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M Quotes

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All M Quotes

“Mr. Ellison is that unreasonable man that possesses the ostranenie effect-- he has a keen eye to see the simplest things and make them profound, and make simple minded people see deeply into mundane topics- bringing a philosophical charm to even politics. No man, not even a semi-god lived an entire life without making a mistake and the fact that Mr. Ellison has lived a life so grandiose with such few errors, is a testament and a plaque to the big person he is.”

“Mr. Emerson watched, almost breathless, as she swirled the wine in her glass expertly, then lifted it so that she could examine it more closely in the candlelight. She brought the glass to her nose, closed her eyes, and sniffed. Then she placed the glass to her plump lips and tasted the wine, holding it in her mouth for a while before swallowing. She opened her eyes, smiled even more widely, and thanked Antonio for his precious gift.”

“Mr. Foote was right: no one can guess. No one knows the final outcome, though why is it called an outcome? No one comes out, eventually. "We aren't going to make it out of here alive," Tig used to say as a joke, although it wasn't one. And if you did guess, if you could foresee, would that be better? No: you'd live in grief all the time, you'd be mourning things that hadn't happened yet.”

“Mr. Freeman: Art without emotion is like chocolate cake without sugar. It makes you gag...The next time you work on your trees, don't think about trees. Think about love, or hate, or joy, or rage -- whatever makes you feel something, makes your palms sweat or your toes curl. Focus on that feeling. When people don't express themselves, they die one piece at a time. You'd be shocked at how many adults are really dead inside -- walking through their days with no idea who they are, just waiting for a heart attack or cancer or a Mack truck to come along and finish the job. It's the saddest thing I know.”

“Mr. Furrow jerked a thumb toward the mule in the back of the barn. "Rabbit'll kill anything comes near his carrot if he hasn't done with it. And he'll kick you if you make him go too fast in the field. I'd whip him, but he's so old a whipping might kill him, and he's our last and only mule. So we just keep away from his carrot and we keep it slow. That's the rules with Rabbit.”

“Mr. Galliano wore his big top-hat very much on one side of his head, so much so that Jimmy really wondered why it didn't fall off. ‘When Galliano wears his hat on one side the circus is taking lots of money,’ said Lotta to him. ‘But when you see him wearing it straight up, then you know things are going badly. He gets into a bad temper then, and I hide under the caravan when I see him coming. I've never seen his hat so much on one side before!’ Jimmy thought that circus ways were very extraordinary. Even hats seemed to share in the excitement!”

“Mr. Geronimo was a hoarder of fuel, gas masks, flashlights, blankets, medical supplies, canned food, water in lightweight packets; a man who expected emergencies, who counted on the fabric of society to tear and disintegrate, who know that superglue could be used to hold cuts together, who did not trust human nature to build solidly or well. A man who expected the worst.”

“Mr. Gibbs: Curse you for breathin' ya slack-jawed idiot. Mother's love. Jack. You should know better than to wake a man when he's sleepin'. Its bad luck. Jack Sparrow: Fortunately, I know how to counter it; the man who did the waking buys the man who was sleeping a drink; the man who was sleeping drinks it while listening to a proposition from the man who did the waking. Mr. Gibbs: Aye, that'll about do it.”

“Mr. Godfrey Nickleby: a worthy gentleman, who, taking it into his head rather late in life that he must get married, and not being young enough or rich enough to aspire to the hand of a lady of fortune, had wedded an old flame out of mere attachment, who in her turn had taken him for the same reason. Thus two people who cannot afford to play cards for money, sometimes sit down to a quiet game for love.”

“Mr. Gweta looked ten years younger than Professor Khupe had expected. His jet-black hair was trimmed so neatly that it would make a manicured golf course look scruffy. His face was exceptionally smooth, giving the impression that he had been born without skin pores and transitioned through puberty devoid of any facial hair to pockmark his countenance. Mr. Gweta’s face was perfectly symmetrical. An ant walking from one side to the other would experience a serious case of déjà vu.”

“Mr. Halsworth paced stiffly around the classroom and tapped his pointer stick to the chalkboard with “Darwinism” written on the center, dead- center, the kind of dead-centeredness so as to safely and absolutely hide his embarrassed uncertainty of why there was electricity in his brain, seven guided octillion atoms in his body, standing on an earth of perfect living conditions, and intuition of a God in his gut.”

“Mr Hemingway does it extremely well. Nothing matters. Everything happens. One wants to keep oneself loose. Avoid one thing only: gettng connected up. Don't get connected up. If you get held by anything, break it. Don't be held. Break it, and get away. Don't get away with the idea of getting somewhere else. Just get away, for the sake of getting away. Beat it! "Well, boy, I guess I'll beat it." Ah, the pleasure in saying that”

“Mr. Herriton, don’t – please, Mr. Herriton – a dentist. His father’s a dentist.” Philip gave a cry of personal disgust and pain. He shuddered all over, and edged away from his companion. A dentist! A dentist at Monteriano. A dentist in fairyland! False teeth and laughing gas and the tilting chair at a place which knew the Etruscan League, and the Pax Romana, and Alaric himself, and the Countess Matilda, and the Middle Ages, all fighting and holiness, and the Renaissance, all fighting and beauty! He thought of Lilia no longer. He was anxious for himself: he feared that Romance might die.”

“Mr. Hinkle felt like an intruder. Yet he couldn’t pull himself away. It was thirty minutes. It was a lifetime of pain. It was a mountain of misunderstandings. It was a flood of vulnerability. So many emotions erupted from every nook and cranny of that room. He couldn’t call it healing because here was no closure. There was no moving past this. If anything, there’d only be regret and sorrow. Mr. Hinkle whispered the two words synonymous with too late: “If only.”

Author:NA Leigh

“Mr Hobbes, in the preface to his own bald translation of the "Ilias," (studying poetry as he did mathematics, when it was too late,) Mr Hobbes, I say, begins the praise of Homer where he should have ended it. He tells us, that the first beauty of an epic poem consists in diction; that is, in the choice of words, and harmony of numbers. Now the words are the colouring of the work, which, in the order of nature, is last to be considered; the design, the disposition, the manners, and the thoughts, are all before it: where any of those are wanting or imperfect, so much wants or is imperfect in the imitation of human life, which is in the very definition of a poem. Words, indeed, like glaring colours, are the first beauties that arise, and strike the sight; but, if the draught be false or lame, the figures ill disposed, the manners obscure or inconsistent, or the thoughts unnatural, then the finest colours are but daubing, and the piece is a beautiful monster at the best. Neither Virgil nor Homer were deficient in any of the former beauties; but in this last, which is expression, the Roman poet is at least equal to the Grecian, as I have said elsewhere: supplying the poverty of his language by his musical ear, and by his diligence.”

“Mr Hooke sent, in his next letter [to Sir Isaac Newton] the whole of his Hypothesis, scil that the gravitation was reciprocall to the square of the distance: ... This is the greatest Discovery in Nature that ever was since the World's Creation. It was never so much as hinted by any man before. I wish he had writt plainer, and afforded a little more paper.”

“Mr. Hooks?” “Mr. Ludefance? Pleasure to meet you and thank you for coming in.” As he extended his hand to me, I noticed the girl at the desk staring at my face. Hooks looked back at her staring and must have given her a look of some kind. “Mr. Ludefance, this is my secretary, Cholia.” She stood up and continued to stare at my scar. Black hair, cute face, maybe five-foot-four at the most, and a little on the plump side with rosy cheeks. Young. Very young. Looked like a teenager to me. Or was I just getting ‘older?”