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I Quotes

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All I Quotes

“I quite like the transitions of being an actor, because you get to explore these little pockets of life. So if you're playing a builder you get to know about building, if you're playing a scientist or a physician or something you get to know about physics. And similarly with this world I like exploring their culture, that very sort of upper middle class, addictive... that's part of the reason I love it.”

“I què em caldria fer? Procurar-me un patró molt poderós, Le Bret, i, com una heura obscura que puja una paret, grimpar amb enganys, i a més, llepar-li les rajoles, veient que m'han clavat a la terra les soles? No, senyor!, que un banquer m'estimi per pallasso llepaculs que dedica sonets? No!, passo, passo! Afalagar, adular les passes d’un ministre per si m'adreça un gest que no sigui sinistre? No senyor! Empassar-me per esmorzar un gripau? Tenir el ventre gastat d'arrossegar-me al cau? I la pell dels genolls de nit i dia bruta? Ordenar a l'espinada que doblegui la ruta? No, senyor! Ser una estora als peus d’un idiota? Agitar l'encenser davant d'una carota? No, senyor! O saltar de faldilla en faldilla? O ser un gran homenet enmig d'una quadrilla? Potser passar la mar amb madrigals per rem i a la vela sospirs de vella? No fotem! No, senyor! Potser anar fins a can Seyrecet fer-me editar els versos, a quin preu? No, Le Bret! O fer-me elegir Papa en els pobres concilis formats per uns imbècils que van destil·lant bilis? No, senyor! Treballar perquè aplaudeixin altres un sonet que hagi fet, en lloc d'escriure’n d’altres? Trobar belles orelles de ruc, llargues i tristes? O viure amb l'objectiu de sortir a les revistes? Estar terroritzat com un que quasi es mor quan va veure el seu nom escrit al Mercure d'or? Calcular, esporuguit davant d'un anatema? Anar a fer una visita en comptes d’un poema? Relligar els aprovats o fer-me presentar? No, senyor! No, senyor!... Més m’estimo cantar, entrar, sortir, ballar, ser sol, sentir-me viure, mirar amb el cap ben alt, parlar fort, i ser lliure; anar amb el barret tort, contemplar l'univers, per un sí o per un no, barallar-me... o fer un vers! No tenir gens en compte la fama i la fortuna, poder, amb el pensament, enfilar-me a la lluna! No haver d'escriure un mot si de mi no ha sortit, i molt modestament poder-me dir: Petit, estigues satisfet de flors i fruits i fulles si és al teu jardí que en culls o bé n’esbulles! I si arriba el triomf, quan l'atzar ho ha dispost, no haver d'estar obligat a satisfer un impost, davant de mi mateix reconèixer-me els mèrits, no haver de pagar mai per uns favors pretèrits, i, encara que no sigui poderós el meu vol, que no arribi gens lluny, saber que hi he anat sol! Acte segon. Escena VIII.”

“I raced around getting ingredients on the recipe Victoria had given me. I started making the dough for the Iraqi pita, which Violet on YouTube said would need two hours to rise. I used whole-wheat flour, though I'd never seen my mother touch anything but all-purpose or cake; I wasn't taking any chances. I'd do it right. I went to three different bodegas before I finally found mangoes for pickling. They were small and hard as rocks, but I'd try leaving them in a paper bag with a dozen apples to hurry up the ripening. If that didn't work, I'd read something about microwaving them until they were soft, but I was a little worried about ending up with mango mousse. I bought Meyer lemons, thinking the sweetness could be nice, but as soon as I got home, I thought of my mother, her mouth shrinking into a knot: You used Meyer lemons? Like she'd never understand why I did the things I did. I went back out, got snowed on again, bought real lemons on the corner, and then went home and pickled them with ginger, paprika, garlic, and salt. I hoped they'd taste like they'd been marinating for months but I was starting to have a bad feeling. Things weren't exactly working out. I cut myself twice, accidentally, trying to use the mandoline to slice the onions "as thin as a breath." I made a bed of them that looked like a lattice. I sprinkled thyme on top. The whole thing looked like the side of a house in Scotland where roses grew like weeds. I hoped my mother liked Scotland, but I'd never asked her. I minced garlic until my hand was shaking.”

“I raise a plastic glass. “To family.” “And Faerieland,” says Taryn, raising hers. “And pizza,” says Oak. “And stories,” says Heather. “And new beginnings,” says Vivi. Cardan smiles, his gaze on me. “And scheming great schemes.” To family and Faerieland and pizza and stories and new beginnings and scheming great schemes. I can toast to that.”

“I raise my left arm and twist my neck down to rip off the pill on my sleeve. Instead my teeth sink into flesh. I yank my head back in confusion to find myself looking into Peeta’s eyes, only now they hold my gaze. Blood runs from the teeth marks on the hand he clamped over my nightlock. “Let me go!” I snarl at him, trying to wrest my arm from his grasp. “I can’t,” he says.”

“I raise up my voice-not so I can shout but so that those without a voice can be heard...we cannot succeed when half of us are held back.”

“I raised an eyebrow. "You know, you're really good at compliments. Actually, it's surprising that a person with charm like yours has any enemies." The words came out before I could stop them. At this rate I would never be able to ask him about Benjamin Gallow, and it didn't help that every time he looked at me I wanted to melt. "So, you think I'm charming?" Dante countered, mocking me. "Is that why you keep staring at me?" "Alarming, not charming. And no, I'm just curious.”