Strephon And Chloe Quotes & Sayings

We suddenly saw how people reacted in the event of massive social upheaval, and the way that the little problems in your life don't go away. You don't stop being frightened of spiders just because the world's blown up. — Simon Pegg

The will, I believe, is the mystery of mysteries. Who can say beforehand that his will is strong? There are all kinds of indefinable currents moving to and fro between one's will and one's inclinations. People talk as if the two things were essentially distinct; on different sides of one's organism, like the heart and the liver. I believe there is a certain group of circumstances possible for every man, in which his will is destined to snap like a dry twig. — Henry James

wounded by the son of Venus; and for Mrs Plornish there was no such music at the Opera as the small internal flutterings and chirpings wherein he would discharge himself of these ditties, like a weak, little, broken barrel-organ, ground by a baby. On his 'days out,' those flecks of light in his flat vista of pollard old men,' it was at once Mrs Plornish's delight and sorrow, when he was strong with meat, and had taken his full halfpenny-worth of porter, to say, 'Sing us a song, Father.' Then he would give them Chloe, and if he were in pretty good spirits, Phyllis also - Strephon he had hardly been up to since he went into retirement - and then would Mrs Plornish declare she did — Charles Dickens

To cook well and with imagination you have to be in a cheerful and contented frame of mind, and thus inclined to be generous. — Alice Thomas Ellis

Common one, my illuminated one, oh my high in the art of suffering. Take a walk with me. — Van Morrison

The one thing that proved to me you were CIA and not KGB is when you gave me those medicines to test on my daughter. Because the KGB is heartless. They would have given me one pill and said, do it. I knew I was working with a humane organization when you gave me five medicines. — David E. Hoffman

I've got a crush on my backing singer. — Amy Winehouse

At the lobby desk, the manager informed them that there was no room for them there either. Fieberling, who was leading-man handsome, flashed a confident grin and asked for the manager's name, telling him that his squadron's orders to lodge there had come directly from Admiral Nimitz, and he would need to advise the commander-in-chief why his order had been disobeyed. It was a bald-faced lie, but the manager nervously disappeared into his office. A minute later he came back out smiling at Fieberling as if he had just won the lottery. — Robert J. Mrazek

To read in the service of any ideology is not to read at all. The mind's dialogue with itself is not primarily a social reality. All that the Western canon can bring one is the proper use of one's own solitude. — Harold Bloom

How much will you give for the lives of your childrens children, which is yourself? How much are people willing to give up for air, earth, water, animals, and the coming generations? I think the answer to that is pretty clear. — Lynette Fromme

Looking at the poems of John Gray when I saw the tiniest rivulet of text meandering through the very largest meadow of margin, I suggested to Oscar Wilde that he should go a step further than these minor poets; he should publish a book all margin; full of beautiful, unwritten thoughts. — Ada Leverson

You are a nice person, and you're also full of anger. You're a walking tangle of contradictions. That's okay. Most of us are like that. Women, most of all. How could we not be? People want us to be sexy warriors who roll over and play dead on command. They want us to be flirty burlesque dancers in burkas, aggressive conquistadors with cookies in the oven, Dorothy Parker meets Dorothy Gale, Sandra Bernhard meets Sandra Dee, Kristen Stewart meets Martha Stewart. — Heather Havrilesky

I always thought of indie-rock as being rock music by bands that were on independent labels, and that's a great thing. — Britt Daniel

It's asking us our names," Falkor reported.
"I'm Atreyu!" Atreyu cried.
"I'm Falkor!" cried Falkor.
The boy without a name was silent.
Atreyu looked at him, then took him by the hand and cried: "He's Bastian Balthazar Bux!"
"It asks," Falkor translated, "why he doesn't speak for himself."
"He can't," said Atreyu. "He has forgotten everything."
Falkor listened again to the roaring of the fountain.
"Without memory, it says, he cannot come in. The snakes won't let him through."
Atreyu replied: "I have stored up everything he told us about himself and his world. I vouch for him."
Falkor listened.
"It wants to know by what right?"
"I am his friend," said Atreyu. — Michael Ende