Repeats Words Quotes & Sayings

It would be nice to believe that love should be dished out in a fair way so that everyone got some. But that wasn't how it was going to be for me. — Margaret Atwood

Then I stop existing. She is talking, talking, takes off who knows where, she says it all starts over, speech, paths, butterflies and that she just loves words' inevitable slowness, she says that when in distress everything is overcome by the sound of words and that everything then becomes impossible to understand, she says things are exploding in her head and that everything must be attempted again like a backhand, a lob in mindspace, she repeats the mind is fragile but the eyes, but the eyes Melanie, she says one must not give up, that nothing is impossible if in the realm of the improbable memory realises the certitude which in us keeps an eye out for beauty on the horizon, she talks about our attachment to certain words, that they are like small slow deaths in concise reality. — Nicole Brossard

Our higher officials are fond as a rule of nonplussing their subordinates; the methods to which they have recourse to attain that end are rather various. The following means, among others, is in great vogue, 'is quite a favourite,' as the English say; a high official suddenly ceases to understand the simplest words, assuming total deafness. He will ask, for instance, What's to-day?' He is respectfully informed, 'To-day's Friday, your Ex-s-s-s-lency.' 'Eh? What? What's that? What do you say?' the great man repeats with intense attention. 'To-day's Friday, your Ex - s - s - lency.' 'Eh? What? What's Friday? What Friday?' 'Friday, your Ex - s - s - s - lency, the day of the week.' 'What, do you pretend to teach me, eh? — Ivan Turgenev

The primordial sea indefatigably repeats the same words and casts up the same astonished beings on the same seashore. But at least he who consents to his own return and to the return of all things, who becomes an echo and an exalted echo, participates in the
divinity of the world. — Albert Camus

Why then did she do it? She looked at the canvas, lightly scored with running lines. It would be hung in the servants' bedrooms. It would be rolled up and stuffed under a sofa. What was the good of doing it then, and she heard some voice saying she couldn't paint, saying she couldn't create, as if she were caught up in one of those habitual currents in which after a certain time experience forms in the mind, so that one repeats words without being aware any longer who originally spoke them. — Virginia Woolf

He still knew how she moved. — Claudia Gray

Feel deeply to think clearly. — Nathaniel Branden

What he wanted above all to get right was the web of relationships a dozen column inches had never been enough to contain. Family, work, romance, church, municipality, history, happenstance ... He wanted to follow the soul far enough out along these lines of relationship to discover that there was no fixed point where one person ended and another began. — Garth Risk Hallberg

Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
Puts on his pretty look, repeats his words,
Remembers me of his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form — William Shakespeare

Took Amanda's hand. "Sisters," she repeated. "I walked away from you years ago. I'll be damned if I let you stand alone today. — Courtney Milan

The discovery of eternal inflation has radically transformed our understanding of what's out there in space on the largest scales. Now I can't help but feel that our old story sounds like a fairy tale, with its single narrative in a simple sequence: "Once upon a time, there was inflation. Inflation made our Big Bang. Our Big Bang made galaxies." Figure 5.7 illustrates why this story is too naive: it yet again repeats our human mistake of assuming that all we know of so far is all that exists. We see that even our Big Bang is just a small part of something much grander, a treelike structure that's still growing. In other words, what we've called our Big Bang wasn't the ultimate beginning, but rather the end-of inflation in our part of space. — Max Tegmark

And the Zionists have used the Holocaust as a weapon to deny the rights of the Palestinians and to cover-up the crimes of Israel. — David Duke

You like it under the trees in autumn, because everything is half dead. The wind moves like a cripple among the leaves and repeats words without menaing. — Wallace Stevens

He who has not yet attained divine knowledge energized by love is proud of his spiritual progress. But he who has been granted such knowledge repeats with deep conviction the words uttered by the patriarch Abraham when he was granted the manifestation of God: 'I am dust and ashes' (Gen. 18:27). — Maximus The Confessor

People are - nothing more. — Virginia Woolf

I cannot know what the future will bring us," he says in a rapid undertone. "I cannot know where you will be given in marriage, nor what life might hold for me. But I can't let you go without telling you
without telling you at least once
that I love you."
I snatch a breath at the words. "Woodville
"
"I can offer you nothing; I am next to nothing, and you are the greatest lady in France. But I wanted you to know, I love you and I want you, and I have done since the day I first saw you."
"I should
"
"I have to tell you, you have to know. I have loved you honorably as a knight should do his lady, and I have loved you passionately as a man might a woman; and now, before I leave you, I want to tell you that I love you, I love you
" He breaks off and looks at me desperately. "I had to tell you," he repeats. — Philippa Gregory

The real people nation have for centuries had the practice at birth of speaking the same first phrase to all newborns. Each person hears the same exact first human words: "We love you and support you on the journey." At their final celebration, everyone hugs them and repeats the phrase again. — Marlo Morgan

Learn the words of wisdom uttered by the wise and apply them in your own life. Live them - but do not a make a show of reciting them, for he who repeats what he does not understand is no better than an ass loaded with books. — Kahlil Gibran

I trust you, Cash. I trust you."
He grabs my wrist and presses his lips to the inside then pulls gently until I'm bent at the waist and my face is close to his.
"Come home with me. Please." I can feel his warm breath on my lips, they're so close. I lean forward to close the small gap, but he leans away. "Please," he repeats softly.
I would never tell him, but he could ask me anything right now and I'd agree to it. Anything at all.
"Okay." As soon as the words leave my lips, his mouth is on mine. — M. Leighton

I would have to talk for a year to repeat a single on of my works with words. — Auguste Rodin

It is worth the expense of youthful days and costly hours, if you learn only some words of an ancient language, which are raised out of the trivialness of the street, to be perpetual suggestions and provocations. It is not in vain that the farmer remembers and repeats the few Latin words which he has heard. — Henry David Thoreau

It is impossible to give a clear account of the world, but art can teach us to reproduce it-just as the world reproduces itself in the course of its eternal gyrations. The primordial sea indefatigably repeats the same words and casts up the same astonished beings on the same sea-shore. — Albert Camus

How many meetings have you been in where the first dozen or so slides are full of words, and the person stands up there and repeats the words? — Eric Schmidt

Usually in theater, the visual repeats the verbal. The visual dwindles into decoration. But I think with my eyes. For me, the visual is not an afterthought, not an illustration of the text. If it says the same thing as the words, why look? The visual must be so compelling that a deaf man would sit though the performance fascinated. — Robert Wilson

Tonight all the hells of young grief have opened again; the mad words, the bitter resentment, the fluttering in the stomach, the nightmare unreality, the wallowed-in tears. For in grief nothing 'stays put.' One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral? But if a spiral, am I going up or down it? How often - will it be for always? - how often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, 'I never realized my loss till this moment'? The same leg is cut off time after time. The first plunge of the knife into the flesh is felt again and again. They — C.S. Lewis