Quotessence
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M Quotes

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All M Quotes

“Mom’s not feeling well. So I’m making her a get well card.” “That’s thoughtful of you.” "See, on the front it says, ‘Get Well Soon’ … and on the inside it says,’Because my bed isn’t made, my clothes need to be put away and I’m hungry. Love Calvin.’ Want to sign it?” “Sure, I’m hungry too”

“Mon dieu! — George Mallory! When that’s been written, what more need be said? My hand trembles, my heart palpitates, my whole being swoons away at the words — oh heavens! heavens! I found of course that he’d been absurdly maligned — he’s six foot high, with the body of an athlete by Praxiteles, and a face — ah, incredible — the mystery of Botticelli, the refinement and delicacy of a Chinese print, the youth and piquancy of an unimaginable English boy . . . . For the rest, he’s going to be a schoolmaster, and his intelligence is not remarkable. What’s the need?”

“Mon frère, Claude,' urged Florence, leading me to a youth just like herself in broad shape and countenance. He talked rapidly with Florence, all the while tending a tiny copper saucepan. Then breaking off his talk, he reached for a teaspoon, and with all the worshipfulness of a priest at an altar, Claude tasted the shining stock, his face blank to all but his sense of taste. 'Quintessence,' whispered Florence, sniffing in awe at the rising steam. 'For many days the meat is reduced to create the soul of the sauce.' Then with measured care he reached for a lemon and squeezed in four steady drops. The name of the dish was souffle, as the French write it. I wrote the particulars down, as it was a most magical dish. Who would have guessed that egg whites fraught for a long while could make a dish rise like a cloud? Once it had risen in a hot oven, Claude dressed the souffle with a ring of honeyed quintessence. It quivered on a pretty porcelain plate like a gently steaming puffball.”

“Mon général,” Mathieu said quietly, “ever since Greek mythology, Prometheus, Sisyphus, and then Faust, and all the rest— not forgetting, of course, The Sorcerer’s Apprentice and other fables— everything, including Oedipus and atom, everything, has always begun as a poetic license, as a . . . metaphor and then invariably it became a hard, down-to-earth reality. The whole purpose of science, indeed, seems to be a validation of metaphors. Sodom and Gomorrah, materialistic West and materialistic East, all the parables and fables . . . as if all the metaphors were pointing to some historical and scientific truth. Mankind told itself everything about itself almost from the start, but it never believed it. If it comes to perish one day, it will be through sheer disbelief . . .”

“Mon rêve à 25 ans, c’était d’être normale. C’était de prouver que, même si j’avais toujours eu l’impression d’être un mouton noir, je pouvais être comme tout le monde. Me marier, fonder une famille et être heureuse. Comme dans les contes et le fameux « ils se marièrent et eurent beaucoup d’enfants ». Moi aussi j’avais droit à ma part de bonheur. Alors je pense qu’être mère faisait partie de mon envie d’être comme les autres, mais je n’avais pas un désir profond de maternité, comme peuvent le ressentir certaines femmes. Cependant, cela n’a pas été si simple, et je me suis perdue quand j’ai cessé d’être juste moi, quand je n’ai plus été « une ».”

“Mon temps autrefois m'appartenait entièrement, et aux livres. Aujourd'hui, chaque minute consacrée à lire ou à écrire est une minute que je ne passe pas avec ma fille; l'écriture s'accompagne désormais d'une hâte et d'une culpabilité détestables. C'est du temps que je lui dérobe, que je ne retrouverai pas, que j'aurais dû lui consacrer et que je n'aurai jamais passé avec elle. Depuis sa naissance, je me prends à penser au futur antérieur et au conditionnel passé, des temps compliqués qui sont le signe qu'on considère les choses sous un point de vue autre que celui depuis lequel on parle normalement : demain vu au passé, hier comme une possibilité. Elle dort. Je devrais profiter de ce moment pour écrire, je n'arrive qu'à m'abîmer dans le bruit des vagues. Je voudrais m'étendre sur le sable, rester là jusqu'à la nuit, me laisser emporter par la marée.”

“Mona knocked at the wrong time. “Uh…yeah…wait a minute, Mona -- ” Mona shouted through the door. “Room service, gentlemen. Just pull the covers up.” Michael grinned at Jon. “My roommate. Brace yourself.” Seconds later, Mona burst through the doorway with a tray of coffee and croissants. “Hi! I’m Nancy Drew! You must be the Hardy Boys!”

“Mona was nice.” Liv choked, the latté sloshing over the edge and onto her fingers. “You set that up to be mean,” she said, putting the cup back on the table. Xander smirked. “I didn't actually. She's a cool chick.” “Then why don't you date her?” Xander's grin widened. “I did, dearest. That's why I know.” “But I'm not gay!” “But you might be bi,” Xander said. “You never actually said.” He waved away her protesting gasp. “I just thought you should check Mona out. Sexuality is a spectrum, Liv. Never know until you try.”