Lays Quotes - Page 22

• That the world was silent and cold and bare and that in this lay its terrible beauty

  David Guterson

  World, Cold, Silent

  David Guterson (2009). “Snow Falling on Cedars”, p.224, A&C Black

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• THAT crazed girl improvising her music. Her poetry, dancing upon the shore, Her soul in division from itself Climbing, falling She knew not where, Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship, Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing Heroically lost, heroically found. No matter what disaster occurred She stood in desperate music wound, Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph Where the bales and the baskets lay No common intelligible sound But sang, 'O sea-starved, hungry sea

  William Butler Yeats

  Beautiful, Girl, Fall

  William Butler Yeats (1962). “Poems of William Butler Yeats”, p.5, Hayes Barton Press

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• Hereby perceive we the love of God, because He laid down His life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren." How often I think of that 'ought.' No sugary sentiment there. Just the stern, glorious trumpet call, OUGHT. But can words tell the joy buried deep within? Mine cannot. It laughs at words.

  Amy Carmichael

  Inspiration, Thinking, Laughing

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• These memories sustained him, but not so easily. Too often they reminded him of where he was when he last summoned them. They lay on the far side of a great divide in time, as significant as B.C. and A.D. Before prison, before the war, before the sight of a corpse became a banality.

  Ian Mcewan

  Memories, War, Sight

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• How it is I know not; but there is no place like a bed for confidential disclosures between friends. Man and wife, they say, there open the very bottom of their souls to each other; and some old couples often lie and chat over old times till nearly morning. Thus, then, in our hearts' honeymoon, lay I and Queequeg - a cosy, loving pair.

  Herman Melville

  Morning, Couple, Lying

  Herman Melville (2008). “Moby-Dick”, p.58, Velvet Element Books

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• Not like this vision before us, who was shaking water out of his slightly overlong reddish-brown hair as he leaned over to lay down his board (revealing, as he did so, the fact that beneath his baggy swim trunks—so weighted down with water that they had sunk somewhat dangerously low on his hips—lurked what appeared to be an exceptionally well-formed gluteus maximus)

  Meg Cabot

  Hair, Water, Swim

  Meg Cabot (2008). “Tommy Sullivan is a Freak”, p.41, Pan Macmillan

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• What a wonderful sleep it had been! Never had sleep so refreshed him, so renewed him, so rejuvenated him! Perhaps he had really died, perhaps he had been drowned and was reborn in another form. No, he recognized himself, he recognized his hands and feet, the place where he lay and the Self in his breast, Siddhartha, self-willed, individualistic. But this Siddhartha was somewhat changed, renewed. He had slept wonderfully. He was remarkably awake, happy and curious.

  Hermann Hesse

  Sleep, Self, Hands

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• I don't know how long I kept at it... I felt reasonably safe, streched out on the floor, and lay quite still. It didn't seem to be summer any more

  Sylvia Plath

  Summer, Long, Safe

  Sylvia Plath (2008). “The Bell Jar”, p.34, Faber & Faber

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• When I lay these questions before God I get no answer. But a rather special sort of 'No answer.' It is not the locked door. It is more like a silent, certainly not uncompassionate, gaze. As though He shook His head not in refusal but waiving the question. Like, 'Peace, child; you don't understand.

  C. S. Lewis

  Children, Doors, Special

  C.S. Lewis (2012). “A Grief Observed”, p.33, Faber & Faber

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• The greatest sorrow and burden you can lay on the Father, the greatest unkindness you can do to him is not to believe that he loves you.

  John Owen

  Father, Believe, Love You

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• But as i lay there, it only seemes like silence filling my ears. And the thing was, it was so freaking loud.

  Sarah Dessen

  Silence, Ears, Loud

  Sarah Dessen (2006). “Just Listen: A Novel”, Viking Childrens Books

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• Human beings must love something, and, in the dearth of worthier objects of affection, I contrived to find a pleasure in loving and cherishing a faded graven image, shabby as a miniature scarecrow. It puzzles me now to remember with what absurd sincerity I doated on this little toy, half fancying it alive and capable of sensation. I could not sleep unless it was folded in my night-gown; and when it lay there safe and warm, I was comparatively happy, believing it to be happy likewise.

  Charlotte Bronte

  Believe, Sleep, Night

  Charlotte Bronte (2014). “The Complete Works Of Charlotte Bronte: Jane Eyre, Shirley, Villette, and The Professor”, p.41, Harper Collins

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• Hold me closer tiny dancer, count the headlights on the highway. Lay me down in sheets of linen, you had a busy day today.

  Elton John

  Dancer, Today, Tiny

  Song: Tiny Dancer

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• But you must stop playing among his ghosts -- it's stupid and dangerous and completely pointless. He's trying to lay them to rest here, not stir them up, and you seem eager to drag out all the sad old bones of his history and make them dance again. It's not nice, and it's not fair.

  Patricia A. McKillip

  Nice, Stupid, Trying

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• His voice stopped and they looked for a long quiet moment into each other's eyes and between them lay the sunny lost youth that they had so unthinkingly shared.

  Margaret Mitchell

  Eye, Quiet Moments, Lost Youth

  Margaret Mitchell (2016). “Gone With The Wind: American Literature”, p.891, 谷月社

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• The fearful danger of the present time is that above the cry for authority, we forget that man stands alone before the ultimate authority, and that anyone who lays violent hands on man here, is infringing eternal laws, and taking upon himself superhuman authority, which will eventually crush him.

  Dietrich Bonhoeffer

  Crush, Men, Hands

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• …but there they lay, sprawled across the field, craved far more by the vultures than by wives.

  Homer

  Wife, Rage From The Iliad, Fields

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• He looked at a world of incredible loveliness. Old distaff Celt's blood in some back chamber of his brain moved him to discourse with the birches, with the oaks. A cool green fire kept breaking in the woods and he could hear the footsteps of the dead. Everything had fallen from him. He scarce could tell where his being ended or the world began nor did he care. He lay on his back in the gravel, the earth's core sucking his bones, a moment's giddy vertigo with this illusion of falling outward through blue and windy space, over the offside of the planet, hurtling through the high thin cirrus.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Fall, Blood, Space

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• he(Quinn)put his hand out to his friend. “I’ll lay my life down for you.With or Without that piece of paper

  J.R. Ward

  Hands, Pieces, Paper

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• The purpose of art is to lay bare the questions that have been hidden by the answers.

  James A. Baldwin

  Art, Answers, Purpose

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• That night as I lay in bed, I thought of several things I could have said and mourned the fact that my wit usually bloomed late, peaking when it no longer mattered, during the solitary hours close to midnight.

  Siri Hustvedt

  Regret, Night, Bed

  Siri Hustvedt (2017). “The Blindfold”, p.34, Simon and Schuster

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• Anytime you want to lay off the paybacks God, that'd be great.

  Jeaniene Frost

  Payback, Want

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• Every blade in the field - Every leaf in the forest - lays down its life in its season as beautifully as it was taken up.

  Henry David Thoreau

  Taken, Condolences, Eulogy

  Henry David Thoreau, Jeffrey S. Cramer (2007). “I to Myself: An Annotated Selection from the Journal of Henry D. Thoreau”, p.31, Yale University Press

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• They stared out their window at night enough to know where the darkest shadows lay, and it was to the darkest shadows they kept.

  Trenton Lee Stewart

  Night, Shadow, Window

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• Bleak, dark, and piercing cold, it was a night for the well-housed and fed to draw round the bright fire, and thank God they were at home; and for the homeless starving wretch to lay him down and die. Many hunger-worn outcasts close their eyes in our bare streets at such times, who, let their crimes have been what they may, can hardly open them in a more bitter world.

  Charles Dickens

  Eye, Home, Dark

  Charles Dickens “Oliver Twist”, Lulu.com

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