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A Quotes

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All A Quotes

“Anarchy, when it works to destroy authority in all its aspects, when it demands the abrogation of laws and the abolition of the mechanism that serves to impose them, when it refuses all hierarchical organization and preaches free agreement - at the same time strives to maintain and enlarge the precious kernel of social customs without which no human or animal society can exist. Only, instead of demanding that those social customs should be maintained through the authority of a few, it demands it from the continued action of all.”

“Anastase passa son pouce sur ma lèvre inférieure ; ses traits virils, son regard pénétrant me brûlait. — Laisse-toi aller, Mikhaïl. Personne ne surveille tes faits et gestes. Personne ne dira rien ni ne te jugera. Sois toi-même, abaisse tes barrières. J’inspirai profondément et collai sa mèche de cheveux à mon nez, m’apaisant. — Vivre dans un fort n’est pas vivre, les plus belles sensations sont celles de pleine liberté. Tu peux toucher qui tu veux. Rire avec qui cela te plaît. Agir comme un enfant si c’est ce dont tu as envie. Je plissai le nez. — Non merci, je laisse ça à Matt et Jimmy, deux enfants, c’est bien assez à gérer. Nous sourîmes tous deux. Le brun me posa un baiser sur la joue, et peu de temps après, la porte s’ouvrit à nouveau. — Hey ! Moi aussi je veux des câlins !”

“ANASTASIA: By the time he’d finished the song, I was so wrapped up in his playing and the sound of his voice that I hadn’t realized how much my imagination had run wild. I was having a vivid daydream about those very fingers, imagining how well he could play—me—and betting mentally that he could make me sing too.”

“ANASTASIA: “Conan, you make me feel…safe. More than that, you make me feel valued. You’re the first person who has ever made me feel truly alive. Before I met you, my life was on a course dictated by others. You’ve shown me what it means to be cherished, to matter. Every moment with you is a gift I never thought I’d get. I don’t have the words to express how much you mean to me, but know this: you are my strength and my courage. I trust you with my life—with my heart. I’ve never experienced anything like this, and I never will again. You’re everything I never knew I needed.”

“ANASTASIA: I was more than the sum of discovered—or undiscovered—facts. And if my past wouldn’t come to me, I’d build a future that didn’t need it. But the question of who I’d been before all this remained. This was a puzzle I was determined to solve, with or without Conan’s help. No matter what truths lay buried, I would face them head-on. After all, wasn’t that what survivors did?”

“ANASTASIA: “It was only a simple kiss,” I said. “It’s not like you threw me against a wall and fucked me until I didn’t know my name—not that I know my name, but you get my drift. Besides, I all but fell into your lap and begged you to kiss me. No need to be dramatic. It was no big deal.” I huffed, rolling my eyes so hard it hurt.”

“ANASTASIA: Xyst was my one indulgence, a slap in the face to the future laid out for me. It was where I traded whispers with the city’s elite, where I was more than just a tactic in my family’s strategy. My role at the club, the thrill of the gamble, the dance of seduction—it was me at my most alive. And tonight, like most nights, I was embracing that defiance. It was the only piece of my life that was truly mine, and I’d fight tooth and nail to keep it that way. I was a boss lady at Xyst, ruling over a domain of nocturnal secrets. And for a few precious hours, I’d forget about the chains waiting to drag me back into my daytime reality.”

“ANASTASIA: “Your tattoos tell a story too. The skull on your back, the black widow on your neck, the bloody axes, the broken heart—all intermixed with the sexy women. You try to paint yourself as some badass, but I see the truth. You’re not just the easygoing live-and-let-live guy. In reality, you’re more like a jaded, brokenhearted little boy who lost his momma way too early and who has a giant, sensitive, although scarred, heart that has been hurt too many times.”

“Anatole France frankly advised, "When a thing has been said and said well, have no scruple. Take it and copy it." Yes, indeed, but do more. Copy many well-said things. Pierce them together. Assimilate them. Make the process of reading them a way to form the mind and shape the soul. As anthologies can never be complete, we will never exhaust the ways quotations can enrich our lives.”

“Anatole France si chiese una volta che cos'era, in sostanza, la pazzia. Non è forse, o non potrebbe essere una sorta di originalità dello spirito? "Demenza" indica la perdita delle facoltà mentali, mentre "follia" è nient'altro che un impiego stravagante delle facoltà mentali. Se non è determinata da una lesione anatomica, la follia rappresenta un fenomeno indefinibile. Psicologicamente le idee del folle sono altrettanto legittime delle idee di chi non è folle.”

“ANATOMI CINTA (dingin, klinis, nihilistik) Aku masuk ruang autopsi itu dibayangi pretensi dan halusinasi. Aku nyalakan lampu neon dingin yang mengiris mata. Aku kenakan sarung tangan lateks dan pisau bedah #11. Ini tubuh yang harus dibedah dengan presisi dan tanpa empati. Aku mulai dari permukaan: kulit tipis yang dulu kau sebut rasa. Warnanya pucat, tak lebih dari jaringan mati yang dibentuk oleh harapan yang tak pernah terwujud. Dengan pisau mikro, aku membuka lapisan idealisasi— ia terkelupas dengan mudah, seperti cat murahan yang dikerat dari dinding lembap. Di bawahnya tidak ada otot kerelaan atau pengabdian, tidak ada tendon komitmen, tidak ada saraf yang merespon sentuhan. Hanya kepingan-kepingan fantasi yang mencair ketika terkena cahaya. Aku memeriksa tulang-tulangnya: rapuh, menyerupai serpihan, retak bahkan sebelum disentuh. Ini bukan kerangka cinta, ini bangkai ilusi yang dipoles dengan ingatan palsu. Aku membelah rongga dada: kosong. Tak ada jantung. Tak ada paru-paru. Tak ada vena yang menyalurkan kehangatan. Hanya gema langkahku sendiri, memantul seperti seseorang yang terjebak di lorong rumah sakit tua. Aku mengangkat kepalanya, mengupas kulit batok pikirannya: di sana kutemukan diriku— berkali-kali memahat wajahmu dengan imajinasi yang kupaksakan agar tampak suci dan tak tersentuh. Apa yang aku temukan: ternyata aku mencintai pantulanku sendiri lebih dari dirimu. Aku mengambil sampel terakhir: sisa-sisa asa yang tak pernah kau beri. Kumasukkan ke dalam tabung formalin— diam, mengambang, tanpa makna. Kesimpulan autopsi: Cinta ini mati bukan karena kehilanganmu. Cinta ini mati karena aku mengira ilusi bisa berubah menjadi manusia. Dan kini, dengan tangan yang masih berlumur darah dari nyala yang telah mendingin, aku menutup kembali tubuh yang tak pernah hidup itu. Pada labelnya kutuliskan: “Penyebab kematian: Idealisasi yang berlebihan. Subjek: Tidak pernah ada.” Desember 2025”

“Anatomi Sebuah Penolakan Aku menuliskanmu, lalu kau menatap balik tanpa meratap dengan sorot mata benda mati yang muak menjadi cermin bagi siapa saja. Kau berkata: Aku bukan puisi dan kau bukanlah penyair. Aku tak ingin menjadi ladang tempat manusia menanam duka, lalu memetik ketenangan palsu dari reruntuhannya. Dan aku terdiam— seperti algojo yang tiba-tiba disapa oleh tajam bilah pedangnya sendiri. Kau menolak metafora, menepis ritme, menghancurkan rima seolah semuanya adalah wajah-wajah palsu yang sengaja kupasangkan padamu agar dunia merasa nyaman membaca sakitku. Kau menudingku: “Kau ingin selamat, bukan? Kau ingin terlihat dalam, bijaksana, bercahaya— padahal kau hanya gemetar mencari alasan untuk membenarkan retak di dalam dirimu.” Kata-katamu membekukan. Tidak ada air mata. Tidak ada amarah. Hanya keheningan logam yang menancap ngilu pada tulangku. Lalu kau memutuskan diri: Aku tidak akan memeluk siapa pun. Aku tidak akan menjadi pelarian pembaca yang ingin merasa suci. Aku tidak akan memaafkan penulismu. Aku tidak akan memberi katharsis. “Aku hanya akan menjadi luka yang dituliskan ulang tanpa belas kasihan,” katamu. “Sebab luka yang terlalu sering dinyatakan pada akhirnya hanya akan menjadi perayaan kesedihan.” Dan aku berdiri di hadapanmu seperti tubuh yang kehilangan bayangan menyadari bahwa tak ada yang lebih kejam daripada sebuah puisi yang memilih untuk tidak menyelamatkan. Kau membalik halaman. Kau memadamkan seluruh api kemungkinan. Dan aku, untuk pertama kalinya, mengerti bahwa kepenyairan bisa menjadi bentuk penghakiman paling dingin atas keberadaanku sendiri. Puisi bukan untuk ditahbiskan, katamu. Puisi adalah tempat di mana penulis akhirnya ditaklukkan dan mati demi kesunyiannya sendiri. November 2025”

“Anatomy of Conspiracy (Sonnet 2094-2095) The biggest conspiracy in the world is to make people think that there is a conspiracy, because when people believe in conspiracy, they get paranoid, and a paranoid population is the ideal consumer for various soothsaying items, from guns, bombs and nuclear weapons, to crystals, chemtrails, chakras, magnets, gemstones, ouija, racial purity, and plots of land in the afterlife. Now, some of these items and ideas may be harmless, others downright villainous, but they are all part and parcel of an insecure primate's pursuit for control - delusional though such control may be. Conspiracy, superstition, conventional or newage, it's all about control, either self-inflicted or institutionalized - you are searching for order where there is none, so your brain cooks up one, just to keep you satisfied - and you start seeing faces in the clouds, or patterns in your star charts. Keep your mind open, just not so open that your brain starts leaking - an empty attic is a primate's olympus.”

“Anatomy of Typos (Sonnet) It took me a 100 books to realize this, typos are not a stain upon literature, typos are ornament of literature, sweet reminders of human endeavor. It's great to have literature without typos, like it's great to have a life without regrets. But in actuality, only the dead have no regrets, only the uncreative make no typographical mistakes. There are typos that are grievous, hence, need correcting, but most typos are harmless. Repulsed by typos means repulsed by literature, repulsed by regrets means repulsed by existence. Typos are the ornament of literature, regrets are the ornament of life. To make peace with regrets is the beginning of life, to make peace with typos is to empower literary light.”

“Anaximenes ... also says that the underlying nature is one and infinite ... but not undefined as Anaximander said but definite, for he identifies it as air; and it differs in its substantial nature by rarity and density. Being made finer it becomes fire; being made thicker it becomes wind, then cloud, then (when thickened still more) water, then earth, then stones; and the rest come into being from these.”

“Anaya sensed her opportunity and stole a moment to take in what Emberswick looked like in her teens. Still an engineering town, with a heap of lumber mills to show for it. It had been systematically envisioned and built around lush, small woods and pretty, little parks, spotted with bubbling fountains. A charming place to live, with a pleasant pace of life, and the people were just as engaging.”

“Anaïs, I don't know how to tell you what I feel. I live in perpetual expectancy. You come and the time slips away in a dream. It is only when you go that I realize completely your presence. And then it is too late. You numb me. [...] This is a little drunken, Anaïs. I am saying to myself "here is the first woman with whom I can be absolutely sincere." I remember your saying - "you could fool me, I wouldn't know it." When I walk along the boulevards and think of that. I can't fool you - and yet I would like to. I mean that I can never be absolutely loyal - it's not in me. I love women, or life, too much - which it is, I don't know. But laugh, Anaïs, I love to hear you laugh. You are the only woman who has a sense of gaiety, a wise tolerance - no more, you seem to urge me to betray you. I love you for that. [...] I don't know what to expect of you, but it is something in the way of a miracle. I am going to demand everything of you - even the impossible, because you encourage it. You are really strong. I even like your deceit, your treachery. It seems aristocratic to me.”

“Ancak emperyalizm hiç vazgeçmemiştir. Evet! Sıkıştıkça Türkiye'yi bölüp parçalamaktan vazgeçmiş gibi görünmüş, ama bilinçaltında ve sümen altında hep Türkiye'yi bölüp parçalamaya yönelik planları saklı tutmuştur. Emperyalizm, dün Sevr Projesi diye Turkiye'ye dayattıklarını bugün "demokrasi", "insan hakları", "AB Uyum Yasaları" ve BOP olarak Türkiye'ye dayatmaktadır. Örneğin, dün Sevr Antlaşması ile Türkiye'ye dayatılan Anadolu coğrafyasında bir Kürdistan ve Ermenistan kurma planı, bugün başka adlarla bugün Türkiye'ye dayatılmaktadır. Sayfa:13”