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@leo249

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My hour for tea is half-past five, and my buttered toast waits for nobody. —The Woman in White, Novelist, William Wilkie Collins
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To those who know thee not, no words can paint! And those who know thee, know all words are faint! —Sensibility, Writer, Hannah More
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He's a cabinet minister and his mother was a cook. My father was a doctor and I'm a cook. Perhaps I passed him on the way down, or did he pass me on the way up? —Paradise Postponed, Writer, John Mortimer
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As the wind, wandering over the sea, takes from each wave an invisible portion, and brings to those on shore the ethereal essence of ocean, so the air lingering among the woods and hedges—green waves and billows—became full of fine atoms of summer. —The Pageant of Summer, Nature Writer, Richard Jefferies
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For only the good doubt their own goodness, which is what makes them good in the first place. The bad know they are good, but the good know nothing. They spend their lives forgiving others, but they can't forgive themselves. —Man in the Dark, Novelist, Paul Auster
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I chose and my world was shaken, so what? The choice may have been mistaken,the choosing was not. You have to move on. —Sunday in the Park with George, Composer, Stephen Sondheim
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Daytime sleep is like the sin of the flesh; the more you have the more you want, and yet you feel unhappy, sated and unsated at the same time. —The Name of the Rose, Philosopher, Umberto Eco
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Helmer: First and foremost, you are a wife and mother. Nora: That I don't believe any more. I believe that first and foremost I am an individual, just as you are. —A Doll's House, Playwright, Henrik Ibsen
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Tis now the summer of your youth: time has not cropt the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them. —The Gamester, Writer, Edward Moore
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Being healed isn't about feeling nothing. Being healed is about feeling the appropriate emotions at the appropriate times and still being able to come back to yourself. —What My Bones Know, Writer, Stephanie Foo
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I don't know if I can't sleep because I am trying to recall the objects, or whether I struggle to recall them because I can't sleep. —The Hunger Angel, Novelist, Herta Müller
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Men who had made five thousand, year before last, and ten thousand last year, were urging on nerve-yelping bodies and parched brains so that they might make twenty thousand this year; and the men who had broken down immediately after making their twenty thousand dollars were hustling to catch trains, to hustle through the vacations which the hustling doctors had ordered. —Babbitt, Writer, Sinclair Lewis
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Whenever there are great virtues, it's a sure sign something's wrong. —Mother Courage and Her Children: A Chronicle of the Thirty Years' War, Playwright, Bertolt Brecht
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A theatre, a literature, an artistic expression that does not speak for its own time has no relevance. —Nobel Prize Lecture in Literature 1997, Playwright, Dario Fo
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Nothing is more capable of troubling our reason, and consuming our health, than secret notions of jealousy in solitude. —The Force of Generous Love, Novelist, Jean-Baptiste de Brilhac; Translator, Aphra Behn
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A port is a delightful place of rest for a soul weary of life's battles. —The Port, Poet, Charles Pierre Baudelaire
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But, if I sample this pleasure so prudently and circumspectly, it will no longer be a pleasure. —The Red and the Black, Writer, Stendhal
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All this hurrying soon will be over. Only when we tarry do we touch the holy. —In Praise of Mortality, Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke
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dark green waves of summer rise and fall oars knocking, knocking fish parting the glossy current the smile of the red bathing suit slowly vanishing —Summer Outside the Window, Poet, Gu Cheng / Translator, Joseph R. Allen
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They thought I was a Surrealist, but I wasn't. I never painted dreams. I painted my own reality. —Mexican Autobiography, Artist, Frida Kahlo
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