Window Quotes - Page 22

• She threw the door open. The room seemed to be a sort of library, the walls lined with books. It was brightly lit, light streaming through a tall picture window. In the middle of the room stood Jace. He wasn't alone, though-not by a long shot. There was a dark-haired girl with him, a girl Clary had never seen before, and the two of them were locked together in a passionate embrace

  Cassandra Clare

  Girl, Wall, Book

  Cassandra Clare (2010). “Cassandra Clare: The Mortal Instrument Series (3 books): City of Bones; City of Ashes; City of Glass”, p.903, Simon and Schuster

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• The engagement ring is an emerald, and the dim light from the window is refracted green and white in it. The rings are silver, and they need cleaning. They need wearing, and I know just the girl to wear them.

  Audrey Niffenegger

  Girl, Light, White

  Audrey Niffenegger (2014). “The Time Traveler's Wife”, p.223, Simon and Schuster

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• I had the most boring office job in the world...I used to clean the windows on envelopes.

  Rita Rudner

  Inspirational, Jobs, Office

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• Tonight I saw myself in the dark window as the image of my father, whose life was spent like this, thinking of death, to the exclusion of other sensual matters, so in the end that life was easy to give up, since it contained nothing: even my mother's voice couldn't make him change or turn back as he believed that once you can't love another human being you have no place in the world.

  Louise Glück

  Mother, Giving Up, Father

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• That moment - to this ... may be years in the way they measure, but it's only one sentence back in my mind - there are so many days when living stops and pulls up and sits and waits like a train on the rails. I pass the hotel at 8 and at 5; there are cats in the alleys and bottles and bums, and I look up at the window and think, I no longer know where you are, and I walk on and wonder where the living goes when it stops.

  Charles Bukowski

  Cat, Thinking, Years

  Charles Bukowski (2016). “On Love”, p.9, Canongate Books

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• THE DEATH OF LEOPOLD GURSKY Leopold Gursky started dying on August 18, 1920. He died learning to walk. He died standing at the blackboard. And once, also, carrying a heavy tray. He died practicing a new way to sign his name. Opening a window. Washing his genitals in the bath. He died alone, because he was too embarrassed to phone anyone. Or he died thinking about Alma. Or when he chose not to.

  Nicole Krauss

  Thinking, Names, Phones

  Nicole Krauss (2006). “The History of Love: A Novel”, p.255, W. W. Norton & Company

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• You've got a lifetime to mull over the Buddhist understanding of interconnectedness." He spoke every sentence as if he'd written it down, memorized it, and was now reciting it. "But while you were looking out the window, you missed the chance to explore the equally interesting Buddhist belief in being present for every facet of your daily life, of being truly present. Be present in this class. And then, when it's over, be present out there," he said, nodding toward the lake and beyond.' ~Dr. Hyde, pg 50

  John Green

  Buddhist, Class, Lakes

  John Green (2008). “Looking for Alaska”, p.54, Penguin

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• The human mind is a delusion generator, not a window to trurh.

  Scott Adams

  Mind, Delusion, Humans

  Scott Adams (2013). “God's Debris: A Thought Experiment”, p.57, Andrews McMeel Publishing, LLC

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• When I have something to say that I think will be too difficult for adults, I write it in a book for children. Children are excited by new ideas; they have not yet closed the doors and windows of their imaginations. Provided the story is good... nothing is too difficult for children.

  Madeleine L'Engle

  Children, Book, Writing

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• No one wants to admit we're addicted to music. That's just not possible. No one's addicted to music and television and radio. We just need more of it, more channels, a larger screen, more volume. We can't bear to be without it, but no, nobody's addicted. We could turn it off anytime we wanted. I fit a window frame into a brick wall. With a little brush, the size for fingernail polish, I glue it. The window is the size of a fingernail. The glue smells like hair spray. The smell tastes like oranges and gasoline.

  Chuck Palahniuk

  Wall, Hair, Smell

  "Lullaby". Book by Chuck Palahniuk, 2002.

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• I put my head out of my window and see how much the wind’s knife wants to slice it off. On this unseen guillotine, I’ve placed the eyeless head of all my desires.

  Federico Garcia Lorca

  Wind, Knives, Desire

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• The rain was still crashing down, angrily machine-gunning the large windows; it poured through the gutters up in the tower and funneled along the flat roof, sounding like footsteps on the ceiling.

  Carlos Ruiz Zafon

  Rain, Ceilings, Towers

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• Jo began to dance a jig,...Amy nearly fell out of the window in her surprise, and Meg exclaimed, with uplifted hands, 'Well I do believe the world is coming to an end!

  Louisa May Alcott

  Believe, Hands, Amy

  Louisa May Alcott (2001). “Little Women”, p.101, Broadview Press

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• Einstein wrote that insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. That said, is it crazier to repeatedly throw yourself against a window, or to repeatedly open that window, believing the creatures that are throwing themselves against it might come into your house, take a look around, and leave with no hard feelings?

  David Sedaris

  Believe, House, Insanity

  "The Birds". www.newyorker.com. January 29, 2007.

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• Grandfather kicked the stop pedal, and my face gave a high-five to the front window.

  Jonathan Safran Foer

  Grandfather, Faces, Pedals

  Jonathan Safran Foer (2013). “Everything Is Illuminated”, p.30, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• So here’s where they put you. I didn’t think they even used these cells anymore.” He glanced sideways. “I got the wrong window at first. Gave your friend in the next cell something of a shock. Attractive fellow, what with the beard and the rags. Kind of reminds me of the street folk back home.

  Cassandra Clare

  Home, Thinking, Cells

  Cassandra Clare (2010). “City of Glass”, p.150, Simon and Schuster

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• Simon!” The voice was Clary’s. He would know it anywhere. He wondered if his mind was conjuring it up now, a sense memory of what he’d most loved during life to carry him through the process of death. “Simon, you stupid idiot! I’m over here! At the window!” Simon jumped to his feet. He doubted his mind would conjure that up.

  Cassandra Clare

  Memories, Stupid, Voice

  Cassandra Clare (2010). “City of Glass”, p.265, Simon and Schuster

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• Love- the infatuation kind- 'he's so handsome, she's so beautiful'- that can shrivel. As soon as something goes wrong, that kind of love can fly out the window.

  Mitch Albom

  Beautiful, Handsome, Kind

  Mitch Albom (2009). “Have a Little Faith: A True Story”, Hyperion

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• I’m curious about things that people aren’t supposed to see—so, for example, I liked going to the British Museum, but I would like it better if I could go into all the offices and storage rooms, I want to look in all the drawers and—discover stuff. And I want to know about people. I mean, I know it’s probably kind of rude but I want to know why you have all these boxes and what’s in them and why all your windows are papered over and how long it’s been that way and how do you feel when you wash things and why don’t you do something about it?

  Audrey Niffenegger

  Mean, Museums, Long

  Audrey Niffenegger (2009). “Her Fearful Symmetry: A Novel”, p.131, Simon and Schuster

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• I've always started every day by going to the window for a glimpse of the sky. But now I won't have to." "Why not?" She asked softly. "Because I'll see the blue of your eyes instead." "How romantic you are," she murmured with a grin, kissing him gently. "But don't worry. I won't tell anyone.

  Lisa Kleypas

  Eye, Kissing, Blue

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• Where the road sloped upward beyond the trees, I sat and looked toward the building where Naoko lived. It was easy to tell which room was hers. All I had to do was find the one window toward the back where a faint light trembled. I focused on that point of light for a long, long time. It made me think of something like the final throb of a soul's dying embers. I wanted to cup my hands over what was left and keep it alive. I went on watching the way Jay Gatsby watched that tiny light on the opposite shore night after night.

  Haruki Murakami

  Night, Thinking, Light

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• I used to have a cat, an old fighting tom, who would jump through the open window by my bed in the middle of the night and land on my chest. I'd half-awaken. He'd stick his skull under my nose and purr, stinking of urine and blood. Some nights he kneaded my bare chest with his front paws, powerfully, arching his back, as if sharpening his claws, or pummeling a mother for milk. And some mornings I'd wake in daylight to find my body covered with paw prints in blood; I looked as though I'd been painted with roses.

  Annie Dillard

  Mother, Morning, Cat

  Annie Dillard (2009). “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek”, p.3, Harper Collins

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• Stop looking at me like that." Sorry, I just wanted to savor the moment," Mom replied. What moment?" I asked. You're in first place," she said, and then began washing the windows.

  Lisa Lutz

  Mom, Sorry, Firsts

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• He made a sound like a choked laughed before he reached out and pulled her into her arms. She was aware of Luke watching them from the window, but she shut her eyes resolutely and buried her face against Jace's shoulder. He smelled of salt and blood, and only when his mouth came close to her ear did she understand what he was saying, and it was the simplest litany of all: her name, just her name.

  Cassandra Clare

  Eye, Blood, Names

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• He stops, looks up at this window, and I can see the white oblong of his face. We look at each other. I have no rose to toss, he has no lute. But it's the same kind of hunger.

  Margaret Atwood

  White, Rose, Looks

  Margaret Atwood (2016). “The Handmaid's Tale”, p.296, Random House

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