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T Quotes

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

All T Quotes

“There is a certain type of sadness, that creates holes in the top of your heart, for the sunlight to come through and shine over the trees and the fields (the veins and the ventricles), and illuminate the part of you that sits there, in silence and in understanding... alone but at peace. It's a certain type of being dead while you are alive; but in a good way, not in a bad way. Your own cemetery where the middle of your soul rests in peace. A sadness to end all other sadness. The discovery of a pasture within your soul, where everything is okay.”

“There is a certain unique and strange delight about walking down an empty street alone. There is an off-focus light cast by the moon, and the streetlights are part of the spotlight apparatus on a bare stage set up for you to walk through. You get a feeling of being listened to, so you talk aloud, softly, to see how it sounds.”

“There is a charm in the loud and crossed places when they go quiet... Clubs, stadiums, universities, schools... Here, so many people meet, generate their personalities, get their lives changed. They met new friends. As far as the eye can see, and further, the path makes you bring out creativity in order to be successful. Whatever it is, office of daily routine or blatant cabaret.”

“There is a charm to letters and cards that emails and smses can’t ever replicate, you cannot inhale them, drawing the fragrance of the place they have been mailed from, the feel of paper in your hand bearing the weight of the words contained within. You cannot rub your fingers over the paper and visualise the sender, seated at a table, writing, perhaps with a smile on their lips or a frown splitting the brow. You can’t see the pressure of the pen on the reverse of the page and imagine the mood the person might have been in when he or she was writing it. Smiley face icons cannot hope to replace words thought out carefully in order to put a smile on the other person’s face, the pressure of the pen, the sharpness or the laxity of the handwriting telling stories about the frame of mind of the writer, the smudges on the sheets of paper telling their own stories, blotches where tears might have fallen, hastily scratched out words where another would have been more appropriate, stories that the writer of the letter might not have intended to communicate. I have letters wrapped up in a soft muslin cloth, letters that are unsigned, tied up with a ribbon which I had once used to hold my soft, brown hair in place, and which had been gently untied by the writer of those letters. Occasionally, I unwrap them and breathe them in, knowing that the molecules from the hand that wrote them might still be scattered on the surface of the paper, a hand that is long dead.”

“There is a cheap literature that speaks to us of the need of escape. It is true that when we travel we are in search of distance. But distance is not to be found. It melts away. And escape has never led anywhere. The moment a man finds that he must play the races, go the Arctic, or make war in order to feel himself alive, that man has begin to spin the strands that bind him to other men and to the world. But what wretched strands! A civilization that is really strong fills man to the brim, though he never stir. What are we worth when motionless, is the question.”

“There is a choice before us as people who live in a great world, so knit together that even America cannot stand quite outside it, or act as though it were situated somewhere on the moon! That choice is a choice - let me put it quite brutally - between heaven and hell. ... But it is not a choice between a heaven or a hell beyond the grave; it is a choice between making heaven or making hell on this side of the grave, and in this world, here and now.”

“There is a clarity about how children see the world that the complexities of adult life often muddy. And there is a fervor children feel when they believe adults have misled them or disguised or hidden the truth (p.89)....Fear and doubt might be mitigated or assuaged, but something even more profound was at risk. And that was trust. If so many things were not as they seemed, who had misled me? Who and what could I believe. (p. 105)”