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O Quotes

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All O Quotes

“Once, when Geronda Joseph underwent a great temptation, he went into the desert to pray, and as he was crying out to God, he saw a vision of a large, beautiful bird singing. In a moment, he found himself in Paradise where there were many birds. The birds were angels, and among them was the large bird, singing and keeping the bass note. Imagine that! He saw it with his own eyes!”

“Once when I looked up, I happened to see a sea eagle poised on magesterial wings above the knurled summit of the mountain behind my tent. It was a scene of peerless tranquility, tossed out in Nautre's devil-may-care way, which says: Just open your eyes, my friend, and I'll astonish you every minute of your life.”

“Once, when I was a child, I dreamed that Grimbeard the Ghastly, on the deck of his ship The Endless Journey, threw the sword Endeavor up into the air. Up and up it spun, through the inky blackness, across the cavernous span of a hundred years, until, entirely of its own accord, my own left hand sprang out of space and stars and never-ending time and caught it. Now that I am so very old, I am dreaming once again. And in my dream, I am the one throwing the sword. It is spinning now, in the black starlit waters of my dream, right above your head, dear reader. A sword that may look second-best, and secondhand, but but carries the memories of a thousand lost fights, a history lesson in itself. Reach out, and catch it by the hilt. Swear by its name, Endeavor, to do your utmost to make the world a better place than when you arrived in it. For look! There will be dragons all around you, as camouflaged as a Stealth Dragon.”

“Once, when I was a kid, I had impressed my mother, intuitively dipping a whole raw pepper into ssamjang paste at a barbecue restaurant in Seoul. The bitterness and spice of the vegetable perfectly married with the savory, salty taste of the sauce, itself made from fermented peppers and soybeans. It was a poetic combination, to reunite something in its raw form with its twice-dead cousin. "This is a very old taste," my mother had said.”

“Once when I was a little child of six or so, I watched a spider spinning its web in a corner of the house. Before the spider had even finished its job, a mosquito flew right into the web and was trapped there. The spider didn't pay it any attention at first, but went on with what it was doing; only when it was finished did it creep over on its pointy toes and sting that poor mosquito to death. As I sat there on that wooden floor and watched Hatsumomo come reaching for me with her delicate fingers, I knew I was trapped in a web she had spun for me.”

“Once when I was cooking I burned my arm with scalding water. I went to the Emergency Room of the Hospital. When the doctor came in he looked at me and looked at my chart, and looked at me and looked at my chart, then looked at me again and said, "I loved your show!" He told me that when he was doing his internship he would come home every night stressed out, but he would watch a late night rerun of the Andy Griffith Show and relax and fall asleep. He said, "I wouldn't be a doctor, if it wasn't for the Andy Griffith Show".”

“Once, when I were a child, I were kicked by a small mule. Neither the mule nor I had any sense. I were trying to make the mule go one way, but the mule was trying to make me go another. I were for hitching the mule onto a plow. The mule were for nibbling grass. So, after that kicking, I learned right then and there to respect animals and peoples when they are not of the same mind as you are.”

“Once, when Mazen had been a child, he'd asked his mother if the stories she told were truth or fiction. Many years later, he still remembered her answer. "Every story is a memory," she had once said. "A tale that happened neither here nor there, but in another time and place. Our job as storytellers is to describe that reality as we understand it. It is the listen who must determine what is and is not." He remembered the way her voice had fallen to a whisper as she spoke, as if she were sharing some precious secret with him. "Remember, Mazen, there is no such thing as a single truth. There are just the stories we tell others, and the ones we tell ourselves.”

“Once when my father-in-law was leaving the house after lunch to return to the field to work, my mother-in-law said, 'Albert, you get right back in here and tell me you love me.' He grinned and jokingly said, 'Elsie, when we were married, I told you I loved you, and if that ever changes, I'll let you know.' It's hard to overuse the expression, 'I love you.' Use it daily.”

“Once when we were fifteen, River (Phoenix) and I went out for this fancy dinner in Manhattan and I ordered soft-shell crabs. He left the restaurant and walked around on Park Avenue, crying. I went out and said, "I love you so much. Why?" He had such a pain that I was eating an animal, that he hadn't impressed on me what was right. I loved him for that. For his dramatic desire that we share every belief, that I be with him all the way”

“Once, while at a party in London, the editor of the literary reviews page of a major newspaper struck up a conversation with me, and we chatted pleasantly until he asked what I did for a living. “I write comics,” I said; and I watched the editor’s interest instantly drain away, as if he suddenly realized he was speaking to someone beneath his nose. Just to be polite, he followed up by inquiring, “Oh, yes? Which comics have you written?” So I mentioned a few titles, which he nodded at perfunctorily; and I concluded, “I also did this thing called Sandman.” At that point he became excited and said, “Hang on, I know who you are. You’re Neil Gaiman!” I admitted that I was. “My God, man, you don’t write comics,” he said. “You write graphic novels!” He meant it as a compliment, I suppose. But all of a sudden I felt like someone who’d been informed that she wasn’t actually a hooker; that in fact she was a lady of the evening. This editor had obviously heard positive things about Sandman; but he was so stuck on the idea that comics are juvenile he couldn’t deal with something good being done as a comic book. He needed to put Sandman in a box to make it respectable.”

“Once, while at my uncle’s farm my father took me for a ride on my uncle’s buckboard. Not knowing any better, my father took the bridle off of the horse to give him a break. It seemed reasonable to me, but any farmer will tell you that’s not what he should have done. Thinking that he was free and then realizing that he wasn’t, the horse bolted, dragging the wagon down a path and then through a stone quarry where the buckboard was reduced to kindling wood. After my uncle found out what had happened, things were not quite the same for some time to come. Fortunately, the horse survived with only a few scratches but the buckboard was beyond repair and poor Pop never lived down this occurrence. I guess that he wasn’t much of an equestrian either.”

“Once women begin to question the inevitability of their subordination and to reject the conventions formerly associated with it, they can no longer retreat to the safety of those conventions. The woman who rejects the stereotype of feminine weakness and dependence can no longer find much comfort in the clich? that all men are beasts. She has no choice except to believe, on the contrary, that men are human beings, and she finds it hard to forgive them when they act like animals.”

“Once women invented farming, and began to keep and breed animals, they discovered the crucial function of the rooster and the henhouse. Fathers suddenly gained a function, and could do what only women had been able to do for all those millions of years--point at a child and say, "That is my son," "That is my daughter." Patriarchy quickly followed, beginning about five thousand years ago; a very short time in the development of our species, but covering all of recorded history.”

“Once, years ago, Alex had been kicked in the gut by a full-grown stallion. The blow had staggered him. For several endless seconds, he hadn’t been able to breathe. His vision had blurred. For a crazy instant, he’d even felt as though his heart had stopped beating. That was how he felt now. As if, for a suspended moment, everything inside him lurched to a stop. As feeling slowly began to return to his body, pain accompanied it—a relentless, mind-numbing pain centered in his chest. He’d heard people say their hearts were broken. A few times in his life, he had even used the expression himself. But until now, the saying hadn’t really had meaning. The human heart didn’t actually break, after all. It didn’t come apart, piece by piece, and drop, along with a man’s stomach, to the region of his boots. Like hell, it didn’t. Annie Trimble, the town moron. Only she wasn’t a moron at all. She was deaf. Stone-deaf. And, God forgive him, he had been stone-blind.”