Quotessence
Home / Quotes / S Quotes

S Quotes

Browse famous quotes beginning with S. This page is a child index of the full Popular Quotes A-Z directory.

All S Quotes

“Soon after a baby is born, illusion comes in and begins teaching them lies, such as “you are not important,” “you are not enough,” “you are not worthy,” or “there’s no time for you.” Guess who teaches children these lies? Mostly their parents transmit deep unconscious lies that they learned from their parents, school, and society.”

“Soon after a disaster passes, we tend to turn our eyes away and focus our resources on the day-to-day, rather than on preparing for the rare, but foreseeable and potentially catastrophic disaster. It's another form of triage, how much we invest in preparing for that, a very important question for public policy. We are a short-sighted species.”

“Soon after [George Yeo] became a politician, he made a famous speech, and for the first time, the term "OB markers" was used in political discourse. He was using golfing language to vividly make the point that Singapore needed OB markers to demarcate areas of public life that should remain out of bounds to social activism and the media. Otherwise, society paid an unacceptably high price. His essential point was that Singaporeans worked better if the cover of the banyan tree did not remain so broad. He was signalling that the state should pull back and give the people more free play.”

“Soon after Harris’s HeLa-chicken study, a pair of researchers at New York University discovered that human-mouse hybrids lost their human chromosomes over time, leaving only the mouse chromosomes. This allowed scientists to begin mapping human genes to specific chromosomes by tracking the order in which genetic traits vanished. If a chromosome disappeared and production of a certain enzyme stopped, researchers knew the gene for that enzyme must be on the most recently vanished chromosome. Scientists in laboratories throughout North America and Europe began fusing cells and using them to map genetic traits to specific chromosomes, creating a precursor to the human genome map we have today.”

“Soon after the birth, Maria was shown her son. He was no longer crying. The baby was tiny, frail, his skin wrinkled — yet his bright, restless eyes darted stubbornly in every direction, as if he were trying to take in this vast, unfamiliar, and beautiful world as quickly as possible. “You did well, Maria! You have a son! You did well!” Irina kissed her daughter’s hand joyfully. “Everything will be all right now.” Seeing her child, Maria felt relief wash over her. She longed to take him into her arms, to press him to her chest — but the baby was taken away. After the necessary procedures, the midwife quietly pulled Irina aside. “Breastfeeding is dangerous,” she whispered. “The baby could contract typhus. But he is premature, weak — and if he does not receive colostrum now, I fear he will not survive. The previous woman gave birth a week ago and has no colostrum left. I believe we must take the risk: newborns contract infection from sick mothers in only about a third of cases.” Irina looked at her grandson lying in her arms. He jerked his tiny hands and feet at random — then smiled clumsily. “God’s will be done,” she said firmly. “A child must drink his mother’s milk.” When the alcohol-sterilized breast was offered to the baby, it turned out his mouth was too small to take the nipple. Fortunately, the other breast was smaller — and the boy latched on with determined urgency. Holding the flesh of her flesh to her chest, feeling her son’s gentle sucking, Maria experienced a moment of pure euphoria. The terrible illness receded, making way for the overwhelming joy of motherhood. Neither Maria nor the newborn knew of the danger of infection. They were simply following the ancient law of nature. And Irina spent the rest of the day in prayer, asking God to spare two souls — her daughter and her grandson. — Volodymyr Shablia, Stone. Book One Context note: During the Ukrainian Civil War of 1920, amid epidemics, hunger, and collapsing authority, a premature child is born into a world where survival depends on instinct, faith, and impossible choices. This moment captures motherhood and mercy standing against historical catastrophe.”

“Soon after the news broke about these published conclusions [regarding the evidence of a Palaeolithic human presence on Malta] and their stark contradiction of the orthodox view on Malta's prehistory, the Italian team distanced itself from its initial Palaeolithic leanings and claimed instead that the depictions in Ghar Hasan are 'out of context' -- which indeed they are if one is only prepared to countenance a Neolithic context for the earliest human presence in Malta. Another development at about the same time was that the Ghar Hasan cave began to be vandalized, and the paintings defaced or completely removed, a process that continued over a long period. The result, which would have caused an international furore anywhere else but Malta, is that today: 'The only depictions which have survived, unless more are obscured by stalagmitic material on the cavern walls, are the two handprints in red pigment in Gallery D ... Vandalism not of the popular type has destroyed and obscured the entire repertoire of images on the accessible areas.”

“Soon after this incident the court rose. As I was being taken from the courthouse to the prison van, I was conscious for a few brief moments of the once familiar feel of a summer evening out-of-doors. And, sitting in the darkness of my moving cell, I recognized, echoing in my tired brain, all the characteristic sounds of a town I'd loved, and of a certain hour of the day which I had always particularly enjoyed. The shouts of newspaper boys in the already languid air, the last calls of birds in the public garden, the cries of sandwich vendors, the screech of streetcars at the steep corners of the upper town, and that faint rustling overhead as darkness sifted down upon the harbor—all these sounds made my return to prison like a blind man's journey along a route whose every inch he knows by heart. Yes, this was the evening hour when—how long ago it seemed!—I always felt so well content with life. Then, what awaited me was a night of easy, dreamless sleep. This was the same hour, but with a difference; I was returning to a cell, and what awaited me was a night haunted by forebodings of the coming day. And so I learned that familiar paths traced in the dusk of summer evenings may lead as well to prisons as to innocent, untroubled sleep.”

“Soon after three o'clock on the afternoon of April 22nd 1973, a 35-year-old architect named Robert Maitland was driving down the high-speed exit lane of the Westway interchange in central London. Six hundred yards from the junction with the newly built spur of the M4 motorway, when the Jaguar had already passed the 70 m.p.h. speed limit, a blow-out collapsed the front nearside tyre. The exploding air reflected from the concrete parapet seemed to detonate inside Robert Maitland's skull. During the few seconds before his crash he clutched at the whiplashing spokes of the steering wheel, dazed by the impact of the chromium window pillar against his head. The car veered from side to side across the empty traffic lanes, jerking his hands like a puppet's. The shredding tyre laid a black diagonal stroke across the white marker lines that followed the long curve of the motorway embankment. Out of control, the car burst through the palisade of pinewood trestles that formed a temporary barrier along the edge of the road. Leaving the hard shoulder, the car plunged down the grass slope of the embankment. Thirty yards ahead, it came to a halt against the rusting chassis of an overturned taxi. Barely injured by this violent tangent that had grazed his life, Robert Maitland lay across his steering wheel, his jacket and trousers studded with windshield fragments like a suit of lights.”

“Soon, all the children were chanting it. “No school! No school!”

“Soon as he sat down, Joe saw it in his face clear as a stream - fear. It lived back behind his eyes, leaked out of his pores. Most people didn't see it because they mistook its public faces - hatred and ill temper - for rage. But Joe had studied it for two years in Charlestown, and he'd discovered that the worst of the men in there were also the most terrified - terrified of being found out as cowards or, worse, victims, themselves, of other terrible and terrified men.”

“Soon enough his head would be swimming with tales of derring-do and high adventure, tales of beautiful maidens kissed, of evildoers shot with pistols or fought with swords, of bags of gold, of diamonds as big as the tip of your thumb, of lost cities and of vast mountains, of steam-trains and clipper ships, of pampas, oceans, deserts, tundra.”

“Soon enough, his learners will see across the planet. They'll watch the vast boreal forest from space and read the species-teeming tropics from eye level. They'll study rivers and measure what's in them. They'll collate the data of every wild creature ever tagged and map their wanderings. They'll read every sentence in every article that every field scientist ever published. They'll binge-watch every landscape that anyone has pointed a camera at. They'll listen to all the sounds of the streaming Earth. They'll do what the genes of their ancestors shaped them to do, what all their forebears have ever done themselves. They'll speculate on what it takes to live and put those speculations to the test. Then they'll say what life wants from people, and how it might use them.”

“Soon, everyone around me had come to terms with my peculiar eating habits and started accepting me for who I was. It felt peculiar at first, but when someone said things like, “I wish I could resist eating all that,” in whatever parallel universe I existed, I felt powerful.”

“Soon he essentially stopped talking. "I am retreating into silence as a defensive mode," he mentioned. Eventually, he was down to uttering just five words, and only to guards: yes; no; please; thank you. "I am surprised," he wrote, "by the amount of respect this garners me. That silence intimidates puzzles me. Silence is to me normal, comfortable." Later he added, "I will admit to feeling a little contempt for those who can't keep quiet.”

“Soon he was online every night until one or two a.m. Often he would wake up at three of four a.m. and go back online. He would shut down the computer screen when I walked in. In the past, he used to take the laptop to bed with him and we would both be on our laptops, hips touching. He stopped doing that, slipping off to his office instead and closing the door even when A was asleep. He started closing doors behind him. I was steeped in denial, but my body knew.”

“Soon he was picturing little girls with mischievous green eyes and pigtails asking him to play tea. Of course he'd bring real food to the tea party. None of that pretend food bullshit for his little girls. By the time Haley had stopped for breakfast he'd been calmer about everything. He'd already decided to ignore that breakup nonsense. It was just ridiculous and he knew sooner or later Haley would realize that so they could get started on making their all girl baseball team.”

“Soon I find myself squatting on the floor. I am still striking my face; not with my fists this time, but with wide-open hands. I am slapping myself. The sounds I make when my palms meet my cheeks are like an unrelenting round of applause. I am clapping myself. Or clapping for myself. I start to giggle. All the voices are receding now. I am no longer filled with rage or disappointment. I clap and clap and simply cannot stop.”

“Soon I found myself co-leading a small group of people wrestling with their own pain, questions, and disappointments. Even when I felt too bleak to inspire any of them, I knew this was where I needed to be. Because of my rejection I saw and understood the pain of a whole new demographic of people. I had a more profound acceptance of a gray world where things weren’t as black and white as I thought they were. I had much more grace and love for others who hadn’t made the wisest choices in life. No experience is wasted.”