On the night of the murder I was at home, asleep. The characters in my dream can vouch for me.

― Jarod Kintz, $3.33

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“It is so hard to learn to put sadness in perspective so hard to understand that it is a feeling that comes in degrees, it can be a candle burning gently and harmlessly in your home, or it can be a full-fledged forest fire that destroy almost everything and is controlled by almost nothing. It can also be so much in-between ”

― Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation

Where is there dignity unless there is honesty?

― Cicero Marcus Tullius

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“What we ask is to be human individuals, however peculiar and unexpected. It is no good saying: "You are a little girl and therefore you ought to like dolls"; if the answer is, "But I don’t," there is no more to be said.”

― Dorothy L. Sayers, Are Women Human?

Don’t make me laugh, I’d much rather cry.

― Ellen Hopkins, Identical

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“Even here is something sad and terrible. But the impression is fleeting, and serves only to give a greater acuteness to the enjoyment of the moment. It is like the sadness which you may see in the jester’s eyes when a merry company is laughing at his sallies; his lips smile and his jokes are gayer because in that communion of laughter he find himself more intolerably alone.”

― W. Somerset Maugham, The Moon and Sixpence

There’s a saying I remember from my grandmother: One today is worth two tomorrows.

― James Patterson, Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas

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“Do not be proud of the fact that your grandmother was shocked at something which you are accustomed to seeing or hearing without being shocked. … It may be that your grandmother was an extremely lively and vital animal and that you are a paralytic.”

― G.K. Chesterton

Fear is an insidious and deadly thing. It can warp judgement, freeze reflexes, breed mistakes. Worse, it’s contagious. ― Jimmy Stewart

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“After great pain, a formal feeling comes —
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs —
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?
The Feet, mechanical, go round —
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought —
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone —
This is the Hour of Lead —
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow —
First — Chill — then Stupor — then the letting go —”

― Emily Dickinson

Seeking is a necessary preliminary to finding, and one who cannot endure the hardship of inquiry cannot expect to harvest the fruit of knowledge.

― John of Salisbury, Metalogicon Of John Salisbury

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“No one took her seriously because she was small and feathered, a strange little dino-bird, but she had a sickle claw and she was not afraid to use it.”

― Anne Ursu, Breadcrumbs

Always be fearless. Walk like lions, talk like pigeons, live like elephants and love like an infant child.

― Santosh Kalwar, Quote Me Everyday

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“I was happy but happy is an adult word. You don’t have to ask a child about happy, you see it. They are or they are not. Adults talk about being happy because largely they are not. Talking about it is the same as trying to catch the wind. Much easier to let it blow all over you.”

― Jeanette Winterson

Easy in but not easily out, as the lobster said in the lobster pot! ― C.S. Lewis

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“I prefer sinners and madmen, who can learn, who can change, who can teach-or people like myself, if I may say so, who are not afraid to eat a lobster alone as they take on their shoulders the monumental weight of thirty years”

― James Baldwin, Just Above My Head

To avoid each other, their eyes had developed an amazing mobility with all the cunning of enemies fearful of meeting each other head on.

― Guy de Maupassant

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“Man’s unhappiness, as I construe, comes of his greatness; it is because there is an Infinite in him, which with all his cunning he cannot quite bury under the Finite.”

― Thomas Carlyle

What I was chasing in circles must have been the tail of the darkness inside me.

― Haruki Murakami, After the quake

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Lyrebirds

Over the west side of the mountain,
that’s lyrebird country.
I could go down there, they say, in the early morning,
and I’d see them, I’d hear them.
Ten years, and I have never gone.
I’ll never go.
I’ll never see the lyrebirds –
the few, the shy, the fabulous,
the dying poets.
I should see them, if I lay there in the dew:
first a single movement
like a waterdrop falling, then stillness,
then a brown head, brown eyes,
a splendid bird, bearing
like a crest the symbol of his art,
the high symmetrical shape of the perfect lyre.
I should hear that master practising his art.
No, I have never gone.
Some things ought to be left secret, alone;
some things – birds like walking fables –
ought to inhabit nowhere but the reverence of the
heart.

Judith Wright