Dear Quotes - Page 7

• After all my erstwhile dear, my no longer cherished; Need we say it was not love, just because it perished?

  Edna St. Vincent Millay

  Heartbreak, Needs

  Edna St. Vincent Millay (2003). “Edna St. Vincent Millay: Selected Poems”, p.59, Library of America

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• Forgive me for startling you with the impetuosity of my sentiments, my dear Scarlett—I mean, my dear Mrs. Kennedy. It cannot have escaped your notice that for some time past the friendship I have had in my heart for you has ripened into a deeper feeling, a feeling more beautiful, more pure, more sacred. Dare I name it you? Ah! It is love which makes me so bold!

  Margaret Mitchell

  Beautiful, Heart, Mean

  Margaret Mitchell (2016). “Gone with the Wind”, p.541, Hamilton Books

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• My dear fellow, the truth isn’t quite the sort of thing one tells to a nice, sweet, refined girl. What extraordinary ideas you have about the way to behave to a woman!

  Oscar Wilde

  Girl, Sweet, Nice

  Oscar Wilde (1994). “The Importance of Being Earnest”, p.21, Heinemann

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• Come, dear, [Gwendolen rises] we have already missed five, if not six, trains. To miss any more might expose us to comment on the platform.

  Oscar Wilde

  Missing, Might, Six

  Oscar Wilde (2007). “The Collected Works of Oscar Wilde”, p.711, Wordsworth Editions

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• Dear Hitler Take away the torches I'm not guilty I had to have this

  Leonard Cohen

  Torches, Guilty, Not Guilty

  Leonard Cohen (2003). “The Favorite Game: A Novel”, Vintage Books

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• The businessman who assumes that his life is everything, and the mystic who asserts that it is nothing, fail, on this side and on that, to hit the truth. ‘Yes, I see, dear; it’s about half-way between,’ Aunt Juley had hazarded in earlier years. No; truth, being alive, was not halfway between anything. It was only to be found by continuous excursions into either realm, and though proportion is the final secret, to espouse it at the outset is to ensure sterility.

  E. M. Forster

  Aunt, Years, Secret

  E. M. Forster (2014). “Great Novels of E. M. Forster: Where Angels Fear to Tread, The Longest Journey, A Room with a View, Howards End”, p.861, Skyhorse Publishing, Inc.

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• Let either of you breathe a word, or the edge of a word, about the other things, and I will come to you in the black of some terrible night and I will bring a pointy reckoning that will shudder you. And you know I can do it; I saw Indians smash my dear parents' heads on the pillow next to mine, and I have seen some reddish work done at night, and I can make you wish you had never seen the sun go down! - Abigail

  Arthur Miller

  Night, Parent, Crucible

  Arthur Miller (1957). “Arthur Miller's collected plays: with an introduction”, Viking Pr

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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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• My dear girl, don't talk nonsense to me! You're lazy, that's all that's wrong with you. Why don't you take up social work?

  Georgette Heyer

  Girl, Lazy, Social Work

  Georgette Heyer (2010). “They Found Him Dead”, p.209, Random House

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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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• Dear Aunt Loretta, Thank you so much for the awesome pants! How did you know I wanted that for Christmas? I love the way the pants look on my legs! All my friends will be so jealous that I have my very own pants. Thank you for making this the best Christmas ever! Sincerely, Greg

  Jeff Kinney

  Jealous, Aunt, Looks

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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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• Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted: and I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart; for, truly, I love none. Beatrice: A dear happiness to women: they would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that: I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me. -Much Ado About Nothing

  William Shakespeare

  Dog, Heart, Men

  William Shakespeare (2005). “William Shakespeare: The Complete Works”, p.2906, OUP Oxford

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• Have you ever happened, reader, to feel that subtle sorrow of parting with an unloved abode? The heart does not break, as it does in parting with dear objects. The humid gaze does not wander around holding back a tear, as if it wished to carry away in it a trembling reflection of the abandoned spot; but in the best corner of our hearts we feel pity for the things which we did not bring to life with our breath, which we hardly noticed and are now leaving forever. This already dead iventory will not be resurrected in one's memory.

  Vladimir Nabokov

  Memories, Heart, Reflection

  Vladimir Nabokov, Michael Scammell (1963). “The gift”

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• I say that is wine," Brett held up her glass. "We ought to toast something. 'Here's to royalty.'" "This wine is too good for toast-drinking, my dear. you don't want to mix emotions up with a wine like that. you lose the taste." Brett's glass was empty.

  Ernest Hemingway

  Drinking, Wine, Glasses

  Ernest Hemingway (1926). “The Sun Also Rises”, p.66, Simon and Schuster

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• Now from his breast into the eyes the ache of longing mounted, and he wept at last, his dear wife, clear and faithful, in his arms, longed for as the sunwarmed earth is longed for by a swimmer spent in rough water where his ship went down under Poseidon's blows, gale winds and tons of sea. Few men can keep alive through a big serf to crawl, clotted with brine, on kindly beaches in joy, in joy, knowing the abyss behind: and so she too rejoiced, her gaze upon her husband, her white arms round him pressed as though forever.

  Homer

  Beach, Husband, Eye

  Homer, Robert Fitzgerald (1963). “The Odyssey”, Anchor

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• But don't you see, all human decisions are made like this. Do you think the mother knows what will happen to the child in her womb? Dear God, we are lost, I tell you. What does it matter if you give it to me and it's wrong! There is no wrong! There is only desperation, and I would have it! I want to live forever with you.

  Anne Rice

  Mother, Children, Thinking

  Anne Rice (2011). “The Vampire Chronicles Collection: Interview with the Vampire, The Vampire Lestat, The Queen of the Damned”, p.1263, Ballantine Books

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• And I have again observed, my dear friend, in this trifling affair, that misunderstandings and neglect occasion more mischief in the world than even malice and wickedness. At all events, the two latter are of less frequent occurrence.

  Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

  Two, Events, Wickedness

  Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (2016). “THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER (Literary Classics Series): Historical Romance Novel”, p.3, e-artnow

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