morals died with God,
you’re on your
life has abused me and I have mis-
I enjoy attacking the sun with a
the word is one of
it can enlighten or
by the time they get to your books you
are no longer in your
you are on the next page, in your next book.
a killing unhappiness:
what you might have
it’s strange, isn’t it?
you can’t compare it to
yet you quickly
that there is
and with the people
the human voice besides being basically
ugly also reminds me of the human
and one of the last things I want to
think of and one of the first things I
want to get away from when I listen to
classical music is
the same all murderous kiss
of death clothed in a creative
I became a writer but when I was a boy
I used to dream of becoming the village idiot
Then Lyra gave a cry so passionate that even in that muffled, mist-hung world it raised an echo, but of course it wasn’t an echo, it was the other part of her crying in turn from the land of the living as Lyra moved away into the land of the dead. “My heart, Will …” she groaned, and clung to him, her wet face contorted with pain. And thus the prophecy that the Master of Jordan College had made to the Librarian, that Lyra would make a great betrayal and it would hurt her terribly, was fulfilled.
“We are all subject to the fates. But we must all act as if we are not,” said the witch, “or die of despair.”
“I told him I was going to betray you, and betray Lyra, and he believed me because I was corrupt and full of wickedness…. I wanted him to find no good in me and he didn’t. There is none. But I love Lyra. Where did this love come from? I don’t know; it came to me like a thief in the night, and now I love her so much my heart is bursting with it. All I could hope was that my crimes were so monstrous that the love was no bigger than a mustard seed in the shadow of them, and I wished I’d committed even greater ones to hide it more deeply still…”
And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.
The intentions of a tool are what it does. A hammer intends to strike, a vise intends to hold fast, a lever intends to lift. They are what it is made for. But sometimes a tool may have other uses that you don’t know. Sometimes in doing what you intend, you also do what the knife intends, without knowing.
“For a human being, nothing comes naturally,” said Grumman. “We have to learn everything we do.”
– quotes from “His Dark Materials” by Philip Pullman
Heaven is not a place, and it is not a time. Heaven is being perfect. -And that isn’t flying a thousand miles an hour, or a million, or flying at the speed of light. Because any number is a limit, and perfection doesn’t have limits. Perfect speed, my son, is being there.
Don’t believe what your eyes are telling you. All they show is limitation. Look with your understanding. Find out what you already know and you will see the way to fly.
“Your whole body, from wingtip to wingtip,” Jonathan would say, other times, “is nothing more than your thought itself, in a form you can see. Break the chains of your thought, and you break the chains of your body, too.”
He was not bone and feather but a perfect idea of freedom and flight, limited by nothing at all.
You have the freedom to be yourself, your true self, here and now, and nothing can stand in your way.
To fly as fast as thought, to anywhere that is, you must begin by knowing that you have already arrived.
You have to practice and see the real gull, the good in every one of them, and to help them see it in themselves.
That’s what I mean by love.
Overcome space, and all we have left is Here.
Overcome time, and all we have left is Now.
We choose our next world through what we learn in this one. Learn nothing, and the next world is the same as this one, all the same limitations and lead weights to overcome.
– quotes from “Jonathan Livingston Seagull” by Richard Bach
To court destruction with taunts, with invitations! To ascend, to leap to the heavens of the love indicated to
To rise thither with my inebriate soul!
To be lost if it must be so!
To feed the remainder of life with one hour of fulness
With one brief hour of madness and joy.
Darest thou now O soul, Walk out with me toward the unknown region, Where neither ground is for the feet nor any path to follow? […] All waits undream’d of in that region, that inaccessible land.
I think there is no unreturn’d love, the pay is
certain one way or another,
(I loved a certain person ardently and my love was not return’d,
Yet out of that I have written these songs.)
Now we have met, we have look’d, we are safe,
Return in peace to the ocean my love,
I too am a part of that ocean my love, we are not so much
O shades of night – O moody, tearful night!
The Night follows close with millions of suns, and sleep
and restoring darkness.
The question, O me! so sad, recurring – What good amid
these, O me, O life? answer
That you are here – that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute
O you fables spurning the known, eluding the hold of
the known, mounting to heaven!
You lofty and dazzling towers, pinnacled, red as roses,
burnish’d with gold!
Towers of fables immortal fashion’d from mortal
You too I welcome and fully the same as the rest!
You too with joy I sing.
Proud music of the storm
I am the Poem of Earth, said the voice of the rain
Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens.
Memories are worse than bullets.
I was raised among books, making invisible friends in pages that seemed cast from dust and whose smell I carry on my hands to this day.
Those who really love, love in silence, with deeds and not with words.
The most efficient way of rendering the poor harmless is to teach them to want to imitate the rich.
In this world the only opinion that holds court is prejudice.
Wars have no memory, and nobody has the courage to understand them until there are no voices left to tell what happened, until the moment comes when we no longer recognize them and they return, with another face and another name, to devour what they left behind.
Destiny is usually just around the corner.
Like a thief, a hooker, or a lottery vendor: its three most common personifications.
But what destiny does not do is home visits.
You have to go for it.
Bea says that the art of reading is slowly dying, that it’s an intimate ritual, that a book is a mirror that offers us only what we already carry inside us, that when we read, we do it with all our heart and mind, and great readers are becoming more scarce by the day.
– quotes from “The Shadow of the Wind” by Carlos Ruiz Zafòn