Quotessence
Home / Quotes / I Quotes

I Quotes

Browse famous quotes beginning with I. This page is a child index of the full Popular Quotes A-Z directory.

All I Quotes

“I stood under the arch and absorbed the image. Rose and blue and ancient oriental rugs held pale pink loveseats with curved arms and perfectly faded silk upholstery. Sheer white-winged angels floated on a ceiling of baby-blue sky with clouds of spun gold. And eastern-facing windows of blue stained glass held paler blue stained-glass crosses in the middle. Daylight and streetlamps were obliterated by thick velvet curtains with gold tasseled ropes, and a small, dusty beam of faded light managed to seep past the heavy drapes, making it look like the tail end of the day instead of the early part of the afternoon. His home was lavish and seductive, and I thought it rare that a man living alone could create a thing of such intensity. For the second time in two days I found myself having to adjust my opinion of Michael Bon Chance. It was a marble fountain that ended my reverie and brought me back down to earth. It was the true centerpiece of the room, with water slowly seeping from a cracked jug and dripping over a statue of a nude couple, bathing. I cringed at the sound. Michael looked at me. "Something wrong?" "It's the dripping." He went over to the bar and poured me a glass of wine. "You're tense. Maybe this will help." I took a sip from the glass and put it down on the fireplace mantel. I caught a glimpse of Michael and myself in the mirror above the fire and felt trapped by how beautiful we looked in the rose glow of the dragon's-head lamps with pale pink bulbs.”

“I stood up and... there he was. My new roommate, standing right in front of me. He looked like he'd just stepped out from a magazine photo shoot, his hair artfully tousled and falling perfectly over his forehead. He was standing much closer to me than he had when I'd toured his apartment, and he seemed to notice that, too, his eyes widening and nostrils flaring a little as though he was breathing me in. He was dressed even more formally than he'd been the night I'd met him, adding a red silk ascot and black top hat to the charcoal-gray three-piece suit that fit like the gods had made it specifically for him. It was an odd look, to be sure. But--- god help me--- it worked. My mouth watered for reasons having nothing to do with hunger. If he noticed how overwhelmed I was by his appearance, he showed no sign of it. He simply frowned, brow furrowed in concern. He stepped a little closer. He smelled like fabric softener, the citrus fruit he'd put in my bedroom, and something deep and mysterious I had no name for.”

“I stood up there for two solid minutes without saying another word. There wasn't one great thing I could say about that man--so I just stared silently at the crowd until my mother realized what I was doing and had my uncle remove me from the podium." Ryle tilts his head. "Are you kidding me? You gave the anti-eulogy at your own father's funeral?" I nod. "I'm not proud of it. I don't think. I mean, if I had my way, he would have been a much better person and I would have stood up there and talked for an hour." Ryle lies back down. "Wow," he says, shaking his head. "You're kind of my hero. You just roasted a dead guy.”

“I stood upon the sandy shore As evening shadows fell; The sun was sinking in the west Across the ocean swell. O’er the sea the sun was casting Each brightly tinted ray As the waves came sweeping onwards To the shore at Martins Bay. The moon was rising o’er the hills As the sun sank in the west, And her silvery light was gleaming On the ocean’s heaving breast. And those ever moving waters Sparkling brightly as they roar Are dashed in foaming billows On that wild and lonely shore. All around are wooded hills No matter where your eyes are turning; You see no human habitation Except where one lone light is burning. Here solitude doth reign supreme, All scenes are lonely and drear, But there’s music in the lonlineness Which solitude will make us hear. A whispering sound among the trees, There is music in the ocean’s roar, There’s a voice in the wandering breeze Which is sighing along the shore. And the voice of nature speaks to us In every flower that grows, And the voice of God is calling us In every breeze that blows.”

“I stood willingly and gladly in the characters of everything - other people, trees, clouds. And this is what I learned, that the world's otherness is antidote to confusion - that standing within this otherness - the beauty and the mystery of the world, out in the fields or deep inside books - can re-dignify the worst-stung heart.”

“I stood with my hands on the horses' necks, feeling the electricity of their thinking, the blood moving throughout their veins, and the history held neatly within the fabric of every organ of their equine anatomy, as if the body were a storage unit of memory. As I absorbed every nuance of the four-legged creatures, I touched my own stomach, lower back, liver, and spleen to see what the energies felt like. I compared one horse to another, then to myself, fascinated by the way each was so unique yet so the same.”

“I stop believing in the future. There's a character in Jacqueline Woodson's novel 'If You Come Softly' who says that he looks into the future and sees only 'this big blank space where I should be.' When I think of the future, I start to only see the big blank space, the whyless bright terror. As for the present, it hurts. Everything hurts. The pain ripples beneath my skin, bone-shocking. What's the point of all this pain and yearning? Why?”

“I stop reading after half an hour. I’ve had enough. Humanity has hit a brick wall. We’re facing our end, like the dinosaurs millions of years before us. The only difference is we’ve got journalists on hand to document every blow and setback, cataloguing our rapid, painful downfall in vibrant, vicious detail. Personally, I think the dinosaurs had the better deal. When it comes to impending, unavoidable extinction, ignorance is bliss.”

“I stop, thinking of Topher and his cushioned, monied existence--the way he has had everything handed to him on a plate, the way he's never had to scrap for anything, never had to swallow a snub from a boss, or pick up a stranger's dirty underwear, or do any of the myriad demeaning, boring jobs the rest of us take for granted. They are arrogant, that's what I realize--maybe not Liz and Carl quite so much, but all of them to some degree. They are protected by the magic of their shares and their status and their IP. They think that life can't touch them--just like I used to do. Only now it has. Now life has them by the throat. And it won't let go.”

“I stop writing the poem to fold the clothes. No matter who lives or who dies, I'm still a woman. I'll always have plenty to do. I bring the arms of his shirt together. Nothing can stop our tenderness. I'll get back to the poem. I'll get back to being a woman. But for now there's a shirt, a giant shirt in my hands, and somewhere a small girl standing next to her mother watching to see how it's done.”

“I stopped acting when I was about nineteen, twenty, when I got thrown out of college. I did act for about ten years. I don't know. I suspect I'm still a reasonably good actor, but I don't really know that I want to get on the stage again ... and having to say all those boring words by me over and over again ... I don't know if I want to do that. Also, I like a certain amount of freedom of movement, and if you're acting, you're stuck in one place for a long time. Having said that, I will probably be onstage next fall.”

“I stopped at the front desk, about to complain to the doorman, when I was confronted with a NEW doorman, my age but balding and homely and FAT. Three glazed jelly doughnuts AND two steaming cups of extra-dark HOT chocolate opened to the comics and it struck me that I was infinitely better-looking, more successful and richer than this poor bastard would ever be and so with a passing rush of sympathy I smiled and nodded a curt though not impolite good morning without lodging a complaint.”

“I stopped believing in Santa Claus when I was six. Mother took me to see him in a department store and he asked for my autograph.”

“I stopped by the mirror by the window of my room the shadows from within asked ' why did they leave? ' such a lovely sparkling soul, a girl so naive but funny why did they 'have' to leave ? what would have 'made' them leave ?.. I looked deep and deeper through bones and flesh and uncovered one by one the layers of my low self esteem, of no confidence, of pain and hurt unsaid unheard and sighed.. and within that moment of sheer nakedness it dawned upon me how could they ever have stayed?.. for down the porch.. out in the garden.. for times ago.. our souls had never played together as children how could they have stayed I smiled, for I had to find my way to you, I had to come home, to the girl so naive but funny”