Dear Quotes - Page 5

• Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.

  Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

  May, Accumulation, Anguish

  Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley (1823). “Frankenstein: ; Or, The Modern Prometheus”, p.206, DOSER Reads

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• We are but older children, dear, Who fret to find our bedtime near.

  Lewis Carroll

  Children, Bedtime, Aging

  Lewis Carroll (2010). “The Complete Alice in Wonderland”, p.170, Dynamite

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• The scholar only knows how dear these silent, yet eloquent, companions of pure thoughts and innocent hours become in the season of adversity. When all that is worldly turns to dross around us, these only retain their steady value.

  Washington Irving

  Adversity, Silent, Innocent

  Washington Irving (1835). “The complete works of Washington Irving in one volume with a memoir of the author”, p.230

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• Rats have a sense of humor. Rats, in fact think the world is very funny. And they are right, dear reader. They are right.

  Kate DiCamillo

  Thinking, World, Rats

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• No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear, Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.

  Gerard Manley Hopkins

  Fall, Blue, Shining

  Gerard Manley Hopkins (2001). “Poemas”, p.32, Editorial Renacimiento

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• Dear Complete and Utter Stranger, The first thing that I have to say is that I hate oatmeal. I really hate it. And you know what? If you like oatmeal at all? I mean even the tiniest bit? I mean, say you were lost in the Himalayas, right, and you hadn't eaten anything except a Mars Bar for about seven years, right, and you're really cold and your fingers are all dropping off, right, and you look behind this rock, and there's this bowl of oatmeal? Say you would even think about eating the oatmeal? Well, JUST DON'T BOTHER WRITING TO ME, OKAY?

  Jaclyn Moriarty

  Hate, Mean, Writing

  Jaclyn Moriarty (2014). “Feeling Sorry for Celia: A Novel”, p.10, St. Martin's Press

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• My heart is broken... I'm lying here My thoughts are choking On you my dear.

  Avril Lavigne

  Lying, Heart, Broken

  Song: Together, Album: Under My Skin, 2004

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• Dear Mia, What can I say? I don't know all that much about romance novels, but I think you must be the Stephen King of the genre. Your book is hot. Thanks for letting me read it. Anyone who doesn't want to publish it is a fool. Anyway, since I know it's your birthday, and I also know you never remember to back anything up, here's a little something I made for you. It would be a shame if Ransom My Heart got lost before it ever saw the light of day because your hard drive crashed. See you tonight. Love, Michael

  Meg Cabot

  Kings, Book, Heart

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• Asleep by the Smiths Vapour Trail by Ride Scarborough Fair by Simon & Garfunkel A Whiter Shade of Pale by Procol Harum Dear Prudence by the Beatles Gypsy by Suzanne Vega Nights in White Satin by the Moody Blues Daydream by Smashing Pumpkins Dusk by Genesis (before Phil Collins was even in the band!) MLK by U2 Blackbird by the Beatles Landslide by Fleetwood Mac Asleep by the Smiths (again!) -Charlie's mixtape

  Stephen Chbosky

  Night, Vegas, White

  Stephen Chbosky (2012). “The Perks of Being a Wallflower”, p.55, Simon and Schuster

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• So of course that was the moment my motherboard decided to do a short internal scan, throw up its hands, and screech, “Dear Lawd, a VAMPIRE has taken mah blood!” and initiate a general shutdown.

  Jennifer Rardin

  Taken, Blood, Hands

  Jennifer Rardin (2011). “Another One Bites The Dust: Book two in the Jaz Parks sequence”, p.147, Hachette UK

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• Richard wrote a mental diary in his head. Dear Diary, he began. On Friday I had a job, a fiance, a home, and a life that made sense. (Well, as much as an life makes sense). Then I found an injured girl bleeding on the pavement and I tried to be Good Samaritan. Now I've got no fiance, no home, no job, and I'm walking around a couple of hundred feet under the streets of London with the projected life expectancy of a suicidal fruit fly.

  Neil Gaiman

  Girl, Friday, Jobs

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• The right to be irresponsible and stupid is something I hold very dear. And luckily it is something I do well.

  Bono

  Stupid, Wells, Irresponsible

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• But no one except Lucy knew that as it circled the mast it had whispered to her, "Courage, dear heart," and the voice, she felt sure, was Aslan's, and with the voice a delicious smell breathed in her face.

  C. S. Lewis

  Heart, Voice, Smell

  C.S.Lewis (2016). “The Chronicles of Narnia Vol III: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader”, p.137, ENRICH CULTURE GROUP LIMITED

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• Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.

  William Shakespeare

  Life, Stars, Fate

  'Julius Caesar' (1599) act 1, sc. 2, l. 134

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• Dad himself used to tell a story about one time when Mother went off to fill a lecture engagement and left him in charge at home. When Mother returned, she asked him if everything had run smoothly. Didn't have any trouble except with that one over there,' he replied. 'But a spanking brought him into line.' Mother could handle any crisis without losing her composure. That's not one of ours, dear,' she said. 'He belongs next door.

  Frank B. Gilbreth Jr.

  Mother, Running, Dad

  FRANK B. GILBRETH JR. (1948). “CHEAPER BY THE DOZEN”

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• In North Korea, we never learned to think critically. There is no concept of individualism. The government treated us as less valuable than animals. You can't even stay overnight at someone's house without permission from the police. My mother warned me not to say - or even think - anything bad about our "dear leader," Kim Jong Il, because "even the birds and mice can hear you whisper."

  Park Yeon-mi

  Mother, Animal, Thinking

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• When the railroad trains moaned, and river-winds blew, bringing echoes through the vale, it was as if a wild hum of voices, the dear voices of everybody he had known, were crying: "Peter, Peter! Where are you going, Peter?" And a big soft gust of rain came down. He put up the collar of his jacket, and bowed his head, and hurried along.

  Jack Kerouac

  Rain, Echoes, Wind

  Jack Kerouac (1959). “The Town and the City”

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• It is always better to avenge dear ones than to indulge in mourning. For every one of us, living in this world means waiting for our end. Let whoever can win glory before death. When a warrior is gone, that will be his best and only bulwark.

  Seamus Heaney

  Mean, Warrior, Winning

  Seamus Heaney (2009). “Beowulf”, p.10, Faber & Faber

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• Reason can be fought with reason. How are you going to fight the unreasonable? The trouble with you, my dear, and with most people, is that you don’t have sufficient respect for the senseless. The senseless is the major factor in our lives. You have no chance if it is your enemy.

  Ayn Rand

  Fighting, People, Enemy

  Ayn Rand (2005). “The Fountainhead”, p.329, Penguin

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• Dear Child of God, I am sorry to say that suffering is not optional.

  Desmond Tutu

  Children, Sorry, Suffering

  Desmond Tutu (2011). “God Has A Dream: A Vision of Hope for Our Times”, p.71, Random House

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• Dear Sir: Regarding your article 'What's Wrong with the World?' I am. Yours truly.

  Gilbert K. Chesterton

  World, Articles

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• Oh Senor" said the niece. "Your grace should send them to be burned (books), just like all the rest, because it's very likely that my dear uncle, having been cured of the chivalric disease, will read these and want to become a shepherd and wander through the woods and meadows singing and playing and, what would be even worse, become a poet, and that, they say, is an incurable and contagious disease.

  Miguel de Cervantes

  Uncles, Niece, Book

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• The mind wants to live forever, or to learn a very good reason why not. The mind wants the world to return its love, or its awareness... The mind's sidekick, however, will settle for two eggs over easy. The dear, stupid body is easily satisfied as a spaniel. And, incredibly, the simple spaniel can lure the brawling mind to its dish. It is everlastingly funny that the proud, metaphysically ambitious mind will hush if you give it an egg.

  Annie Dillard

  Stupid, Simple, Eggs

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• And in vain does the dreamer rummage about in his old dreams, raking them over as though they were a heap of cinders, looking into these cinders for some spark, however tiny, to fan it into a flame so as to warm his chilled blood by it and revive in it all that he held so dear before, all that touched his heart, that made his blood course through his veins, that drew tears from his eyes, and that so splendidly deceived him!

  Fyodor Dostoevsky

  Dream, Eye, Heart

  "Personal Quotes/ Biography". www.imdb.com.

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• I shall forget you presently, my dear, So make the most of this, your little day, Your little month, your little half a year, Ere I forget, or die, or move away, And we are done forever; by and by I shall forget you, as I said, but now, If you entreat me with your loveliest lie I will protest you with my favorite vow. I would indeed that love were longer-lived, And vows were not so brittle as they are, But so it is, and nature has contrived To struggle on without a break thus far,-- Whether or not we find what we are seeking Is idle, biologically speaking.

  Edna St. Vincent Millay

  Lying, Struggle, Moving

  "Four Sonnets - IV" l. 9 (1922)

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