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I Quotes

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All I Quotes

“It was then I remembered back to those days and how telephones used to jump when they rang. And the people who would come in those early-morning hours to pound on the door in alarm. Never mind the alarm felt inside. I remembered that, and gravy dinners. Knives lying around, waiting for trouble. Going to bed and hoping I wouldn’t wake up. I love you, Bro, you said. And then a sob passed between us. I took hold of the receiver as if it were my buddy’s arm. And I wished for us both I could put my arms around you, old friend. I love you too, Bro. I said that, and then we hung up.”

“It was then that a divine scent reached her nostrils. It was the most alluring fragrance she had ever smelled: sweet but not cloying, with a fresh undertone and a lingering spiciness. Like vanilla and jasmine and sweetbriar and sandalwood, but somehow more than all of those. She inhaled deeply, looking for the source of the intoxicating aroma. Two steps further on and then there it was, partly hidden behind an acacia bush. The most beautiful white flowers, petals striped with purple, bloomed along thick green stems. Drawing closer, she saw that the deep purple-black stamens were topped with orange pollen so vibrant it appeared to almost glow in the fading light.”

“It was then that Brown took his revenge upon the world which, after twenty years of contemptuous and reckless bullying, refused him the tribute of a common robber’s success. It was an act of cold-blooded ferocity, and it consoled him on his deathbed like a memory of an indomitable defiance. . . . Thus Brown balanced his account with the evil fortune. Notice that even in this awful outbreak there is a superiority as of a man who carries right—the abstract thing—within the envelope of his common desires. It was not a vulgar and treacherous massacre; it was a lesson, a retribution—a demonstration of some obscure and awful attribute of our nature which, I am afraid, is not so very far under the surface as we like to think.”

“It was then that Hook bit him. Not the pain of this but its unfairness was what dazed Peter. It made him quite helpless. He could only stare, horrified. Every child is affected thus the first time he is treated unfairly. All he thinks he has a right to when he comes to you to be yours is fairness. After you have been unfair to him he will love you again, but he will never afterwards be quite the same boy. No one ever gets over the first unfairness; no one except Peter.”

“It was then that I caught a flash of skin. Bare shoulders, bare neck, and hair the color of cherries. I looked away, ashamed. But I am a man, am I not? I had to glance once more. When I did so, she was coming out of the water, and she was not naked at all. She wore a muslin swimming frock, tied just above her breasts. Her hair hung down to her waist, clinging to her wet skin. In her hands was a small turtle, a hook protruding from his mouth. She looked dismayed—- I thought she might even be crying—- as she worked to remove the object. I thought her straight out of a book. A painting. A dream. Who, I wondered, was this woman that had just emerged from the sea?”

“It was then that I understood something essential: once a book is published, it no longer belongs to you. It takes on a life of its own. It begins to walk on its own legs, like a child who has chosen a direction. And most of all, no reader simply reads it — they see themselves reflected in it. And what they see — or what they refuse to see — depends far more on them than on you.”

“It was then that it dawned on my great-great-great-great-grandmother that Avenida in Santa Cruz—with all its dark, dank, dreary alleyways, its patchwork of cheap cement, cheaper wood, and even cheaper corrugated iron that passed for houses, its ground littered with all sorts of scrap, including crumbs of goodies and morsels of meals to which they were never invited, its all-present humidity and intermittent rain, all its mud and flood on rainy days and all its dust on dry days, all its dirt, all its noise, and all the cruelty and fear and abomination and prejudice—was paradise.”

“It was then that my gaze happened to fall on the bookcase, on the gap there, where the old paperback of "Nine Stories" had fallen flat. "Where's the thing?" I said. "What thing?" "The mesh. My mesh." She shrugged. "I tossed it." "Tossed it? Where? What do you mean?" In the next moment I was in the kitchen, flipping open the lid of the trash can, only to find it empty. "You mean outside?" I shouted. "In the dumpster?" When I came thundering back into the room, she still hadn't moved. "Jesus, what were you thinking? That was mine. I wanted that. I wanted to keep it." Her lips barely moved. "It was dirty.”

“It was then that she realized she still had God. He was the only one who hadn't left her. He knew who she was, even if she didn't. A single tear formed in the corner of her eye as she thanked God for not abandoning her - especially when she needed Him most.”

“It was there [Dijon], I now understand, that I started to grow up, to study, to make love, to eat and drink, to be me and not what I was expected to be. It was there that I learned it is blessed to receive, as well as that every human being, no matter how base, is worthy of my respect and even my envy because he knows something that I may never be old or wise or kind or tender enough to know.”

“It was these same families [Rothschild, Rockefeller, Harriman, Bush, etc] who funded the eugenics movement which is pledged to remove the lower genetic blood streams and leave only those of superior stock. Eugenics today often goes under the title of 'population control'. The best known of the population control organizations is Planned Parenthood which began life under another name at the London offices of the British Eugenics Society.”

“It was this desire for a feeling of importance that led an uneducated, poverty-stricken grocery clerk to study some law books he found in the bottom of a barrel of household plunder that he had bought for fifty cents. You have probably heard of this grocery clerk. His name was Lincoln.”

“It was this feminine conspiracy which made Southern society so pleasant. Women knew that a land where men were contented, uncontradicted ans safe in possession of unpunctured vanity was likely to be a very pleasant place for women to live. So, from the cradle to the grave, women strove to make men pleased with themselves, and the satisfied men repaid lavishly with gallantry and adoration. In fact, men willingly gave ladies everything in the world except credit for having intelligence.”

“It was this: Gansey starting down the stairs to the kitchen, Blue starting up, meeting in the middle. It was Gansey stepping aside to let her pass, but changing his mind. He caught her arm and then the rest of her. She was warm, alive, vibrant beneath the thin cotton; he was warm, alive vibrant beneath his. Blue slid her hand over his bare shoulder and then onto his chest, her palm spread out flat on his breastbone, her fingers pressed curiously into his skin. "I thought you would be hairier," she whispered. "Sorry to disappoint. The legs have a bit more going on." "Mine too." It was this: laughing senselessly into each other's skin, playing, until it was abruptly no longer play, and Gansey stopped himself with his mouth perilously close to hers, and Blue stopped herself with her belly pressed close to his. It was this: Gansey saying, "I like you an awful lot, Blue Sargent." It was this: Blue's smile--crooked, wry, ridiculous, flustered. There was a lot of happiness tucked into the corner of that smile, and even though her face was several inches from Gansey, some of it still spilled out and got on him. She put her finger on his cheek where he knew his own smile was dimpling it, and then they took each other's hands, and they climbed back up together. It was this: this moment and no other moment, and for the first time that Gansey could remember, he knew what it would feel like to be present in his own life.”