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N Quotes

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All N Quotes

“Not that the incredulous person doesn't believe in anything. It's just that he doesn't believe in everything. Or he believes in one thing at a time. He believes a second thing only if it somehow follows from the first thing. He is nearsighted and methodical, avoiding wide horizons. If two things don't fit, but you believe both of them, thinking that somewhere, hidden, there must be a third thing that connects them, that's credulity.”

“Not that we expect anything less of Lord Bourne- husband or not, he remains a rogue! And that which we call a rogue, by any other name would scandalize as sweet!" "Oh, for heaven's sake." Penelope did roll her eyes at that, looking to Michael, who looked... pleased. "You're complimented?" He turned innocent eyes on her. "Should I not be?" "Well," Philippa added thoughtfully, "anything Shakespearean must be at least a vague compliment." "Precisely," Michael said, gifting Pippa with a smile that made Penelope more than a little envious of her younger sister.”

“Not the children of the rich or of the powerful only, but of all alike, boys and girls, both noble and ignoble, rich and poor, in all cities and towns, villages and hamlets, should be sent to school. Education is indeed necessary for all, and this is evident if we consider the different degrees of ability. No one doubts that those who are stupid need instruction, that they may shake off their natural dullness. But in reality those who are clever need it far more, since an active mind, if not occupied with useful things, will busy itself with what is useless, curious, and pernicious.”

“Not The Done Thing by Stewart Stafford Pass the strawberry conserve here, Layer some cream on top, This is how one eats scones, my dear, We’re not pigs feeding in a trough. Pinky raised when you sip tea, No slurping sounds escaping your mouth, Cucumber sandwiches in tiny triangles, Crusts of bread all cut out. Drawing room dramas over cordials ensue, Gossip exchanged with finest manners, Secrets kept as the cabal breaks up, The public face flew on their banners. © 2021, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“Not the Happiness but the Consequence of Happiness He wakes up in the silence of the winter woods, the silence of birds not singing, knowing he will not hear his voice all day. He remembers what the brown owl sounded like while he was sleeping. The man wakes in the frigid morning thinking about women. Not with desire so much as with a sense of what is not. The January silence is the sound of his feet in the snow, a squirrel scolding, or the scraping calls of a single blue jay. Something of him dances there, apart and gravely mute. Many days in the woods he wonders what it is that he has for so long hunted down. We go hand in hand, he thinks, into the dark pleasure, but we are rewarded alone, just as we are married into aloneness. He walks the paths doing the strange mathematics of the brain, multiplying the spirit. He thinks of caressing her feet as she kept dying. For the last four hours, watching her gradually stop as the hospital slept. Remembers the stunning coldness of her head when he kissed her just after. There is light or more light, darkness and less darkness. It is, he decides, a quality without definition. How strange to discover that one lives with the heart as one lives with a wife. Even after many years, nobody knows what she is like. The heart has a life of its own. It gets free of us, escapes, is ambitiously unfaithful. Dies out unaccountably after eight years, blooms unnecessarily and too late. Like the arbitrary silence in the white woods, leaving tracks in the snow he cannot recognize.”