Unworthiness En Quotes & Sayings

"I heard something earlier, from Humphrey's friend, Hubert. We stopped at his inn."
Morpheus practically beams. "Ah, Hubert. How is the old sot?"
"Glittery." I furrow my brow. "And grumpy."
A deep laugh rumbles in Morpheus's chest. "I've always enjoyed his company."
"Yeah." I scowl. "He's a real good egg. — A.G. Howard

He wonders again if the dead need translators; perhaps in a moment, in a simple twist of unbecoming, they know everything they need to know. — Hilary Mantel

She's staring down her desires, while they're staring down her dress. — Phil Ochs

That distinctive singular stamp of himself is one of the main reasons readers come to love an author. The way you can just tell, often within a couple paragraphs, that something is by Dickens, or Chekhov, or Woolf, or Salinger, or Coetzee, or Ozick. The quality's almost impossible to describe or account for straight out - it mostly presents as a vibe, a kind of perfume of sensibility - and critics' attempts to reduce it to questions of "style" are almost universally lame. — David Foster Wallace

I think it's always a challenge to adapt something from one medium to another - a novel into a film or a play into a movie or whatever. — Julian Fellowes

All flesh is one: what matter scores; Or color of the suit Or if the helmet glints with blue or gold? All is one bold achievement, All is fine spring-found-again-in-autumn day When juices run in antelopes along our blood, And green our flag, forever green ... — Ray Bradbury

The DCU Constantine has to be the guy we know and love, with his same failings - otherwise what's the point of using him? But as I'm writing him, he's younger and has perhaps been through a bit less than the battered, aging old sod we meet in Vertigo. — Peter Milligan

Sometimes it even seemed to him that this "idiot's tale" had captivated the ordinary person to a significantly greater degree than the circumstances of his or her actual life. Practically everyone Filippov knew liked to talk about what in no way affected them personally. It was as if they'd erected a fortress wall around themselves - a Great Wall of China of inexhaustible nonsense. They'd barricaded themselves in the inner courtyard of their paltry and, as it doubtless seemed to them, insignificant lives. While leaving this clumsy but inevitable self-humiliation on their conscience, Filippov nonetheless pitied those ordinary people. He — Andrey Gelasimov