With Your great schemes, You ruin our happiness like a harvester ruins a mouse's nest: I hate You, God, I hate You as though You existed.
You think it more difficult to turn air into wine than to turn wine into blood?.
Our heroes are simple: they are brave, they tell the truth, they are good swordsmen and they are never in the long run really defeated. That is why no later books satisfy us like those which were read to us in childhood - for those promised a world of great simplicity of which we knew the rules, but the later books are complicated and contradictory with experience; they are formed out of our own disappointing memories.
Have you seen a room from which faith has gone? Like a marriage from which love has gone. And patience, patience everywhere like a fog.
I could never have been a pacifist. To kill a man was surely to grant him an immeasurable benefit. Oh yes, people always, everywhere, loved their enemies. It was their friends they preserved for pain and vacuity.
No building was safe from the furniture, the pictures, the human beings that it would presently contain.
I'm only saying I want you to be happy. I hate your being unhappy. I don't mind anything you do that makes you happy." You just want an excuse. If I sleep with anybody else, you feel you can do the same - any time." That's neither here nor there. I want you to be happy, that's all." You'd make my bed for me?" Perhaps.
Lies had deserted me, and I felt as lonely as though they had been my only friends.
My passion for Sarah had killed simple lust forever. Never again would I be able to enjoy a woman without love.
So much in writing depends on the superficiality of one's days.
A writer doesn't write for his readers, does he? Yet he has to take elementary precautions all the same, to make them comfortable.
He was like a child with haemophilia: every contact drew blood.
My fellow journalists called themselves correspondents; I preferred the title of reporter. I wrote what I saw. I took no action -- even an opinion is a kind of action.
A movie is not a book. If the source material is a book, you cannot be too respectful of the book. All you owe to the book is the spirit.
Who knows whether there may not be a moment in childhood when the world changes forever, like making a face when the clock strikes?
Cruel men cry easily at the cinema.
Love taught me that your honour did but jest.
He felt the loyalty we feel to unhappiness - the sense that is where we really belong.
So much of life [is] a putting-off of unhappiness for another time. Nothing [is] ever lost by delay.
I’m not at peace anymore. I just want him like I used to in the old days. I want to be eating sandwiches with him. I want to be drinking with him in a bar. I’m tired and I don’t want anymore pain. I want Maurice. I want ordinary corrupt human love. Dear God, you know I want to want Your pain, but I don’t want it now. Take it away for a while and give it me another time.
I know one thing you don't. I know the difference between Right and Wrong. They didn't teach you that at school.' Rose didn't answer; the woman was quite right: the two words meant nothing to her. Their taste was extinguished by stronger foods--Good and Evil.
I couldn't have thought of her more. Even vacancy was crowded with her.
Like some wines our love could neither mature nor travel.
Sentimentality - that's what we call the sentiment we don't share.
Rocinante was of more value for a true traveller than a jet plane. Jet planes were for business men.
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