Thrown Quotes - Page 37

• You do not become a ''dissident'' just because you decide one day to take up this most unusual career. You are thrown into it by your personal sense of responsibility, combined with a complex set of external circumstances. You are cast out of the existing structures and placed in a position of conflict with them. It begins as an attempt to do your work well, and ends with being branded an enemy of society.

  Vaclav Havel

  Responsibility, Careers, Patriotism

  "The Power of the Powerless". Book by Václav Havel, 1979.

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• We laugh at a man who, stepping out of his room at the very minute when the sun is rising, says, “It is my will that the sun shall rise”; or at him who, unable to stop a wheel, says, “I wish it to roll”; or, again, at him who, thrown in a wrestling match, says, “Here I lie, but here I wish to lie.” But, joking apart, do we not act like one of these three persons whenever we use the expression “I wish”?

  Friedrich Nietzsche

  Lying, Wrestling, Men

  Friedrich Nietzsche “Delphi Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche (Illustrated): Friedrich Nietzsche”, Delphi Classics

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• There was a long hard time when I kept far from me the remembrance of what I had thrown away when I was quite ignorant of its worth.

  Charles Dickens

  Regret, Hard Times, Long

  Charles Dickens (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Charles Dickens (Illustrated)”, p.7501, Delphi Classics

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• the anchor man thrown overboard has simply rooted us in history's repeating cycle

  Saul Williams

  Men, Anchors, Overboard

  Saul Williams (2009). “, said the shotgun to the head.”, p.57, Simon and Schuster

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• [M]an is condemned to be free. Condemned, because he did not create himself, in other respect is free; because, once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does. The Existentialist does not believe in the power of passion. He will never agree that a sweeping passion is a ravaging torrent which fatally leads a man to certain acts and is therefore an excuse. He thinks that man is responsible for his passion.

  Jean-Paul Sartre

  Believe, Passion, Men

  Jean-Paul Sartre (2012). “The Philosophy of Existentialism: Selected Essays”, p.31, Open Road Media

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• While he bore no real resemblance to anyone in my family, his features were a collection of my mother's and father's best attributes, with a few of Gregory Peck's thrown in.

  Lisa Lutz

  Mother, Father, Real

  Lisa Lutz (2011). “Lisa Lutz Spellman Series E-Book Box Set: The Spellman Files, Curse of the Spellmans, Revenge of the Spellmans, The Spellmans Strike Again”, p.18, Simon and Schuster

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• Only her tight, tight eyes were left. They were always left...They were everything. Everything was there, in them...Thrown, in this way, into the binding conviction that only a miracle could relieve her, she would never know her beauty. She would see only what there was to see: the eyes of other people.

  Toni Morrison

  Eye, People, Miracle

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• He smiled at that, and then his gaze shifted to a spot over my shoulder and it faded. 'These doubts wouldn’t have anything to do with the company you’re keeping of late, would they?' I didn’t get a chance to answer before the shop door was thrown open and a furious war mage stomped in. Pritkin spotted me and his eyes narrowed. 'You shaved my legs?!' Mircea looked at me and folded his arms across his chest. I looked from one unhappy face to the other and suddenly remembered that I had somewhere else to be.

  Karen Chance

  War, Eye, Doors

  Karen Chance (2011). “Cassie Palmer Novels 1-5”, p.1507, Penguin

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• The paintings that laughed at him merrily from the walls were like nothing he had ever seen or dreamed of. Gone were the flat, thin surfaces. Gone was the sentimental sobriety. Gone was the brown gravy in which Europe had been bathing its pictures for centuries. Here were pictures riotously mad with the sun. With light and air and throbbing vivacity. Paintings of ballet girls backstage, done in primitive reds, greens, and blues thrown next to each other irreverantly. He looked at the signature. Degas.

  Irving Stone

  Girl, Wall, Light

  Irving Stone (1984). “Lust for Life”, Plume

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• To be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest. To live fully is to be always in no-man's-land, to experience each moment as completely new and fresh. To live is to be willing to die over and over again.

  Pema Chodron

  Men, Land, Alive

  Pema Chodron (2000). “When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times”, p.93, Shambhala Publications

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• These days its not just that the line between right and wrong has been made unclear, today Christians are being asked by our culture today to erase the lines and move the fences, and if that were not bad enough, we are being asked to join in the celebration cry by those who have thrown off the restraints religion had imposed upon them. It is not just that they ask we accept, but they now demand of us to celebrate it too.

  Ravi Zacharias

  Christian, Moving, Culture

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• A man moves through time. It means nothing except that, like a harpoon, once thrown he will arrive.

  Anne Carson

  Time, Moving, Mean

  Anne Carson (1999). “Autobiography of Red: A Novel in Verse”, Vintage

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• I'll tell you something. Once I was very fond of a poem by Emily Dickinson or somebody. I only remember one line of it, but it goes, 'The soul selects her own society.' I used to tell it to everybody. Once I quoted it to a friend of mine, and he said, 'Maybe, but the body gets thrown into bed with the goddamnedest people.

  Peter S. Beagle

  Sex, People, Soul

  Peter S. Beagle (2003). “A fine and private place: The last unicorn”

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• It is moonlight. Alone in the silence I ascend my stairs once more, While waves remote in pale blue starlight Crash on a white sand shore. It is moonlight. The garden is silent. I stand in my room alone. Across my wall, from the far-off moon, A rain of fire is thrown. There are houses hanging above the stars, And stars hung under the sea, And a wind from the long blue vault of time Waves my curtains for me. I wait in the dark once more, swung between space and space: Before the mirror I lift my hands And face my remembered face.

  Conrad Aiken

  Stars, Wall, Rain

  Conrad Aiken (1918). “The Charnel Rose. Senlin: Biography and Other Poems”, p.57, Ardent Media

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• Vonnegut's war was necessary. And yet it was massacre and screaming and confusion and blood and death. It was the mammoth projection outward of the confused inner life of men. In war, the sad tidy constructs we make to help us believe life is orderly and controllable are roughly thrown aside like the delusions they are. In war, love is outed as an insane, insupportable emotion, a kind of luxury emotion, because everywhere you look, someone beloved to someone is being slaughtered, by someone whose own beloved has been slaughtered, or will be, or could be.

  George Saunders

  Confused, War, Believe

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• The stories of childhood leave an indelible impression, and their author always has a niche in the temple of memory from which the image is never cast out to be thrown on the rubbish heap of things that are outgrown and outlived.

  Howard Pyle

  Memories, Childhood, Stories

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• I feel most colored when I am thrown against a sharp white background........Beside the waters of the Hudson" I feel my race. Among the thousand white persons, I am a dark rock surged upon, and overswept, but through it all, I remain myself. When covered by the waters, I am; and the ebb but reveals me again." How It Feels to Be Colored Me

  Zora Neale Hurston

  Dark, Race, Rocks

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• I missed the sound of her shuffling her homework while I listened to music on her bed. I missed the cold of her feet against my legs when she climbed into bed. I missed the shape of her shadow where it fell across the page of my book. I missed the smell of her hair and the sound of her breath and my Rilke on her nightstand and her wet towel thrown over the back of her desk chair. It felt like I should be sated after having a whole day with her, but it just made me miss her more.

  Maggie Stiefvater

  Book, Smell, Feet

  Maggie Stiefvater (2011). “Linger”, p.289, Scholastic Inc.

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• If Marilyn Monroe and Princess Diana were "candles in the wind," and Anna Nicole Smith was a bonfire in a hailstorm, and Lindsay Lohan is an electric toaster thrown intentionally into a Jacuzzi, then Paris Hilton s a strobe light in an epilepsy ward.

  Cintra Wilson

  Princess, Light, Wind

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• But even as she told herself that, she remembered the way Cal had looked today with his shirt off while he’d stood on the ladder and scraped the side of Annie’s house. Watching those muscles bunch and flex every time he moved had made her crazy and she’d finally grabbed his shirt, thrown it at him, and delivered a stern lecture on the depletion of the ozone layer and skin cancer.

  Susan Elizabeth Phillips

  Cancer, Crazy, Ozone Layer

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• One of us had loved the other more perfectly, had watched the other more closely, and one of us listened and the other hadn’t, and one of us held on to the ambition of the one idea far longer than was reasonable, whereas the other, passing a garbage can one night, had casually thrown it away.

  Nicole Krauss

  Love, Ambition, Night

  Nicole Krauss (2011). “Great House: A Novel”, p.39, W. W. Norton & Company

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• The book is true, and if evidence seems to condtradict it, it is the evidence that must be thrown out not the book.

  Richard Dawkins

  Book, Evidence, Ifs

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• A concept is a brick. It can be used to build a courthouse of reason. Or it can be thrown through the window.

  Gilles Deleuze

  Inspirational, Freedom, Philosophy

  Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari (2004). “EPZ Thousand Plateaus”, p.13, A&C Black

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• Gale and I were thrown together by a mutual need to survive. Peeta and I know the other's survival means our own death. How do you side step that?

  Suzanne Collins

  Mean, Katniss, Survival

  Suzanne Collins (2009). “The Hunger Games”, p.107, Scholastic Inc.

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• Love does not traffic in a marketplace, nor use a huckster's scales. Its joy, like the joy of the intellect, is to feel itself alive. The aim of Love is to love: no more, and no less. You were my enemy: such an enemy as no man ever had. I had given you all my life, and to gratify the lowest and most contemptible of all human passions, hatred and vanity and greed, you had thrown it away. In less than three years you had entirely ruined me in every point of view. For my own sake there was nothing for me to do but to love you.

  Oscar Wilde

  Love You, Passion, Men

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