Handful Quotes - Page 4

• Life was going on, and no one but a handful of people cared if I lived or died.

  Kim Harrison

  People, Died, Ifs

  Kim Harrison (2011). “Pale Demon”, p.37, HarperCollins UK

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• Love is a handful of seeds, marriage the garden, and like your gardens, Paula, marriage requires total commitment, hard work, and a great deal of love and care. Be ruthless with the weeds. Pull them out before they take hold. Bring the same dedication to your marriage that you do to your gardens and everything will be all right. Remember that a marriage has to be constantly replenished too, if you want it to flourish.

  Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Love, Weed, Hard Work

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• I noticed the plants growing around me. Tall with leaves like arrowheads. Blossoms with three white petals. I knelt down in the water, my fingers digging into the soft mud, and I pulled up handfuls of the roots. Small, bluish tubers that don’t look like much but boiled or baked are as good as any potato. “Katniss,” I said aloud. It’s the plant I was named for. And I heard my father’s voice joking, “As long as you can find yourself, you’ll never starve.

  Suzanne Collins

  Father, Plants Growing, Voice

  Suzanne Collins (2009). “The Hunger Games”, p.47, Scholastic Inc.

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• Any messages for me?" Usually I got one or two, but mostly people who wanted my help preferred to talk in person. "Yes. Hold on." She pulled out a handful of pink tickets and recited from memory, without checking the paper. "Seven forty-two a.m., Mr. Gasparian: I curse you. I curse your arms so they wither and die and fall off your body. I curse your eyeballs to explode. I curse your feet to swell until blue. I curse your spine to crack. I curse you. I curse you. I curse you.

  Ilona Andrews

  Memories, Fall, Blue

  Ilona Andrews (2010). “Magic Bleeds”, p.38, Penguin

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• The older you get, the more you realize you need a handful of good, close, tight friends.

  Nicole Richie

  Needs, Realizing

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• The seals stupidly dive off rocks into swirling black water, barking mindlessly. The zookeepers feed them dead fish. A crowd gathers around the tank, mostly adults, a few accompanied by children. On the seals' tank a plaque warns: COINS CAN KILL——IF SWALLOWED, COINS CAN LODGE IN AN ANIMAL'S STOMACH AND CAUSE ULCERS, INFECTIONS AND DEATH. DO NOT THROW COINS IN THE POOL. So what do I do? Toss a handful of change into the tank when none of the zookeepers are watching. It's not the seals I hate——it's the audience's enjoyment of them that bothers me.

  Bret Easton Ellis

  Children, Hate, Animal

  Bret Easton Ellis (2014). “American Psycho: Picador Classic”, p.240, Pan Macmillan

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• The opportunity was too perfect to miss. Harry crept silently around behind Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, bent down, and scooped a large handful of mud out of the path. 'We were just talking about your friend Hagrid,' Malfoy said to Ron. 'Just trying to imagine what he's saying to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. D'you think he'll cry when they cut off his hippogriff's—' SPLAT. Malfoy's head jerked back as the mud hit him; his silverblond hair was suddenly dripping in muck.

  J. K. Rowling

  Cutting, Opportunity, Thinking

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• I suppose it is submerged realities that give to dreams their curious air of hyper-reality. But perhaps there is something else as well, something nebulous, gauze-like, through which everything one sees in a dream seems, paradoxically, much clearer. A pond becomes a lake, a breeze becomes a storm, a handful of dust is a desert, a grain of sulphur in the blood is a volcanic inferno. What manner of theater is it, in which we are at once playwright, actor, stage manager, scene painter and audience?

  W. G. Sebald

  Dream, Reality, Lakes

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• We are the dead. Our only true life is in the future. We shall take part in it as handfuls of dust and splinters of bone. But how far away that future may be, there is no knowing.

  George Orwell

  Dust, Knowing, True Life

  George Orwell (2001). “The Complete Novels of George Orwell: Animal Farm, Burmese Days, A Clergyman's Daughter, Coming Up for Air, Keep the Aspidistra Flying, Nineteen Eighty-Four”, p.1280, Penguin UK

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• Handfuls of frosty water can make almost anyone smile, but it cannot make them forget.

  Markus Zusak

  Water, Forget

  Markus Zusak (2014). “Markus Zusak: The Book Thief & I Am the Messenger”, p.311, Knopf Books for Young Readers

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• The place didn't look the same but it felt the same; sensations clutched and transformed me. I stood outside some concrete and plate-glass tower-block, picked a handful of eucalyptus leaves from a branch, crushed them in my hand, smelt, and tears came to my eyes. Sixty-seven-year-old Claudia, on a pavement awash with packaged American matrons, crying not in grief but in wonder that nothing is ever lost, that everything can be retrieved, that a lifetime is not linear but instant. That, inside the head, everything happens at once.

  Penelope Lively

  Block, Grief, Eye

  Penelope Lively (2007). “Moon Tiger”, p.58, Grove/Atlantic, Inc.

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• You're dying with the way things are," Della Lee said harshly, causing Josey to lower the handful of popcorn she was about to put in her mouth. "You're going to lose yourself in this, Josey. It's going to happen if you don't change. I know. I lost myself trying to find happiness in things that didn't love me back.

  Sarah Addison Allen

  Dying, Trying, Popcorn

  Sarah Addison Allen (2008). “The Sugar Queen”, p.76, Bantam

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• Give that man a Pixy Stix," Haddie said. "A what?" Lucia asked. "Hold on." She left then returned a moment later with a handful of colorful straws, one of which she threw at Max like a dart. He caught it in midair. That impressed Haddie and she tossed him another, just to see if he could do it again. He fumbled that one.

  Ellen Potter

  Men, Giving, Max

  Ellen Potter (2010). “The Kneebone Boy”, p.128, Macmillan

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• I wanted more firsts with Tod. But all I had left was a handful of lasts.

  Rachel Vincent

  Firsts, Lasts, Wanted

  Rachel Vincent (2013). “Soul Screamers Volume Three: If I Die\Never to Sleep\Before I Wake”, p.274, Harlequin

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• I bet you a handful of Chili's coupons that Jesus had a foot fetish.

  Corey Taylor

  Jesus, Feet, Chili

  Corey Taylor (2012). “Seven Deadly Sins: Settling the Argument Between Born Bad and Damaged Good”, p.64, Da Capo Press

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• We are the dead. Our only true life is in the future. We shall take part in it as handfuls of dust and splinters of bone. But how far away that future may be, there is no knowing. It might be a thousand years. At present nothing is possible except to extend the area of sanity little by little. We cannot act collectively. We can only spread our knowledge outwards from individual to individual, generation after generation. In the face of the Thought Police there is no other way.

  George Orwell

  Dust, Years, Knowing

  George Orwell (2003). “Nineteen Eighty-four”, Penguin Mass Market

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• Cole grasped a handful of vials and syringes with one hand and dumped them on the island in front of me. They rolled and whirled in misshapen circles on the counter surface. "Here are our options." My ears rang. "We have more than one?" "Three, precisely," Cole said. He pointed to each in turn. "That one makes you a wolf. That one makes me a wolf. That one gives us both seizures.

  Maggie Stiefvater

  Islands, Hands, Circles

  Maggie Stiefvater (2011). “Shiver Trilogy (Shiver, Linger, Forever)”, p.867, Scholastic Inc.

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• I am, when you stop to think of it, a member of a fairly select group: the final handful of American novelists who learned to read and write before they learned to eat a daily helping of video bullshit.

  Stephen King

  Writing, Thinking, Bullshit

  Stephen King (2000). “On Writing: A Memoir Of The Craft”, p.20, Simon and Schuster

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• No one really needs me," he says, and there is no self-pity in his voice. It's true his family doesn't need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. Even Haymitch, with the help of a lot of white liquor, will get on. I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me. "I do," I say. "I need you.

  Suzanne Collins

  Voice, White, Self

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• Dirt's a funny thing,' the Boss said. 'Come to think of it, there ain't a thing but dirt on this green God's globe except what's under water, and that's dirt too. It's dirt makes the grass grow. A diamond ain't a thing in the world but a piece of dirt that got awful hot. And God-a-Mighty picked up a handful of dirt and blew on it and made you and me and George Washington and mankind blessed in faculty and apprehension. It all depends on what you do with the dirt. That right?

  Robert Penn Warren

  Blessed, Thinking, Funny Things

  Robert Penn Warren (2006). “All the King's Men”, p.69, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• I don't know if I've come of age, but I'm certainly older now. I feel shrunken, as if there's a tiny ancient Oliver Tate inside me operating the levers of a life-size Oliver-shaped shell. A shell on which a decrepit picture show replays the same handful of images. Every night I come to the same place and wait till the sky catches up with my mood. The pattern is set. This is, no doubt, the end.

  Joe Dunthorne

  Night, Sky, Waiting

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• When you write, it’s like braiding your hair. Taking a handful of coarse unruly strands and attempting to bring them unity. Your fingers have still not perfected the task. Some of the braids are long, others are short. Some are thick, others are thin. Some are heavy. Others are light. Like the diverse women of your family. Those whose fables and metaphors, whose similes and soliloquies, whose diction and je ne sais quoi daily slip into your survival soup, by way of their fingers.

  Edwidge Danticat

  Writing, Light, Hair

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• I’m not suggesting the world is good, that life is easy, or that any of us are entitled to better. But please, isn’t this the kind of thing you talk about in somber tones, in the afternoon, with some degree of hope and maybe even a handful of strategies?

  Richard Siken

  Degrees, Afternoon, World

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• We all walk in a land of dreams. For what are we but atoms and hope, a handful of stardust and sinew? We are weary travelers trying to find our way home on a road that never ends. Am I a part of your dream? or are you but a part of mine?

  Libba Bray

  Dream, Home, Land

  Libba Bray (2009). “Going Bovine”, p.144, Delacorte Books for Young Readers

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• My grandmother thinks it's really funny to put all sorts of things in our - my lunch. I never know what'll be inside: e.e. cummings, flower petals, a handful of buttons. She seems to have lost sight of the original purpose of the brown bag." - Lennie "Or maybe she thinks other forms of nourishment are more important." - Joe

  Jandy Nelson

  Flower, Grandmother, Thinking

  Jandy Nelson (2010). “The Sky Is Everywhere”, p.36, Penguin

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