Grew Quotes - Page 19

• That was the moment he got the idea he possessed me in a certain way, and that was the moment I grew tired of him.

  Jamaica Kincaid

  Tired, Ideas, Way

  Jamaica Kincaid (2002). “Lucy: A Novel”, p.155, Macmillan

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• It was a huge zoo, spread over numberless acres, big enough to require a train to explore it, though it seemed to get smaler as I grew older, train included. Now it's so small it fits in my head.

  Yann Martel

  Zoos, Acres, Fit

  Yann Martel, Canongate Books (2007). “Life of Pi (Illustrated): Deluxe Illustrated Edition”, p.27, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• I don't know when it started - this thing - bit it's growing, muffling me, suffocating me like poison ivy. I grew into it. It grew into me. We blurred at the edges, became an amorphous, seeping, crawling thing.

  Tabitha Suzuma

  Ivy, Poison, Growing

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• Branches grew from his hands, his hair. His thoughts tangled like roots in the ground. He strained upward. Pitch ran like tears down his back. His name formed his core; ring upon ring of silence built around it. His face rose high above the forests. Gripped to earth, bending to the wind's fury, he disappeared within himself, behind the hard, wind-scrolled shield of his experiences.

  Patricia A. McKillip

  Hair, Hands, Wind

  Patricia A. McKillip (1999). “Riddle-Master”, p.535, Penguin

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• Demons feed on death and pain madness," Valentine said. "When I kill, it is because I must. You grew up in a falsely beautiful paradise surrounded by fragile glass walls, my daughter. Your mother created the world she wanted to live in and she brought you up in it, but she never told you it was an illusion. And all the time the demons waited with their weapons of blood and terror to smash the glass and pull you free of the lie.

  Cassandra Clare

  Beautiful, Daughter, Mother

  Cassandra Clare (2012). “Cassandra Clare: The Mortal Instruments Series (5 books): City of Bones; City of Ashes; City of Glass; City of Fallen Angels, City of Lost Souls”, p.830, Simon and Schuster

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• Sylvia loved secrets and even if she didn't have any secrets she made sure that you thought she did. Amelia had no secrets, Amelia knew nothing. When she grew up she planned to know everything and to keep it all a secret.

  Kate Atkinson

  Secret, Grew Up, Amelia

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• His gold eyes grew very soft. “You said you loved me.” “You knew that already,” I reminded him, ducking my head. “It was nice to hear, just the same.” I hid my face against his shoulder. “I love you,” I whispered. “You are my life now,” he answered simply. There was nothing more to say for the moment. He rocked us back and forth as the room grew lighter.

  Stephenie Meyer

  Nice, Love You, Eye

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• She gazed toward the marsh that grew thicker, deeper, greener with approaching summer. Mosquitoes whined in there, breeding in the dark water. Alligators slid through it, silent death. It was a place where snakes could slither and bogs could suck the shoe right off your foot. And it was a place, she thought, that went bright and beautiful with the twinkling of fireflies, where wildflowers thrived in the shade and the stingy light. Where an eagle could soar like a king. There was no beauty without risk. No life without it.

  Nora Roberts

  Beautiful, Summer, Kings

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• Um, Faythe?” Marc reached for my arm, and a small grin turned up one corner of his beautiful mouth. “As my first official piece of advice to the new Alpha, let me suggest that you put on some pants. And maybe a shirt.” His grin grew and pulled me closer to whisper in my ear, while Jace watched us stiffly from across the room. “While the look definitely works for me, I’m thinking the other Alphas might take you more seriously if you dress the part.

  Rachel Vincent

  Beautiful, Thinking, Advice

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• There rolls the deep where grew the tree. O earth, what changes hast thou seen! There where the long street roars, hath been The stillness of the central sea. The hills are shadows, and they flow From form to form, and nothing stands; They melt like mist, the solid lands, Like clouds they shape themselves and go.

  Alfred Lord Tennyson

  Science, Clouds, Sea

  Alfred, Lord Tennyson (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson (Illustrated)”, p.845, Delphi Classics

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• An oak tree and a rosebush grew, Young and green together, Talking the talk of growing things- Wind and water and weather. And while the rosebush sweetly bloomed The oak tree grew so high That now it spoke of newer things- Eagles, mountain peaks and sky. "I guess you think you're pretty great," The rose was heard to cry, Screaming as loud as it possibly could To the treetop in the sky. "And now you have no time for flower talk, Now that you've grown so tall." "It's not so much that I've grown," said the tree, "It's just that you've stayed so small.

  Shel Silverstein

  Flower, Thinking, Talking

  Shel Silverstein, “The Oak And The Rose”

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• Immortal amarant, a flower which once In paradise, fast by the tree of life, Began to bloom; but soon for man's offence To heaven removed, where first it grew, there grows, And flowers aloft, shading the fount of life, And where the river of bliss through midst of heaven Rolls o'er elysian flowers her amber stream: With these that never fade the spirits elect Bind their resplendent locks.

  John Milton

  Flower, Men, Rivers

  John Milton (2012). “Paradise Lost”, p.58, Courier Corporation

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• Crying was an acceptable outlet, even if it made you feel raw and empty inside, it was still better than that build up of resentment that grew from not letting your emotions out. - My Bestfriend's Girl -

  Dorothy Koomson

  Girl, Resentment, Emotion

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• Because of fear, they made shelter and found food and grew things. For the same reason, weapons were stored, waiting.

  Lois Lowry

  Waiting, Weapons, Shelter

  Lois Lowry (2014). “The Giver Quartet”, p.170, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• Looking a dead insect in the sack of basmati that had come all the way from Dehra Dun, he almost wept with sorrow and marvel at its journey, which was tenderness for his own journey. In India almost nobody would be able to afford this rice, and you had to travel around the world to be able to eat such things where they were cheap enough that you could gobble them down without being rich; and when you got home to the place where they grew, you couldn't afford them anymore.

  Kiran Desai

  Home, Journey, Sorrow

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• Valentine had long ago observed that in a society that expected chastity and fidelity, like Lusitania, the adolescents who controlled and channeled their youthful passions were the ones who grew up to be both strong and civilized. Adolescents in such a community who were either too weak to control themselves or too contemptuous of society's norms to try usually ended up being either sheep or wolves- either mindless members of the herd or predators who took what they could and gave nothing.

  Orson Scott Card

  Strong, Valentine, Passion

  Orson Scott Card (2009). “Xenocide: Volume Three of the Ender Quintet”, p.235, Tor Books

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• Soon it began to drizzle for the second time that night. The drops grew heavier and became visible in the headlights of the cars. It was said by some of the police on the scene that God was crying for the girl in the garden. To others, it was only rain.

  George Pelecanos

  Girl, Rain, Night

  "The night gardener". Book by George Pelecanos, www.theguardian.com. August 8, 2006.

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• There you'll find the place I love most in the world. The place where I grew thin from dreaming. My village, rising from the plain. Shaded with trees and leaves like a piggy bank filled with memories. You'll see why a person would want to live there forever. Dawn, morning, mid-day, night: all the same, except for the changes in the air. The air changes the color of things there. And life whirs by as quiet as a murmur...the pure murmuring of life.

  Juan Rulfo

  Dream, Morning, Memories

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• I'll tell you truly: I value my thought and work terribly, but in essence - think about it - this whole world of ours is just a bit of mildew that grew over a tiny planet. And we think we can have something great - thoughts, deeds! They're all grains of sand

  Leo Tolstoy

  Thinking, Essence, World

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• When her muzzle grew more white than brown, the chipmunk forgot that she and the squirrel had had nothing to talk about. She forgot the definition of "jazz" as well and came to think of it as every beautiful thing she had ever failed to appreciate: the taste of warm rain; the smell of a baby; the din of a swollen river, rushing past her tree and onward to infinity.

  David Sedaris

  Beautiful, Baby, Rain

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• It was as if he grew his hair long and smoked cigarettes because he liked to, not because he liked being seen to. This was dangerously subversive.

  Stephen Fry

  Hair, Long, Cigarette

  Stephen Fry (2003). “The Liar”, p.22, Soho Press

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• His invitation lingers. So does my question. Why me? I don't know the answer. When I look at myself in the mirror, all I see is a starving, stunted bird who never grew wings and lost all reason to sing.

  Julie Anne Peters

  Mirrors, Wings, Bird

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• On the way out to the car, Philip turns to me. “How could you be so stupid? I shrug, stung in spite of myself. “I thought I grew out of it.” Philip pulls out his key fob and presses the remote to unlock his Mercedes. I slide into the passenger side, brushing coffee cups off the seat and onto the floor mat, where crumpled printouts from MapQuest soak up any spilled liquid. “I hope you mean sleepwalking,” Philip says, “since you obviously didn’t grow out of stupid.

  Holly Black

  Stupid, Coffee, Mean

  Holly Black (2010). “White Cat”, p.30, Simon and Schuster

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• Hey." Her grin grew as she glanced from me to Nash, then back. "You're blocking the fridge." "There's a cooler in the other room." Nash nodded toward the main part of the house. Emma shrugged. "Yeah, but no one's making out in front of it.

  Rachel Vincent

  Block, House, Hey

  Rachel Vincent (2010). “My Soul to Keep”, p.11, Harlequin

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• It was a vicious cycle, though. The more gratification we found in our own geniuses, the more isolated we grew.

  Alison Bechdel

  Genius, Vicious, Found

  Alison Bechdel (2007). “Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic”, p.134, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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