Trouvais Bien Quotes & Sayings

Egoism does not have eyes of its own. Some days, it sees through the eyes of the intellect (buddhi). However, what will happen if you befriend a blind man? — Dada Bhagwan

One can paint with two colors, and draw with one. Three, or four at most, have for centuries been enough men. — Henri Michaux

I read many riveting escape-and-evade accounts of airmen and of the Resistance networks organized to hide them and then send them on grueling treks across the Pyrenees to safety. But it was the people I met in France and Belgium who made the period come alive for me. They had lived it. — Bobbie Ann Mason

We're Cinder and Ella, woman! We're supposed to get our fairy-tale ending! — Kelly Oram

In any case, if the reader would have a correct idea of the mood of these exiles, we must conjure up once more those dreary evenings, sifting down through a haze of dust and golden light upon the treeless streets filled with teeming crowds of men and women. For, characteristically, the sound that rose towards the terraces still bathed in the last glow of daylight, now that the noises of vehicles and motors
the sole voice of cities in ordinary times
had ceased, was but one vast rumour of low voices and incessant footfalls, the drumming of innumerable soles timed to the eerie whistling of the plague in the sultry air above, the sound of a huge concourse of people marking time, a never-ending, stifling drone that, gradually swelling, filled the town from end to end, and evening after evening gave its truest, mournfullest expression to the blind endurance which had ousted love from all our hearts. — Albert Camus

The flood of print has turned reading into a process of gulping rather than savoring. — Raymond Chandler

Potential has a shelf life. — Margaret Atwood

If this constant bitter disappointment was love, then I was perfectly fine not to have anything to do with it. — Vann Chow

The picaresque path can probably also be a metaphor for the passage of the soul back to its creator. The thieves along the way
the thieves of money, of love, of magic, of time
are merely human obstacles to keep the traveller from perceiving that she herself is the path.
The path is as steep and as precipitous as we make it, as level and rolling as we can grade it, as steady as we are steady, as passable or impassable as our own will to pass.
In a true picaresque, the hero stops struggling and becomes the path.
At fifty, we need this knowledge most of all. — Erica Jong