestova

When we unloaded the last box Vincent surprised me by taking my hand and placing a kiss on my knuckles. His deep chocolate eyes gazed into mine as he spoke with an air of knowing wisdom, "If I ever cheated on my wife I think she'd have cut my balls off. If you don't want to castrate this guy after what he's done then he's not the one for you." he nodded as though affirming the truth of his words. — Penny Reid

But you can't get to the place you most want to be without taking a chance. — Susane Colasanti

He didn't mince words. "Anyone that wants to live, get in." His voice was deep and powerful, matching the promise his body made. He was confident and self-assured, the kind of man you wanted in your corner when the monsters came knocking. With his arrival, our chance of survival had just shot up exponentially. — Rose Wynters

Last words? I'm sure it has been an eventful journey. Someone will want to make your eulogy creative, I have no doubt. I can only wonder what will happen to the mind of the person that is forcefully debugged with their consciousness this deep into the WoAnLiNe. It's going to make an interesting case study for some boring old zero that has that kind of time. I should erase your Animus while I'm at it. It would keep these sorts of problems from happening in the future, troublemaker. — Brandon R. Chinn

I'd be happy to die for a taste of what Angel had. Someone to live for. Unafraid to say I Love You. — Jonathan Larson

I love the solitude of reading. I love the deep dive into someone else's story, the delicious ache of a last page. — Naomi Shihab Nye

In roles as leaders and mentors, givers resist the temptation to search for talent first. By recognizing that anyone can be a bloomer, givers focus their attention on motivation. The — Adam M. Grant

Paul Broca, for example, was a famous French craniologist in the nineteenth century whose name is given to Broca's area, the part of the frontal lobe involved in the generation of speech (which is wiped out in many stroke victims). Among his other interests, Broca used to measure brains, and he was always rather perturbed by the fact that the German brains came out a hundred grams heavier than French brains. So he decided that other factors, such as overall body weight, should also be taken into account when measuring brain size: this explained the larger Germanic brains to his satisfaction. But for his prominent work on how men have larger brains than women, he didn't make any such adjustments. Whether by accident or by design, it's a kludge. — Ben Goldacre