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“Desire's wind blasts the thorntree but after it becomes from a bramblebush to be a rose upon the rood of time.”
Ulysses • James Joyce“That time does not run backward, that is its wrath; "That which was"--that is the name of the stone it cannot roll.”
Thus Spoke Zarathustra • F Nietzsche“You have a grand gift for silence, Watson. It makes you quite invaluable as a companion.”
The Complete Sherlock Holmes • Arthur Conan Doyle“What is love? For the rabble love is a kind of variety, a transient vulgarity; the rabble's conception of love is best found in their obscene ditties, in prostitution and in the foul idioms they use when they are halfway sober, such as "shoving the donkey's foreleg in mud," or "putting dust on the head." My love for her, however, was of a totally different kind. I knew her from ancient times—strange slanted eyes, a narrow, half-open mouth, a subdued quiet voice. She was the embodiment of all my distant, painful memories among which I sought what I was deprived of, what belonged to me but somehow I was denied. Was I deprived forever?”
The Blind Owl • Sadegh Hedayat“The pride of any mother is to give birth to a responsible and successful child.”
Pride and Prejudice • Jane Austen