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I Quotes

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All I Quotes

“It’s funny how one summer can change everything. It must be something about the heat and the smell of chlorine, fresh-cut grass and honeysuckle, asphalt sizzling after late-day thunderstorms, the steam rising while everything drips around it. Something about long, lazy days and whirring air conditioners and bright plastic flip-flops from the drugstore thwacking down the street. Something about fall being so close, another year, another Christmas, another beginning. So much in one summer, stirring up like the storms that crest at the end of each day, blowing out all the heat and dirt to leave everything gasping and cool. Everyone can reach back to one summer and lay a finger to it, finding the exact point when everything changed. That summer was mine.”

“It’s funny how our desires often tend to circle around the whims and fancies of others rather than the self. One school of thought has a convincing explanation that this is because we live in a society that makes us want to be pleasing to others more than the self--a rather selfless trait, so to think. But then there is this other theory which eventually concludes that we do all of this to please no one but the self...because praise and compliments are what the devil thrives on, and we are in no significant way any different.”

“It's funny how, sometimes, the mind won't let the body remember what's been done to it. It chooses, at will, to take the abusive memory and bury it. As if to nurture away the pain by making us forget it's there. Not remembering trauma doesn't mean we're left without its effect. It still comes up and out, at a certain smell, sound, sight, touch, question, tone, location, person, people, personality. Waiting to be noticed and brought to the light. Letting it, and peeking into where it's from, is the path to making sense of ourselves and finding the particular healing we've been kept from having.”

“It’s funny how the mind wanders. Here I sit, in the Amazon Basin in the tropics, thinking about marriage and other crap. Someday, far in the distance, I shall read this and think of these days. One day, some good will come from these thoughts, maybe? Perhaps they will help someone else – for sure as hell, they don’t seem to do me much bloody good.”

“It’s funny how we say a person ‘made’ us when they actually broke us. Sort of like how I say ‘funny’... but I actually mean sad.”

“It's funny how you get under his skin.' At first, I'm not sure I heard him right. I almost ask whom he's talking about, because I can't quite believe he's admitting that high and mighty Cardan is affected by anything. 'Like a splinter?' I say. 'Of iron. No one else bothers him quite the way you do.' He picks up a towel and wets it, then kneels down beside me and carefully wipes my face. I suck in a breath when the cold cloth touches the sensitive part of my eye, but he is far gentler than I would have been to myself. His face is solemn and focused on what he's doing. He doesn't seem to notice my studying him, his long face and sharp chin, his curling red-brown hair, the way his eyelashes catch the light. Then he does notice. He's looking at me, and I'm looking back at him, and it's the strangest thing, because I thought Locke would never notice anyone like me. He is noticing, though. He's smiling like he did that night at the Court, as though we share a secret. He's smiling as if we're sharing another one. 'Keep it up,' he says. I wonder at those words. Can he really mean them? As I make my way back to the tournament and my sisters, I can't stop thinking of Cardan's shocked face, nor can I stop considering Locke's smile. I am not altogether sure which is more thrilling and which more dangerous.”

“It's funny, I've decided 'Hallelujah' is a kind of Rorschach test for people, because everyone has a different reaction to it and to what I'm doing. I just sang it, and whatever came out was just natural and spontaneous and maybe that's the best thing, because there's a kind of enigma, both in the meaning of the words and the way Leonard Cohen said them, that catches people's attention.”

“It's funny isn't it?? YOu don't want to stop it?? Don't ya?? ... I don't give a shit about your opinion what I want I will do... You are now part of this story, unfortunately, just by reading this you make yourself part of this story, like it or not that's how it goes. Once upon a time there was one girl and one boy staying home banned to go outside everything was locked it wasn't one day, 2 days it was whole 10 years. Their family always was outside communicating with the other people and you didn't even exist, they knew you but they didn't wanted you... it was somewhere in the end of the Second War in which 50 soldiers just came in home, you were screaming... again and again they asked what's that... your mother said that she will handle it... and what?? Slap after slap, kick after kick then the father comes playing with the knife and he was juggling and one moment he made the knife with the spike in front of your eyes he tied your hands, he put a Scotch tape on your mouth and what??? He was taking your eye... by the knife and eating them... then he started fast and fast hitting with the knife without looking in random place and in this game..... it ended horrible?? The boy was first without eyes the girl was a second without a legs, years and however her tongue was cut... why?? Evil should speak... evil is on the first place. Never ends, there isn't even and beginning it's inside!”

“It’s funny,” John says, “how piano keys are black and white, yet they play a thousand different colors.” “‘Cept there ain’t no piyana,” Captain Clark shushes. John’s face goes blank. “Really? I thought I heard one.” Captain Clark looks at me, almost apologetically. “He’s got Van Gogh’s ear fer music.”