Scene Quotes - Page 40

• I long for scenes where man has never trod; A place where woman never smil'd or wept; There to abide with my creator, God, And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept: Untroubling and untroubled where I lie; The grass below--above the vaulted sky.

  John Clare

  Lying, Sleep, Men

  'I Am' (1848)

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• It seemed as though he gave way all at once; he was so languid that he could not control his thoughts; they would wander to her; they would bring back the scene,- not of his repulse and rejection the day before but the looks, the actions of the day before that. He went along the crowded streets mechanically, winding in and out among the people, but never seeing them, -almost sick with longing for that one half-hour-that one brief space of time when she clung to him, and her heart beat against his-to come once again.

  Elizabeth Gaskell

  Heart, Space, People

  Elizabeth Gaskell (2010). “The Complete Works of Elizabeth Gaskell (20+ Books)”, p.1528, BookCaps Study Guides

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• Don't never participate in no bad scenes, he reminded himself; that was his motto in life.

  Philip K. Dick

  Motto

  Philip K. Dick (2011). “A Scanner Darkly”, p.134, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• I knew I would replay the scene countless times in the years before me, each time thinking of different things I should have said and done. But all I did was walk away without looking back.

  Lisa Kleypas

  Thinking, Should Have, Years

  Lisa Kleypas (2010). “Sugar Daddy: A Novel”, p.140, Macmillan

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• What pen can describe this scene of marvellous horror; what pencil can portray it?

  Jules Verne

  Horror, Pens, Pencils

  Jules Verne (2016). “The Mysterious Island”, p.433, Xist Publishing

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• It's the only thing that keeps me going these days, travelling. Changes of scene, changes of faces

  David Lodge

  Faces, These Days

  David Lodge (2011). “The Campus Trilogy: Changing Places; Small World; Nice Work”, p.275, Penguin

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• Things are going so well. We’re volleying words back and forth. Everything she says, I have something I can say back. We’re sparking, and part of me just wants to sit back and watch. We’re clicking. Not because a part of me is fitting into a part of her. But because our words are clicking into each other to form sentences and our sentences are clicking into each other to form dialogue and our dialogue is clicking together to form this scene from this ongoing movie that’s as comfortable as it is unrehearsed.

  David Levithan

  Together, Watches, Our Words

  Rachel Cohn, David Levithan (2014). “Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist”, p.47, Egmont UK

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• Doug returned five minutes later and shook his head. "Sorry kid. She's single, but she doesn't think you're her type. She's into the Goth and vampire scene. You're too mainstream for her." I was sipping a glass of water and nearly choked on it. "That," said Peter, as soon as Doug was gone, "is what we call irony." "How is that possible?" exclaimed Cody. "I am a vampire. I should be exactly what she wants." "Yeah, but you don't look like one," I said. If Gabrielle had been a Trekkie, he might have had a shot tonight.

  Richelle Mead

  Sorry, Kids, Thinking

  Richelle Mead (2010). “Succubus Shadows”, p.8, Kensington Publishing Corp.

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• No one can give anyone else the gift of the idyll; only an animal can do so, because only animals were not expelled from Paradise. The love between dog and man is idyllic. It knows no conflicts, no hair-raising scenes; it knows no development.

  Milan Kundera

  Dog, Animal, Men

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• In his or her own way, everyone I saw before me looked happy. Whether they were really happy or just looked it, I couldn't tell. But they did look happy on this pleasant early afternoon in late September, and because of that I felt a kind of loneliness new to me, as if I were the only one here who was not truly part of the scene.

  Haruki Murakami

  Loneliness, Looks, Afternoon

  Haruki Murakami (2011). “Norwegian Wood”, p.103, Random House

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• You'll be found, your nickels, dimes and Indian-heads fused by electroplating. Abe Lincolns melted into Miss Columbias, eagles plucked raw on the backs of quarters, all run to quicksilver in your jeans. More! Any boy hit by lightning, lift his lid and there on his eyeball, pretty as the Lord's Prayer on a pin, find the last scene the boy ever saw! A box-Brownie photo, by God, of that fire climbing down the sky to blow you like a penny whistle, suck your soul back up along the bright stair!

  Ray Bradbury

  Running, Prayer, Blow

  Ray Bradbury (2013). “Something Wicked This Way Comes”, p.10, Harper Collins

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• A moral character is attached to autumnal scenes; the leaves falling like our years, the flowers fading like our hours, the clouds fleeting like our illusions, the light diminishing like our intelligence, the sun growing colder like our affections, the rivers becoming frozen like our lives--all bear secret relations to our destinies.

  François-René de Chateaubriand

  Flower, Fall, Character

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• Inside him, twenty years dissolved and mixed into one complex, swirling whole. Everything that had accumulated over the years-- all he had seen, all the words he has spoken, all the values he had held-- all of it coalesced into one solid, thick pillar in his heart, the core of which was spinning like a potter's wheel. Wordlessly, Tengo observed the scene, as if watching the destruction and rebirth of a planet.

  Haruki Murakami

  Heart, Years, Twenties

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• And even if these scenes from our youth were given back to us we would hardly know what to do. The tender, secret influence that passed from them into us could not rise again. We might be amongst them and move in them; we might remember and love them and be stirred by the sight of them. But it would be like gazing at the photograph of a dead comrade; those are his features, it is his face, and the days we spent together take on a mournful life in the memory; but the man himself it is not.

  Erich Maria Remarque

  Memories, Moving, Men

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• When I look out on such a night as this, I feel as if there could be neither wickedness nor sorrow in the world; and there certainly would be less of both if the sublimity of Nature were more attended to, and people were carried more out of themselves by contemplating such a scene.

  Jane Austen

  Night, People, Sorrow

  Jane Austen (2006). “Illustrated Jane Austen - 8 Books in 1. Illustrated by Hugh Thomson. Sense & Sensibility, Pride & Prejudice, Mansfield Park, Emma, Northanger Abbey, P”, p.328, Shoes & Ships & Sealing Wax

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• for my grief's so great That no supporter but the huge firm earth Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit; Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. (Constance, from King John, Act III, scene 1)

  William Shakespeare

  Kings, Grief, Sorrow

  1596 Constance. KingJohn, act 2, sc.2, l.71-3.

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• ……, but as I am a scholar I feel obliged to document what it is like here, most of the time, between the dramatic climaxes. In truth it is like this: You cannot imagine how time can be so still. It hangs. It weighs, and yet there is so little of it. It goes so slowly and it is so scarce. If I was writing this scene it would last a full 15 minutes. I would lie here and you would sit there.

  Margaret Edson

  Lying, Writing, Littles

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• O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains!" - Cassio (Act II, Scene iii)

  William Shakespeare

  Men, Alcohol, Brain

  1603-4 Cassio, of wine. Othello, act 2, sc.3, l.283-5.

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• You need me, just whistle," he said as he arranged his ball cap over his eyes against the sun leaking through the frost-emptied branches. "You're not coming?" Lifting the brim of his cap, he eyed me, "You want me to?" he asked blandly. "Not really, no." He dropped the brim and laced his hands over his middle. "Then why are you bitching? It's a crime scene, not a grocery store.

  Kim Harrison

  Eye, Hands, Branches

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• I am simply not interested, at this point, in creating narrative scenes between characters.

  Lydia Davis

  Character, Creating, Narrative

  Interview with Sarah Manguso, www.believermag.com. January, 2008.

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• But because me and myself, as you no doubt are well aware, we are going to die, my relation—and yours too—to the event of this text, which otherwise never quite makes it, our relation is that of a structurally posthumous necessity. Suppose, in that case, that I am not alone in my claim to know the idiomatic code (whose notion itself is already contradictory) of this event. What if somewhere, here or there, there are shares in this non-secret’s secret? Even so the scene would not be changed. The accomplices, as you are once again well aware, are also bound to die.

  Jacques Derrida

  What If, Doubt, Secret

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• Man is the only real enemy we have. Remove Man from the scene, and the root cause of hunger and overwork is abolished forever.

  George Orwell

  Real, Men, Roots

  George Orwell, A.M. Heath (2003). “Animal Farm and 1984”, p.22, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• I was forced to fall back upon the unsatisfactory conclusion, that while, beyond doubt, there are combinations of very simple natural objects which have the power of thus affecting us, still the analysis of this power lies among considerations beyond our depth. It was possible, I reflected, that a mere different arrangement of the particulars of the scene, of the details of the picture, would be sufficient to modify, or perhaps to annihilate its capacity for sorrowful impression.

  Edgar Allan Poe

  Lying, Fall, Simple

  Edgar Allan Poe (2015). “The Fall of the House of Usher”, p.2, Booklassic

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• We were the ones on scene when everything went down. We weren't better. We weren't worse. We were just the ones standing in the blast radius.

  Mira Grant

  Blast, Standing, Radius

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• With the death of my father, it wasn't just the objects of everyday life that had changed; even the most ordinary street scenes had become irreplaceable mementos of a lost world whose every detail figured in the meaning of the whole.

  Orhan Pamuk

  Father, Everyday, Ordinary

  Orhan Pamuk (2011). “The Museum of Innocence”, p.312, Faber & Faber

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