Ghost Walker Quotes & Sayings

For the world is broken, sundered, busted down the middle, self ripped from self and man pasted back together as mythical monster, half angel, half beast, but no man ... Some day a man will walk into my office as a ghost or beast or ghost-beast and walk out as a man, which is to say sovereign wanderer, lordly exile, worker and waiter and watcher. — Walker Percy

What if a puppet could cut its own strings, and in that act of defiance and strength of will become truly alive? Become is own puppetmaster? — Barry Lyga

Why does everyone look like they've just seen a ghost?" "Our — Julie Ann Walker

I'd grown up hearing stories about the special hazards that girls faced. I knew where the bodies were found: naked on beaches or cut into pieces, parts frozen in freezers or buried in cement. These stories were never kept from us girls. Instead they were spread around like ghost stories, our parents hoping that fear would do the job that our judgment might not. — Karen Thompson Walker

Obama specializes in knocking down straw men. 'I reject the view that says our problems will simply take care of themselves,' he said, implying that's the view of Republicans. It's the view of almost no one. — Fred Barnes

Under a smoky streetlamp I stood face to face with my beloved and pricked my fingers against the diamond studs of her immaculate shirt front. Being tall, she slipped her hands naturally about my hips and pulled me close. And being bold, I put my mouth on hers and this time went inside and told her all the things I'd been longing to. Dark and sweet, the elixir of love is in her mouth. The more I drink, the more I remember all the things we've never done. I was a ghost until I touched you. Never swallowed mortal food until I tasted you, never understood the spoken word until I found your tongue. I've been a sleep-walker, sad somnambula, hands outstretched to strike the solid thing that could awaken me to life at last. I have only ever stood here under this lamp, against your body, I've missed you all my life. — Ann-Marie MacDonald

I made a very bad mistake; I miscounted these scraps of information on the record as 92, and in continual homage to this man who had been so influential to me, I began creating or constructing my own films on this so-called "magic" number of 92 ... but when I eventually made a film about John Cage and met him, I explained this to him, and he found it very amusing because there are only 90 stories on the two sides of the record, and I'd based three years of my filmic career on this mathematical error! — Peter Greenaway

A man is after all himself and no other, and not merely an example of a class of similar selves. If such a man is deprived of the means of being a self in a world made over by science for his use and enjoyment, he is like a ghost at a feast. He becomes invisible. That is why people in the modern age took photographs by the million: to prove despite their deepest suspicions to the contrary that they were not invisible. — Walker Percy

It looked like a ghost had dressed up the forest in tulle. — Courtney King Walker

My laps-meter, the first caliper of the soul and the first hope of bridging the dread chasm that has rent the soul of Western man ever since the famous philosopher Descartes ripped body loose from mind and turned the very soul into a ghost that haunts its own house. — Walker Percy

The Self since the time of Descartes has been stranded, split off from everything else in the Cosmos, a mind which professes to understand bodies and galaxies but is by the very act of understanding marooned in the Cosmos, with which is has no connection. It therefore needs to exercise every option in order to reassure itself that it is not a ghost but is rather a self among other selves. One such option is a sexual encounter. Another is war. The pleasure of a sexual encounter derives not only from physical gratification but also from the demonstration to oneself that, despite one's own ghostliness, one is, for the moment at least, a sexual being. Amazing! Indeed, the most amazing of all the creatures in the Cosmos: a ghost with an erection! Yet not really amazing, for only if the abstracted ghost has an erection can it, like Jove spying Europa on the beach, enter the human condition. — Walker Percy

Have you ever turned to the end of a horror novel to see if the hero made it out of the darkness and into the light? If you have ever done this, I have three simple words which I feel it is my duty to convey: SHAME ON YOU! It is low to mark your place in a book by folding down the corner of the page where you left off; TURNING TO THE END TO SEE HOW IT CAME OUT is even lower. If you have this habit, I urge you to break it . . . break it at once! — Stephen King

It, the self, is in fact the only alien in the entire Cosmos.
The modern objective consciousness will go to any length to prove that it is not unique in the Cosmos, and by this very effort establishes its own uniqueness. Name another entity in the Cosmos which tries to prove it is not unique.
The earth-self seeks to understand the Cosmos overtly according to scientific principles while covertly exempting itself from the same understanding. The end of this enterprise is that the self understands the mechanism of the Cosmos but by the same motion places itself outside the Cosmos, an alien, a ghost, outside a vast machinery to which it is denied entry. — Walker Percy

Injustice is ABUSE ... No matter who or where it's committed! It must be stopped at all times! — Timothy Pina

Though jealousy be produced by love, as ashes are by fire, yet jealousy extinguishes love as ashes smother the flame ... — Marguerite De Navarre

Her voice is thin and her moan is high,
And her cackling laugh or her barking cold
Bring terror to the young and old.
O Molly, Molly, Molly Means
Lean is the ghost of Molly Means. — Margaret Walker

If I have the strength to sit here for months," he murmured, almost painfully. "Falling more and more hopelessly in love with you every single day, while you're still madly in love with a ghost, then you can have that same kind of strength to move on from this. — Tabitha Freeman

The lost self: With the passing of the cosmological myths and the fading of Christianity as a guarantor of identity of the self, the self becomes dislocated, Jefferson or no Jefferson, is both cut loose and imprisoned by its own freedom, yet imprisoned by a curious and paradoxical bondage like a Chinese handcuff, so that the very attempts to free itself, e.g., by ever more refined techniques for the pursuit of happiness, only tighten the bondage and distance the self ever farther from the very world is wishes to inhabit as its homeland. The rational Jeffersonian pursuit of happiness embarked upon in the American Revolution translates into the flaky euphoria of the late twentieth century. Every advance in an objective understanding of the Cosmos and in its technological control further distances the self from the Cosmos precisely in the degree of the advance - so that in the end the self becomes a space-bound ghost which roams the very Cosmos it understands perfectly. — Walker Percy

And don't get all pissy if they laugh at you."
"Why should I take it personally? I didn't pick this costume, so they'll be laughing at you, not me."
A faint ghost of his old grin surfaces, but disappears almost immediately. — Rysa Walker

Uh-huh. Now Ali was beginning to get the picture. Riding backseat on a bike like Phantom was better than Mr. Blue any day. Not to mention the highly erotic act of wrapping one's legs around the man you loved. — Julie Ann Walker

Fine," she hoisted her purse higher and her gaze snagged on the delicious bulge of his male butt hugged so lovingly in a pair of khaki cargo shorts. Wow. Talk about a glutenous maximus that defied gravity. Even though he was a complete jackass, she couldn't help but drool. — Julie Ann Walker

But something about having Ali there made him feel...lighter. Dare he admit it? Maybe even a teensy bit happy?

"Nate?"

Scratch that. He didn't just want to take on the world when she said his name like that, he wanted to take on the whole friggin' galaxy. ""Yeah?"

"I'm toughing you."

No doubt about that. The baseball bat he was trying to conceal behind his zipper was testimony enough. "I noticed. — Julie Ann Walker

Sugar. He'd taken to calling her that. She wasn't sure if she should be flattered or irritated. She certainly didn't feel like sugar, not today. Today, she felt far too...unmoored to be something as fine and delicate as sugar.

Syrup, maybe. All messy and sticky and slow moving.

Yeah, she could probably go along with being called syrup. — Julie Ann Walker

Beatle bones and smokin' stones the dry sands fall. — Don Van Vliet

He spared a glance at her distressed face and knew it to be a mistake instantly.

He was momentarily arrested because...man, six feet away she was pretty.

Up close like this? Total gut-shot.

Of course, having just seen all of her unmentionables didn't help matters. Unmentionables?

Whoever came up with that ridiculous term? Underwear that fantastic deserved to be mentioned on a regular basis.

Shit, he wasn't going to think about her underwear. which, of course, only made him wonder what color she had on under those tight, distressed jeans and that thin T-shirt. Pink? Her outfit was pink. Women often matched their underwear to their outfits. At least that's been his experience. So...probably pink.

Holy shit! He was not going to think about her underwear! — Julie Ann Walker

She shot him a look.

"What?" he asked.

"Where's my journal? I want to jot this down for posterity."

Huh?

He lifted a confused brow and she smirked, ornery light glinting in her amber brow.

"You just spoke, like what? A whole four sentences? Not to mention there were a few adjectives thrown in there. That must be some sort of record. It should be memorialized accordingly, don't you think? She batted her lashed.

Jesus, the woman was too much. — Julie Ann Walker

So where do you want me?" she finally asked in order to fill the stifling silence.

Something blazed in his eyes for a second, a quick flash that brightened the ebony of his impassive gaze. Then whatever it was disappeared so fast she was left wondering if she'd really seen anything at all.

Nah, she decided, surely not, because that would mean she fired some emotion in him, and as far as she knew, the man was a complete cyborg. — Julie Ann Walker