Repeated Words In Quotes & Sayings

There is a crucial omission. The front page should display the words of the Nuremberg judgment of prominent Nazis - words that must be repeated until they penetrate general consciousness: Aggression is "the supreme international crime differing only from other war crimes in that it contains within itself the accumulated evil of the whole." And alongside these words there should be the admonition of the chief prosecutor for the United States, Robert Jackson: "The record on which we judge these defendants is the record on which history will judge us tomorrow. To pass these defendants a poisoned chalice is to put it to our own lips as well. — Noam Chomsky

Say what you said before again. The Irish thing. I want to say it back to you."
He smiled. Took her hand. "You'll never pronounce it."
"Yes, I will."
Still smiling, he said it slowly, waited for her to fumble through. But her eyes stayed steady and serious as she brought his hand to her heart, laid hers on his, and repeated the words.
She saw emotion move over his face. His heart leaped hard against her hand. "You undo me, Eve."
He sat up, dropped his brow against hers. "Thank God for you," he murmured in a voice gone raw. "Thank God for you. — J.D. Robb

Knowledge [savoir] in general cannot be reduced to science, nor even to learning [connaissance]. Learning is the set of statements which, to the exclusion of all other statements, denote or describe objects and may be declared true or false. Science is a subset of learning. It is also composed of denotative statements, but imposes two supplementary conditions on their acceptability: the objects to which they refer must be available for repeated access, in other words, they must be accessible in explicit conditions of observation; and it must be possible to decide whether or not a given statement pertains to the language judged relevant by the experts. — Jean-Francois Lyotard

I'm yours." It was his turn to stop her words. "Just stay with me," he said. "In any way you want." "You deserve better." Rough, broken words. "There's no one better than you." "I'll be the best soldier you ever have," she repeated in a shattered whisper. "I know." It would have to be enough. — Nalini Singh

You are outside life, you are above life, you have miseries which the ordinary man does not know, you exceed the normal level, and it is for this that men refuse to forgive you, you poison their peace of mind, you undermine their stability. You have irrepressible pains whose essence is to be inadaptable to any known state, indescribable in words. You have repeated and shifting pains, incurable pains, pains beyond imagining, pains which are neither of the body nor of the soul, but which partake of both. And I share your suffering, and I ask you: who dares to ration our relief? ... We are not going to kill ourselves just yet. In the meantime, leave us the hell alone. — Antonin Artaud

Yes. Da,' I corrected.
'Say it again.'
'What?'
His voice grew husky as he repeated his request. 'Say yes - in Russian - again.'
I blushed. 'Da,' I whispered. 'Will you teach me more Russian, Pietr?'
'Mmm, only the important words,' he promised.
I bit back my request for the three most important words to me. 'What words would you teach me?'
'Pocelujte menyah.'
'What's that mean?'
He groaned. 'Repeat it tonight and perhaps I will show you. — Shannon Delany

I followed him up the stairs. I was a fornicator, of unnatural appetite, in thrall to an Atheist. I repeated the words in my head and tried to feel the shock of them, but they remained strange and cruel, far removed from Ferris and me. It was simpler to say I was in love. — Maria McCann

I am very sorry, sir, but I cannot give you the Windsor crown," Rita said calmly. "I do not have it, and even if I did, it is not mine to give away."
"I don't know if you heard me correctly," the sergeant repeated, his words falling like bricks. "I said, hand it over."
Rita smiled serenely and stood, holding her thin hands clasped in front of her. Nora glanced up at her, a worried look in her eyes.
"Quite possibly it was you who did not understand my reply. I said, I am very sorry, but I am afraid I cannot give you the crown. But I can offer you a nice cup of tea, and I just baked a batch of cheddar scones."
A muffled snicker went through the room. I could even see Wesley, who stood by the door, trying not to smile. — Galaxy Craze

Finnvid repeated Theos's words over in his mind, committing them to memory. And he repeated them in his heart, and committed them to Theos. — Kate Sherwood

But in a way it's like looking at old photographs of yourself. There comes a point at which the record needs to be updated, because you've shed too many links with what you were. He doesn't quite know how it happened; all he knows is that he doesn't recognize himself in those stories any more, though he remembers the bursting feeling of writing them, something in himself massing and pushing irresistibly to be born. He hasn't had that feeling since; he almost thinks that to remain a writer he'd have to become one all over again, when he might just easily become an astronaut, or a farmer. It's as if he can't quite remember what drove him into words in the first place, all those years before, yet words are what he still deals in. I suppose it's a bit like marriage, he said. You build a whole structure on a period of intensity that's never repeated. It's the basis of your faith and sometimes you doubt it, but you never renounce it because too much of your life stands on that ground. — Rachel Cusk

Lord have mercy! Pardon and help us! he repeated the words that suddenly and unexpectedly sprang to his lips. And he, an unbeliever, repeated those words not with his lips only. At that instant he knew that neither his doubts nor the impossibility of believing with his reason- of which he was conscious- all prevented his appealing to God. It all flew off like dust. To whom should he appeal, if not to Him in whose hands he felt himself, his soul, and his love, to be? — Leo Tolstoy

There's nothing to be scared of, right Akhol?"
He said nothing as he stepped toward the rushing water that rolled around a big rock and was swallowed whole by impenetrable darkness.
"Right?" Andrew repeated, his voice swallowed by the sound of rushing water.
Akhol didn't respond again. He tapped a foot above the water before he stepped in and disappeared beneath the surface in one fluid motion. — Laura Kreitzer

Such words as amen, hallelujah, glory and others of like sacred association are repeated endlessly and meaninglessly in the apparent belief that they have in them some strange power for good. This can be no more than high-grade magic. It will pay us to search our own hearts thoroughly to discover just why we use these words. — Aiden Wilson Tozer

What are the funniest famous last words you've ever heard?" Lost, Ryan just stared at her. Why did her brain constantly spit out nonsensical questions? "Fine be boring." She turned to Jaime, who was sprawled on the neighboring blanked, and repeated the question.

"Lightning never hits the same spot twice," said Jaime. Everyone laughted. "You know any"" she asked her mate.

"Pull the pin out and count to what?" said Dante.

Dominic plopped himself on the ground next to Zac. "I got one: Hold my beer while I do this."

Taryn raised her hand. "Hey, what does this button do?"
"This doesn't taste right," said Marcus.
Bracken, a Mercury Pack enforcer spoke. "It's just a flesh wound."
Ally offered, "No dummy, that's a dolphin fin."
"What's that red dot on your forehead?" said McKenna.
Amused in spite of himself - it was after all, a completely pointless conversation - Ryan kissed her temple. — Suzanne Wright

I get to live forever," he repeated. Luce was still lost, but he kept talking, a stream of words pouring out of his mouth. "I get to live, and to watch babies being born, and grow up, and fall in love. I watch them have babies of their own and grow old. I watch them die. I am condemned, Luce, to watch it all over again and again. Everyone but you." His eyes were glassy. His voice dropped to a whisper. "You don't get to fall in love
" "But ... ," she whispered back. "I've ... fallen in love. — Lauren Kate

I love you." My heart almost stopped beating in my chest.
She hadn't spoken those words since the last time I held her in my arms.
"And you did leave me. But ... but you came back. No one's ever come back. They leave me and that's it. They want to leave me. You didn't. And you came back." I wanted to stand up and reach across the table and jerk her into my arms but I wasn't sure I could stand up just yet. I needed to hear everything she had to say.
"Yes, I came back. My heart never left you."
"I miss you."
This time I stood up and walked around the table.
"I miss you. Every second of every day," I whispered. Her eyes followed me until I was inches from her.
"I trust you."
I needed more than that.
"You trust me," I repeated.
She nodded and her hand came up and caressed the side of my arm.
"I want to try again."
Those were the words I needed to hear. — Abbi Glines

Sam," she said.
"I'm trying!"
"Sam," she repeated.
"No," he spat, hearing her tone. "No!"
He began screaming for help then. Celaena pressed her face to one of the holes in the grate. Help wasn't going to come-not fast enough.
"Please," Sam begged as he beat and yanked on the grate, he tried to wedge another dagger under the lid. "Please don't."
She knew he wasn't speaking to her.
The water hit her neck.
"Please," Sam moaned, his fingers now touching hers. She'd have one last breath. Her last words.
"Take my body home to Terrasen, Sam," she whispered. And with a gasping breath, she went under. — Sarah J. Maas

Do not hope; instead, observe were words that Flora, as a cynic, had found useful in the extreme. She repeated them to herself a lot. — Kate DiCamillo

We must find out what words are and how they function. They become images when written down, but images of words repeated in the mind and not of the image of the thing itself. — William S. Burroughs

Dorrigo, the children, her friends, and her wider family - they all existed for her as a way of divining the world. It was a far larger and more wondrous place with them than it was without them. If she hoped for the same love from Dorrigo, and if she was disappointed in her hope, she did not feel its absence as a reason not to love him. The problem was that she did. Her love was without reason and would never yield to reason. Though it longed for requital, her love in the end did not demand it.
But when he was away at night, she would lie awake, unable to sleep. And she would think of him and her and feel the most overwhelming sadness. She may have been a trusting woman but she was very far from a stupid one. She repeated his words and echoed his opinions not because she was without thoughts of her own, but because her nature was one that wished to live through others. Without love, what was the world? Just objects, things, light, darkness. — Richard Flanagan

Milo was concerned for Vilenthe she had a point the words repeated in her mind what makes you think she gives a shit you?Just think about that for a second before you do anything you'll regret. — Charon Lloyd-Roberts

Inej turned to go. Kaz seized her hand, keeping it on the railing. He didn't look at her. "Stay," he said, his voice rough stone. "Stay in Ketterdam. Stay with me."
She looked down at his gloved hand clutching hers. Everything in her wanted to say yes, but she would not settle for so little, not after all she'd been through. "What would be the point?"
He took a breath. "I want you to stay. I want you to ... I want you."
"You want me." She turned the words over. Gently, she squeezed his hand. "And how will you have me, Kaz?"
"How will you have me?" she repeated. "Fully clothed, gloves on, your head turned away so our lips can never touch? — Leigh Bardugo

Finally he spoke the three simple words that no amount of bad art or bad faith can every quite cheapen. She repeated them, with exactly the same slight emphasis on the second word, as though she were the one to say them first. He had no religious belief, but it was impossible not to think of an invisible presence or witness in the room, and that these words spoken aloud were like signatures on an unseen contract. — Ian McEwan

Saying those words made a sharp, quick panic rise up in her, an aching pain that had her throat closing. "You left me," she repeated. Maybe it was only out of blind terror at the abyss opening up again around her, but she whispered, "I have no one left. No one. — Sarah J. Maas

You spoke to strangers for hours. Afterward you walked the streets in search of other cafes, but they were closed. You stretched out on the park benches of a square near the Gare Saint-Lazare, and you remarked on the shape of the clouds. At six o'clock you had breakfast. At seven you took the first train home. When, the next day, your friends repeated to you the words you had spoken to strangers in the cafe, you remembered nothing of them. It was as though someone else inside you had spoken. You recognized neither your words, nor your thoughts, but you liked them better than you would have if you had remembered saying them. Often all it took was for someone else to speak your own words back to you for you to like them. — Edouard Leve

Now ye repeat the words as I say them," Logan said.
He murmured something in Gaelic, and she repeated the words aloud as best she could.
"Good," he praised.
Again, she warmed inside. Foolishly.
When she'd finished her part, he said something similar in return. She heard her name in the mix of Gaelic.
Then Munro stepped forward and unwound the cloth.
"What now?" Maddie asked.
"Just this." He bent his head and pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

-Logan & Maddie — Tessa Dare

He had in those days imagined himself capable of extraordinary heroisms and endurances which would make the girl he loved forget the awkward hands and the spotty chin of adolescence. Everything had seemed possible. One could laugh at daydreams, but so long as you had the capacity to daydream there was a chance that you might develop some of the qualities of which you dreamed. It was like the religious discipline: words however emptily repeated can in time form a habit, a kind of unnoticed sediment at the bottom of the mind, until one day to your own surprise you find yourself acting on the belief you thought you didn't believe in. — Graham Greene

And so I realise that I want for myself the vibrant substratum of the word repeated in a Gregorian chant. I'm aware that everything I know I cannot say, I know only by paining or pronouncing syllables blind of meaning. And if here I have to use words for you, they must create an almost exclusively bodily meaning. I'm battling with the ultimate vibration. To tell you my substratum I make a sentence of words composed only of the now-instants. — Clarice Lispector

The young man had killed himself; but she did not pity him; with the clock striking the hour, one, two, three, she did not pity him, with all this going on. There! the old lady had put out her light! The whole house was dark now with this going on, she repeated, and the words came to her, Fear no more the heat of the sun. She must go back to them. But what an extraordinary night! She felt somehow very like him - the young man who had killed himself. She felt glad that he had done it; thrown it away. The clock was striking. The leaden circles dissolved in the air. He made her feel the beauty; made her feel the fun. But she must go back. She must assemble. She must find Sally and Peter. And she came in from the little room. — Virginia Woolf

A poor man needs the escape far more than a wealthy man does."
"Escape," Amanda repeated, having never heard a book described in such a way.
"Yes, something to transport your mind from where and who and what you are. Everyone needs that. A time or two in my past, it seemed that a book was the only thing that stood between me and near insanity. I-"
He stopped suddenly, and Amanda realized that he had not meant to make such a confession. The room became uncomfortably quiet, with only the jaunty snap of the fire to intrude on the silence. Amanda felt as if the air were throbbing with some unexpressed emotion. She wanted to tell him that she understood exactly what he meant, that she, too, had experienced the utter deliverance that words on a page could provide. There had been times of desolation in her own life, and books had been her only pleasure. — Lisa Kleypas

[H]is first purpose was to explain himself, and before they reached Mr. Allen's grounds he had done it so well that Catherine did not think it could ever be repeated too often. She was assured of his affection; and that heart in return was solicited, which, perhaps, they pretty equally knew was already entirely his own; for, though Henry was now sincerely attached to her, though he felt and delighted in all the excellencies of her character and truly loved her society, I must confess that his affection originated in nothing better than gratitude, or, in other words, that a persuasion of her partiality for him had been the only cause of giving her a serious thought. It is a new circumstance in romance, I acknowledge, and dreadfully derogatory of an heroine's dignity; but if it be as new in common life, the credit of a wild imagination will at least be all my own. — Jane Austen

You're with Hunter." It was more of a question than a statement.
Tears welled up in my eyes. "But it hasn't been right. It hasn't been you. I can't ... I haven't been able to - " I sucked in a deep breath. "I can't be a real girlfriend to him when all I can do is think about you."
"Ah, shit, Pepper." Still holding my face, he lowered his forehead to mine. "I'm not going through this again with you just so you can run when you get scared that I'm not like some ideal you built up in your head. I love you. I'm fucking in love with you, but it's all or nothing. I won't do this again unless it's going to be like that."
Now I was crying, choking on my sobs. "I know. I want that. It took me so long to figure that out, but I know now. You are the safest thing I'll ever find." I deliberately repeated his words, holding his gaze and letting them sink in. "Because you love me. Because I love you. — Sophie Jordan

She was never going to be the kind of person who didn't stick out in all directions. To want it was the same as hating herself. That was the truth. She breathed those words. She could have repeated them a hundred times and they wouldn't have hurt any worse. Reality was stubborn for sure, but it was large and it had possibilities. It was a sweet relief when you let it come. — Ann Brashares

Dead?' repeated the old woman in the dressing gown. She sounded offended. 'Has hif,' she said, grandly aspirating each aitch as if that were the only way to convey the gravity of her words. 'Has hif han 'Empstock would hever do hanything so . . . common . . . — Neil Gaiman

Look,' said Cyrus, raising his knife again and pointing it at her. 'Give me one reason why we shouldn't kill your boyfriend over there. Come on. The dark scowling face is reason enough in my book.'
She could have sworn she heard the sound of Lucas's eyes narrowing to slits.
'Come on, just one reason,' Cyrus repeated, 'and it better not include the words love, eternal or soul. — Sarah Alderson

You haven't," he repeated. "You're stewin' on it."
This was true too. If I had a dollar for every time his words in his voice popped into my head and made me flinch the last two days, I could move to the Riviera. They even woke me up in the middle of the night. Then again, I had insomnia and always did, even as a kid. I regularly thought of stuff in my life, stuff that embarrassed me or hurt me or worried me or freaked me out and I couldn't get to sleep. Then, when I did, I'd wake up three, four times a night sometimes tossing and turning for hours before finding sleep again. This beautiful man saying those horrible words when talking about me was not only fresh, it was the worst of all my nightly demons by far and it would be in a way I knew would last the rest of my life. — Kristen Ashley

And for some reason she held the sentence suspended without meaning in her mind's ear, " ... quite enough for everybody at present," she repeated. After all the foreign languages she had been hearing, it sounded to her pure English. What a lovely language, she thought, saying over to herself again the common place words ... — Virginia Woolf

He stood up. In his own mind, he stepped sideways. Shifting his
thoughts. His fears were his own, weren't they? He'd spun them out
from himself. He'd forged them from every hurt and fury. Fear was a
reminder that even the insubstantial could kill. But insubstantial meant it had no shape. It couldn't be conquered or tamed or avoided. Only moved through, with force and will. Vikram crouched, his fingers splayed on the ground, his breath forming icicles in the air.
His fears bore down. Sharp. Hungry. He grinned.
I made you.
I own you.
He repeated the words like a mantra, until he found the strength to
stand . . .
And run. — Roshani Chokshi

Brightpaw's eye opened and she fixed a cloudy gaze on Fireheart.
"What happened?" he repeated. "What did this?"
A thin wailing came from Brightpaw, which gradually formed into words. Fireheart stared at her in horror as he made out what she was trying to say.
"Pack, pack," she whispered. "Kill, kill. — Erin Hunter

And everything that comes out of my mouth is gonna be repeated in two-sentence-long bites for the next years of my life. Certain words travel far and wide. — Cory Monteith

I love you," he told her, wiping impatiently at the tears that kept trickling down his face. "I couldn't say it before. I couldn't
" He clenched his trembling jaw, trying to control the hot flow of tears. It only made them worse. Giving up, he buried his face in her hair. "Bloody hell," he muttered.
Sara had never seen him so undone, had never imagined it possible. Stroking his dark head, she whispered meaningless words, trying to give him comfort.
"I love you," he repeated hoarsely, burrowing against her. "I would have given my life to have one more day with you, and tell you that. — Lisa Kleypas

Newton, Pascal, Bossuet, Racine, F?nelon
that is to say, some of the most enlightened men on earth, in the most philosophical of all ages
have been believers in Jesus Christ; and the great Cond?, when dying, repeated these noble words, "Yes, I shall see God as He is, face to face!". — Luc De Clapiers

If only," repeated Rick with a shake of his head. "Those are two words in the English language that we regret saying the most. — Linda Weaver Clarke

Never had a decent report in his life!" Tony repeated, hardly able to believe the words. He was thinking, in shocked surprise, that even Tante Bettina did not know how mad the English could be. — Constance Savery

When a man may whisper in a close ear, and that whisper be repeated far away and many moons later, then he has power. When a many may speak against another, and that other be brought to ruin and rue by nothing more than those words, then he has power. And if a man can act without the appearance of action, and bring about great change without the appearance of desiring it, then he has power. — Brian Ruckley

Poem Written in a Copy of Beowulf
At various times, I have asked myself what reasons
moved me to study, while my night came down,
without particular hope of satisfaction,
the language of the blunt-tongued Anglo-Saxons.
Used up by the years, my memory
loses its grip on words that I have vainly
repeated and repeated. My life in the same way
weaves and unweaves its weary history.
Then I tell myself: it must be that the soul
has some secret, sufficient way of knowing
that it is immortal, that its vast, encompassing
circle can take in all, can accomplish all.
Beyond my anxiety, beyond this writing,
the universe waits, inexhaustible, inviting. — Jorge Luis Borges

In all my close friendships, words are the bricks I use to build bridges. To know someone I need to hear her, and to feel known, I need to be heard by her. The process of knowing and loving another person happens for me through conversation. I reveal something to help my friend understand me, she responds in a way that assures me she values my revelation, and then she adds something to help me understand her. This back-and-forth is repeated again and again as we go deeper into each other's hearts, minds, pasts, and dreams. Eventually, a friendship is built - a solid, sheltering structure that exists in the space between us - a space outside of ourselves that we can climb deep into. There is her, there is me, and then there is our friendship - this bridge we've built together. — Glennon Doyle Melton

Well," she repeated, "be it all right with you if Mr. Death pins her to the wall?"
Devyl hesitated as several scenarios for those words went through his mind. William having his way with the beast in a corner.
Or Will literally daggering the hag. — Sherrilyn Kenyon

The door," she said, her words muffled by my chest. She kicked my legs. We were in bed. The sun hadn't even come up yet.
I kicked her back.
"The door," she repeated, kicking me harder.
"Uhh," I moaned.
Then Ethan bellowed, "One of you asshole's get the fucking door."
"Uhh," I moaned.
"The door," she said again, kicking me harder again.
"Uhh." I kicked her back.
"Assholes, get the fucking door," Ethan yelled.
"Uhh."
And then my phone rang.
"Uhh," I answered.
"Dude." It was Jake. "Answer your fucking door."
"Uhh. — Jay McLean

From that time on they both looked forward to sleeping together. I might even say that the goal of their lovemaking was not so much pleasure as the sleep that followed it. She especially was affected. Whenever she stayed overnight in her rented room (which quickly became only an alibi for Tomas), she was unable to fall asleep; in his arms she would fall asleep no matter how wrought up she might have been. He would whisper impromptu fairy tales about her, or gibberish, words he repeated monotonously, words soothing or comical, which turned into vague visions lulling her through the first dreams of the night. He had complete control over her sleep: she dozed off at the second he chose. — Milan Kundera

I wanted to tell them that I'd never had a friend, not ever, not a real one. Until Dante. I wanted to tell them that I never knew that people like Dante existed in the world, people who looked at the stars, and knew the mysteries of water, and knew enough to know that birds belonged to the heavens and weren't meant to be shot down from their graceful flights by mean and stupid boys. I wanted to tell them that he had changed my life and that I would never be the same, not ever. And that somehow it felt like it was Dante who had saved my life and not the other way around. I wanted to tell them that he was the first human being aside from my mother who had ever made me want to talk about the things that scared me. I wanted to tell them so many things and yet I didn't have the words. So I just stupidly repeated myself. Dante's my friend. — Benjamin Alire Saenz

And then I think of the Velvet Underground's doleful song "Jesus," from their third and least renowned or appreciated album. It is my favorite. "Jesus / Help me find my proper place / Help me in my weakness / 'Cause I'm falling out of grace." The only words in the song, repeated repeatedly, composed by Lou Reed, a Jew. You see, in the hour of darkness, it is easier to turn to the Son of God than to God Himself, for some reason. I'm not sure why. — Elizabeth Wurtzel

Man is spiritual being
a soul, in other words
and that this soul takes on different bodies from life to life on earth to order at last to arrive at such perfect knowledge, through repeated experience, as to enable one to assume a body fit to be the dwelling-place of a Mahatma or perfected soul. Then, they say, that particular soul becomes a spiritual helper to mankind. — H. P. Blavatsky

Somehow, perhaps because of the way he spoke in a manner reminiscent of Jack Bauer from 24, Lara calmed down. She repeated his words in her head. Wait. Assess. Intel. Yes, OK, that sounded sensible.
Then the hysterical coward in her reared up unannounced and she tried to run for the door again. — Lola Salt

You're lying to yourself. You're holding this up as a way to keep me locked out. But it's too late. I'm in. You love me." I smiled softly as he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against my words. "You love me," I repeated, "and you'll never hurt me. And I will never hurt you. I will never use you like they did, like they all did. Because I want you. Just you. — Samantha Young

Kill him." Dr. Kissing repeated my words in a flat, matter-of-fact voice. "Just so. But 'kill,' as you will have observed, like 'spy' and 'stop,' is really just one more of those short but exceedingly troublesome words. — Alan Bradley

Maybe I'm old-fashioned," she repeated, "in this one area. I don't think we should live together. I
think we should get married."
"That's just another ... " The words sank in, momentarily dulled his brain. "Whoa."
"Yes, and with that scintillating response — Nora Roberts

What is life without this? which was why, in the end, it was I, and not her, who blurted out, not once, but many, many times, You'll kill me if you stop, you'll kill me if you stop, because it was also my way of bringing full circle the dream and the fantasy, me and him, the longed-for words from mouth to mouth, which was when I must have begun using obscenities that he repeated after me, softly at first, till he said, "Call me by your name and I'll call you by my name," which I'd never done in my life before and which, as soon as I said my own name as though it were his, took me to a realm I never shared with anyone in my life before, or since. — Andre Aciman

One day, you find it,' repeated Rodolphe, 'one day, quite suddenly, when you've given up hope. Then new horizons stretch before you, and it's like a voice that cries: "Here it is!" You long to tell this person everything that's ever happened to you, to give everything, to sacrifice everything to this person! There's no need for words - you can read each other's thoughts. You've seen each other in your dreams.' (He was staring at her.) 'So, at last, it's here, this treasure you've been so desperately seeking, here, before you, bright and sparkling. But you still feel unsure, you daren't believe in it; you're dazzled, as if you'd come from out of the shadows into the light. — Gustave Flaubert

But you, fine sir." John Miller clapped Dexter on the shoulder, a bit unsteadily. "You have problems of your own."
"This is true," Dexter replied, nodding.
"The women," John Miller sighed.
Dexter wiped a hand over his face, and glanced down the road. "The women. Indeed, dear squire, they perplex me as well."
"Ah, the fair Remy," John Miller said grandly, and I felt a flush run up my face. Lissa, in the front seat, put a hand to her mouth.
"The fair Remy," Dexter repeated, "did not see me as a worthwhile risk."
"Indeed."
"I am, of course, a rogue. A rapscallion. A musician. I would bring her nothing but poverty, shame, and bruised shins from my flailing limbs. She is the better for our parting."
John Miller pantomined stabbing himself in the heart. "Cold words, my squire."
"Huffah," Dexter agreed.
"Huffah," John Miller repeated, "Indeed. — Sarah Dessen

He repeated the words dutifully, and then put together his very first sentence in elegant King's English. "Cut...fuck...Bil-lee. — Mark Wildyr

SEASONS PASSED, FALL AND WINTER and spring and summer. Leaves blew in through the open door of Lucius Clarke's shop, and rain, and the green outrageous hopeful light of spring. People came and went, grandmothers and doll collectors and little girls with their mothers. Edward Tulane waited. The seasons turned into years. Edward Tulane waited. He repeated the old doll's words over and over until they wore a smooth groove of hope in his brain: Someone will come; someone will come for you. — Kate DiCamillo

If ever there was a sentence more quickly imprinted in my consciousness, more oft repeated, one that stood as more of an arbiter against which to judge all else, I do not know it. In the beginning, the repetition was the numb sort, the words impenetrable. Only occasionally did they have the power to stop me midstep as I walked upstairs. Or seize my stomach as I ate. Or clear my head as I attempted to speak. — Miriam Gershow

Any attempt to capture the direct experience of the nature of mind in words is impossible. The best that can be said is that it is immeasurably peaceful and, once stabilized through repeated experience, virtually unshakable. It's an experience of absolute well-being that radiates through all physical, emotional and mental states-even those that might ordinarily be labeled as unpleasant. — Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche

Love me, Kat.
The words repeated in his brain like a song he was unable to find the end of.
I've loved ye since I dipped your braid in that wax. Dinna fret about making a child. Let me be enough for ye. Ye're enough for me. — Mia Marlowe

He stroked her pale cheek with his thumb, willing her to open those dark gypsy eyes he loved so much. He needed her impish gaze, her light laughter and intoxicating touch. He needed everything about her. She'd made him feel more alive than when he was human. Needing her kiss as much as he needed blood to survive, he pressed his lips to hers. "I beg of you, wake. Please, my precious Angel," he prayed as he held her in his arms. "Wake so I can tell you how sorry I am, and how much I love you. God, I love you." He couldn't say the words enough. "I love you. I love you." He repeated the litany over and over again until exhaustion overcame him and he fell asleep, still clinging to her with a vow never to let her go again. — Brooklyn Ann

Science works through replication, rectification and modification. But when it comes to religion, people simply tend to accept the theoretical preachers and their claims of historical God experiences without a single question. If there has been one experience in this world in any branch of knowledge, it absolutely follows that that experience will be repeated eternally. If they are not repeated through natural processes, the thinking humanity would have no way but to disprove that such an experience ever occurred in the history. — Abhijit Naskar

George's voice became deeper. He repeated his words rhythmically as though he had said them many times before. 'Guys like us, that work on ranches, are the loneliest guys in the world. They got no family. They don't belong no place. They come to a ranch an' work up a stake, and the first thing you know they're poundin' their tail on some other ranch. They ain't got nothing to look ahead to. — John Steinbeck

In truth, his most ardent fantasy was to hear her saying the three words he had repeated so often already. I love you. — Cristiane Serruya

All those prayers said back in high school, the teenager I was having sex without protection, my period late, tears taking the place of breath, moments of high drama, saying, Please God Please God let me not be pregnant let my period come so I can finish high school oh please just this once and I will start showing up on time and doing my homework if you just this once have mercy God O God take pity and let my period come. Sitting on the edge of my bed, crying into my hands, so certain of my ability to bear children that everything in me played with it like fire, then prayed for its prevention. It's possible that I repeated it once too often, my anti-pregnancy chant, and the words seeped into the fabric of my body, making it into a shield. — Sonja Livingston

This usually occurs at the moment when my head hits the pillow at night; my eyes close and ... I see imagery. I do not mean pictures; more usually they are patterns or textures, such as repeated shapes, or shadows of shapes, or an item from an image, such as grass from a landscape or wood grain, wavelets or raindrops ... transformed in the most extraordinary ways at a great speed. Shapes are replicated, multiplied, reversed in negative, etc. Color is added, tinted, subtracted. Textures are the most fascinating; grass becomes fur becomes hair follicles becomes waving, dancing lines of light, and a hundred other variations and all the subtle gradients between them that my words are too coarse to describe. — Oliver Sacks

Villages that had been groaning beneath the iron weight of Stalin's hand breathed a sigh of relief. And the many millions confined in the camps rejoiced. Columns of prisoners were marching to work in deep darkness. The barking of guard dogs drowned out their voices. And suddenly, as if the northern lights had flashed the words through their ranks: "Stalin has died." As they marched on under guard, tens of thousands of prisoners passed the news on in a whisper: "He's croaked ... he's croaked ... " Repeated by thousand upon thousand of people, this whisper was like a wind. Over the polar lands it was still black night. But the ice in the Arctic Ocean had broken; you could now hear the roar of an ocean of voices. — Vasily Grossman

And I was a Child again, watching the bright World. But the Spell broke when at this Juncture some Gallants jumped from the Pitt onto the Stage and behaved as so many Merry-Andrews among the Actors, which reduced all to Confusion. I laugh'd with them also, for I like to make Merry among the Fallen and there is pleasure to be had in the Observation of the Deformity of Things. Thus when the Play resumed after the Disturbance, it was only to excite my Ridicule with its painted Fictions, wicked Hypocrisies and villainous Customs, all depicted with a little pert Jingle of Words and a rambling kind of Mirth to make the Insipidnesse and Sterility pass. There was no pleasure in seeing it, and nothing to burden the Memory after: like a voluntarie before a Lesson it was absolutely forgotten, nothing to be remembered or repeated. — Peter Ackroyd

How can you have such faith in me?" he asked hoarsely. "How can you believe in me when I've given you no reason?"
"You've given me plenty of reasons, but there's only one that matters. I love you, Oliver. I can't help myself. That is my reason."
He began to shake, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"I love you," she repeated as she kissed his cheek. "I love you." She kissed the other cheek, now damp, though she wasn't sure whether from her tears or his. "I love you so much." She brushed his lips with hers.
He held her back to search her face. "God help you if that is a lie," he said in an aching voice. "Because those words have sealed your fate. I'll never let you go, now. — Sabrina Jeffries

It is commonly said that ridicule is the best test of truth; for that it will not stick where it is not just. I deny it. A truth learned in a certain light, and attacked in certain words, by men of wit and humor, may, and often doth, become ridiculous, at least so far, that the truth is only remembered and repeated for the sake of the ridicule. — Lord Chesterfield

Someone did a study on the cell phone calls made from the Twin Towers as they fell. The question: Was there any pattern in what people said? The researcher expected they would find repeated SOSes - pleas for life, asking for absolution - but there was remarkably little of that. Instead, what the people said over and over again as they died, what they sent out across the sea of static: I love you. These words, when said sincerely, have the capacity to right our wrongs, and live on long after we have gone back to being stars. — Rosie O'Donnell

While they were thus embarrassed, a large chest was brought and deposited in the presbytery for the Bishop, by two unknown horsemen, who departed on the instant. The chest was opened; it contained a cope of cloth of gold, a mitre ornamented with diamonds, an archbishop's cross, a magnificent crosier, - all the pontifical vestments which had been stolen a month previously from the treasury of Notre Dame d'Embrun. In the chest was a paper, on which these words were written, "From Cravatte to Monseigneur Bienvenu."
"Did not I say that things would come right of themselves?" said the Bishop. Then he added, with a smile, "To him who contents himself with the surplice of a curate, God sends the cope of an archbishop."
"Monseigneur," murmured the cure, throwing back his head with a smile. "God - -or the Devil."
The Bishop looked steadily at the cure, and repeated with authority, "God! — Victor Hugo

And when children begin to use their reason, fathers and mothers should take great pains to fill their hearts with the fear of God. This the good Queen Blanche did most earnestly by St. Louis, her son: witness her oft-repeated words, "My son, I would sooner see you die than guilty of a mortal sin;" words which sank so deeply into the saintly monarch's heart, that he himself said there was no day on which they did not recur to his mind, and strengthen him in treading God's ways. — Saint Francis De Sales

She sat beside her sister, as unlike her in looks, with her dark hair and heavily lidded eyes, as she was in bearing and demeanor; where Narcissa sat rigid and impassive, Bellatrix leaned toward Voldemort, for mere words could not demonstrate her longing for closeness. "No higher pleasure," repeated Voldemort, his head tilted a little to one side as he considered Bellatrix. "That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you." Her face flooded with color; her eyes welled with tears of delight. "My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!" "No higher pleasure . . . even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has taken place in your family this week?" She stared at him, her lips parted, evidently confused. — J.K. Rowling

Oscar leaned in, eyes wide. 'He's keeping me,' he whispered to the kitten.
Pebble chirped. Oscar's eyes flicked to the books underneath his bed. They called out to him: Misfit. Orphan. Idiot.
Oscar coughed and shifted his eyes back to Pebble. 'He thinks I can work the shop ... He said he knew I could do it.'
Wolf: He didn't see you work the shop. He doesn't know. Just wait until he hears.
'He wants me to do the best I can.'
Wolf: If only he knew how bad that was. He'll know soon.
Oscar clenched his hands into fists and squeezed his eyes shut ... 'I'm not going to disappoint him,' Oscar said. He repeated himself once more, in case the words themselves had any power. 'I'm not. — Anne Ursu

I'm trained as an architect; writing is like architecture. In buildings, there are design motifs that occur again and again, that repeat
patterns, curves. These motifs help us feel comfortable in a physical space. And the same works in writing, I've found. For me, the way words, punctuation and paragraphs fall on the page is important as well
the graphic design of the language. That was why the words and thoughts of Estha and Rahel, the twins, were so playful on the page ... I was being creative with their design. Words were broken apart, and then sometimes fused together. "Later" became "Lay. Ter." "An owl" became "A Nowl." "Sour metal smell" became "sourmetal smell."
Repetition I love, and used because it made me feel safe. Repeated words and phrases have a rocking feeling, like a lullaby. They help take away the shock of the plot
death, lives destroyed or the horror of the settings
a crazy, chaotic, emotional house, the sinister movie theater. — Arundhati Roy

Goose pimples rose all over me, my hair stood on end, my eyes filled with tears of love and gratitude for this greatest of all conquerors of human misery and shame, and my breath came in little gasps. If I had not known that the Leader would have scorned such adulation, I might have fallen to my knees in unashamed worship, but instead I drew myself to attention, raised my arm in the eternal salute of the ancient Roman Legions and repeated the holy words, "Heil Hitler!" — George Lincoln Rockwell

The magic mirror," the Beast said, eyebrows raising.
"Yes! We could consult it!"
"Great, let's go consult the magic mirror," she repeated, unable to believe she was saying those words aloud. "Why not. And maybe afterwards we can go visit the witch in her woods and break off a bit of her candy house for a snack."
The Beast looked at her, confused, his eyebrows rising even higher, like dark clouds above his blue eyes.
"Never mind," Belle said with a sigh. "It was a joke. — Liz Braswell

When a poem might become a song, then certain parts are repeated and might become a refrain or a chorus, so they change in that way. But it's more the nature of the words and what they're saying that determines whether it's a poem or a song. — PJ Harvey