Golden Quotes - Page 15

• The years, the months, the days, and the hours have flown by my open window. Here and there an incident, a towering moment, a naked memory, an etched countenance, a whisper in the dark, a golden glow these and much more are the woven fabric of the time I have lived.

  Howard Thurman

  Memories, Dark, Years

  Howard Thurman (1981). “With Head and Heart: The Autobiography of Howard Thurman”, p.291, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• I haven't come to you only to take , I haven't come to you empty handed : I bring you poetry as great as yours but in anther tongue , I bring you black eyes and golden skin and curly hair , I bring you Islam and Luxor and Alexandria and Lutes and tambourines and date-palms and silk rugs and sunshine and incense and voluptuous ways

  Ahdaf Soueif

  Eye, Sunshine, Hair

  Ahdaf Soueif (1999). “In the Eye of the Sun”, p.512, A&C Black

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• Good-bye, my moonsong and my breath, my white nights and golden days, my fresh water and my fire. Good-bye, and may you find a better life, find comfort again and your breathless smile, and when your beloved face lights up once more at the Western sunrise, be sure what I felt for you was not in vain. Good-bye and have faith, my Tatiana.

  Paullina Simons

  Night, Fire, Light

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• Interesting shade #23 Lush Golden Blonde highlights. Heyyyyyy.... The woman in the awful suit was me! The woman in the cheap shoes was me!

  MaryJanice Davidson

  Shoes, Interesting, Blonde

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• Every golden age is as much a matter of disregard as of felicity.

  Michael Chabon

  Age, Matter, Disregard

  Michael Chabon (2012). “The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay (with bonus content): A Novel”, p.325, Random House

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• But they never last, the golden days. And it can be sad, the sun in the afternoon, can't it? Yes, it can be sad, the afternoon sun, sad and frightening.

  Jean Rhys

  Golden Days, Afternoon, Lasts

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• Beautiful as a dandelion-blossom, golden in the green grass, This life can be. Common as a dandelion-blossom, beautiful in the clean grass, not beautiful Because common, beautiful because beautiful, Noble because common, because free.

  Edna St. Vincent Millay

  Beautiful, Noble, Green

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• Atlantis: Fabled. Mystical. Golden. Mysterious. Glorious and magical. There are those who claim that it never was. But then there are also those who think they are safe in this modern world of technology and weapons. Safe from all the ancient evils. They even believe that wizards, warriors, and dragons are long dead. They are fools clinging to their science and logic while thinking it will save them. (Thrylos)

  Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Believe, Warrior, Technology

  Sherrilyn Kenyon (2010). “Kiss of the Night”, p.1, Macmillan

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• Of course boredom may lead you to anything. It is boredom sets one sticking golden pins into people, but all that would not matter. What is bad (this is my comment again) is that I dare say people will be thankful for the gold pins then.

  Fyodor Dostoevsky

  People, Boredom, Being Thankful

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• Ah! Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavored one, and since then I’m afraid I’ve rather lost my liking for them — but I think I’ll be safe with a nice toffee, don’t you?” He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. “Alas! Ear wax!

  J. K. Rowling

  Nice, Thinking, Toffee

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• Days to come stand in front of us like a row of lighted candles— golden, warm, and vivid candles. Days gone by fall behind us, a gloomy line of snuffed-out candles; the nearest are smoking still, cold, melted, and bent. I don’t want to look at them: their shape saddens me, and it saddens me to remember their original light. I look ahead at my lighted candles. I don’t want to turn for fear of seeing, terrified, how quickly that dark line gets longer, how quickly the snuffed-out candles proliferate.

  C.P. Cavafy

  Fall, Dark, Light

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• My dear fellow,' Burlingame said, 'we sit here on a blind rock careening through space; we are all of us rushing headlong to the grave. Think you the worms will care, when anon they make a meal of you, whether you spent your moment sighing wigless in your chamber, or sacked the golden towns of Montezuma? Lookee, the day's nigh spent; 'tis gone careening into time forever. Not a tale's length past we lined our bowels with dinner, and already they growl for more. We are dying men, Ebenezer: i'faith, there's time for naught but bold resolves!

  John Barth

  Past, Men, Thinking

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• The very good people didn't convince me; I felt they'd never been tempted. But you knew; you understood; you had felt the world outside tugging at one with all its golden hands — and yet you hated the things it asks of one; you hated happiness bought by disloyalty and cruelty and indifference.

  Edith Wharton

  Hands, People, Tugging

  "Complete Works of Edith Wharton".

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• The weak grey light that serves as harbinger of red and golden dawn faintly lit my window. I fumbled for a candle, found and lit it, and by its little light saw that the rose floating in the bowl was dying. It had already lost most of its petals, which floated on the water like tiny, un-seaworthy boats, deserted for safer craft. "Dear God," I said. "I must go back at once.

  Robin McKinley

  Light, Water, Rose

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• My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was three, and, save for a pocket of warmth in the darkest past, nothing of her subsists within the hollows and dells of memory, over which, if you can still stand my style (I am writing under observation), the sun of my infancy had set: surely, you all know those redolent remnants of day suspended, with the midges, about some hedge in bloom or suddenly entered and traversed by the rambler, at the bottom of a hill, in the summer dusk; a furry warmth, golden midges.

  Vladimir Nabokov

  Summer, Mother, Memories

  Vladimir Nabokov (2016). “Lolita”, p.3, Hamilton Books

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• I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of golden sand- How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep- while I weep!

  Edgar Allan Poe

  Hands, Surf, Sand

  Edgar Allan Poe, Brod Bagert (1995). “Edgar Allan Poe”, p.20, Sterling Publishing Company, Inc.

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• Now, as far as I knew, he (Luke) was still sailing around on his demon-infested cruise ship while the chopped-up Lord Kronos re-formed, bit by bit, in a golden sarcophagus, biding his time until he had enough power to challenge the Olympian gods. In demigod-speak, we call this a “problem.” - Percy, 'The Battle of the Labyrinth

  Rick Riordan

  Challenges, Sailing, Labyrinth

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• Once there was a gypsy queen who wore on her wrist a chain of six lucky charms - a golden crown, a silver horse, a butterfly caught in amber, a cat's eye shell, a bolt of lightning forged from the heart of a falling star, and the flower of the rue plant, herb of grace. The queen gave each of her six children one of the charms as their lucky talisman, but ever since the chain of charms was broken, the gypsies had been dogged with misfortune.

  Kate Forsyth

  Horse, Queens, Stars

  Kate Forsyth (2007). “The Gypsy Crown: Chain of Charms 1”, Pan Australia

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• Daniel's face-- the way it had been bathed in violet light when he'd carried her home this morning-- appeared before her eyes. His gleaming golden hair. His tender, knowing eyes. The way one touch of his lips transported her far away from any darkness. For him, she'd suffer all of this, and more.

  Lauren Kate

  Morning, Eye, Home

  Lauren Kate (2013). “The Fallen Series: 4-Book Collection”, p.273, Delacorte Press

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• Isabella Swan?” He looked up at me through his impossibly long lashes, his golden eyes soft but, somehow, still scorching. “I promise to love you forever—every single day of forever. Will you marry me?” There were many things I wanted to say, some of them not nice at all, and others more disgustingly gooey and romantic than he probably dreamed I was capable of. Rather than embarrass myself with either, I whispered, “Yes.” “Thank you,” he said simply. He took my left hand and kissed each of my fingertips before he kissed the ring that was now mine.

  Stephenie Meyer

  Nice, Love You, Eye

  Stephenie Meyer (2008). “Eclipse”, Little Brown & Company

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• Hail to St. Aegolius Our Alma Mater. Hail, our song we raise in praise of thee Long in the memory of every loyal owl Thy splendid banner emblazoned be. Now to thy golden talons Homage we're bringing. Guiding symbol of our hopes and fears Hark to the cries of eternal praises ringing Long may we triumph in the coming years. - The Owls of St. Aegolius

  Kathryn Lasky

  Song, Memories, Years

  Kathryn Lasky (2010). “Guardians of Ga'Hoole Collection: Legend of the Guardians”, p.33, Scholastic Inc.

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• Don't let yourself feel worthless: often through life you will really be at your worst when you seem to think best of yourself; and don't worry about losing your "personality," as you persist in calling it: at fifteen you had the radiance of early morning, at twenty you will begin to have the melancholy brilliance of the moon, and when you are my age you will give out, as I do, the genial golden warmth of 4 p.m.

  F. Scott Fitzgerald

  Morning, Moon, Thinking

  F. Scott Fitzgerald, James L. W. West (1995). “This Side of Paradise”, p.102, Cambridge University Press

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• Maybe nothingness is to be without your presence, without you moving, slicing the noon like a blue flower, without you walking later through the fog and the cobbles, without the light you carry in your hand, golden, which maybe others will not see, which maybe no one knew was growing like the red beginnings of a rose. In short, without your presence: without your coming suddenly, incitingly, to know my life, gust of a rosebush, wheat of wind: since then I am because you are, since then you are, I am, we are, and through love I will be, you will be, we will be.

  Pablo Neruda

  Flower, Moving, Light

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• You used to say. "Desire doubled is love and love doubled is madness." Madness doubled is marriage I added when the caustic was cool, not intending to produce a golden rule.

  Anne Carson

  Desire, And Love, Madness

  Anne Carson (2009). “The Beauty of the Husband: A Fictional Essay in 29 Tangos”, p.35, Vintage

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• Oh soul, you worry too much. You have seen your own strength. You have seen your own beauty. You have seen your golden wings. Of anything less, why do you worry? You are in truth the soul, of the soul, of the soul.

  Rumi

  Beauty, Truth, Wings

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