Lantresor Quotes & Sayings

This is part of the complexity of grief: A piece of you recognizes it is an extreme state, an altered state, yet a large part of you is entirely subject to its demands. — Meghan O'Rourke

To Amalfitano, Jordi seemed a shy and formal boy. Rosa liked his silence, which she mistook for thoughtfulness when it was really just a symptom of the confusion raging in his head. — Roberto Bolano

I feel more for you than ever have for anyone, and anything we do together isn't me using you!" He squeezes his eyes shut and sets his forehead on mine. "It's me giving myself to you. — Mila Ferrera

For how many people do you think might yet stand on this planet before the sun grows cold? That's the responsibility we hold in our hands. — David R. Brower

To the Happy Few! — Stendhal

That late bloomers bloom late because they simply aren't much good until late in their careers. — Malcolm Gladwell

Writing is one of the ways I participate in transformation. — Toni Cade Bambara

Tartakower once wrote that after planting a Knight in the center you can go to sleep. This is not to be taken literally, of course, but it contains more than a germ of truth. — Samuel Reshevsky

For to define true madness,
What is't but to be nothing else but mad? — William Shakespeare

Many estates are spent in the getting, since women for tea forsake spinning and knitting, and men for punch forsake hewing and splitting. — Benjamin Franklin

PATER SERAPHICUS. Higher rise, still higher, growing Stronger imperceptibly, Near the Divine Presence gaining A more perfect purity! What is it the spirit thrives on, What fills the ethereal space? Endless love whose revelation Blitheness brings, eternal bliss. — Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

Never trust someone who can't enjoy music [...] you can guarantee that they're only half alive. — Jane Godwin

Can you guess what I'm doing?"
"Cutting my heart out."
"You took mine when I was ten; I want yours now. We are lovers of justice, you and I - what could be more just than that? — William Goldman

Here the train was halted. The Scotch half-breed slowly retraced his steps to the camp they had left. The men ceased talking. A revolver-shot rang out. The man came back hurriedly. The whips snapped, the bells tinkled merrily, the sleds churned along the trail; but Buck knew, and every dog knew, what had taken place behind the belt of river trees. — Jack London

Art directors speak in pictures. If you want an art director to understand what you're saying, you need to draw some lines and circles on a piece of paper. — Nevada Scheffler