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W Quotes

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All W Quotes

“What do you take me for! Brain scientist here! You know what it means? It means I know your deepest fantasies as well as your darkest secrets - it means I know more about you than you know about yourself. Yet have I ever belittled you? Never! You know why? Because, by knowing the worst in you I came to now the best in you. Know your worst my friend - for once you conquer your worst you'll automatically manifest your best.”

“What do you take me for - some two-bit frozen figurine from the icy-cold world of intellect! Armageddon here! Armageddon above intellect - armageddon above faith - armageddon above law, order and policy! I am Justice absolute - Jehovah absolute - Jehennem (Hell) absolute! I am Conscience absolute - Christ absolute - Cosmos absolute! I am Harmony absolute - Human absolute - Heaven absolute! I am the first prophet and the last - I am the keeper of eternity. I am time, I am space - I am the beginning of love, and the obliteration of inhumanity. Every time this prehistoric world even dreams of tyranny, bearing its political, bureaucratic, legal, or religious badge of authoritarianism, remember who you are. You are brahmanda (cosmos) in a brain - you are the first, second and last coming - you are the one who parted Red Sea - you are but consciousness dawning.”

“What do you think all of us are here for? Certainly not to seek happiness. We are not here to enjoy. We are here to feel. Experiencing emotions is what human minds are made for. Emotions of every kind. A full gamut. A life spent on experiencing sentiments that lie at only one side of the spectrum is no life at all. We shouldn’t avoid grief. Instead, we should welcome despair in our lives with open arms. For it makes us who we are. It makes us complete.”

“What do you think an artist is? An imbecile who has only his eyes if he's a painter, or ears if he's a musician, or a lyre at every level of his heart if he's a poet, or even, if he's a boxer, just his muscles? On the contrary, he's at the same time a political being, constantly alive to heart-rending, burning, or happy events in the world.”

“What do you think deja vu is for?". Face it, you even want to talk to that girl in the elevator. But what if that girl in the elevator (and the balding man who walks past your cubicle at work) are thinking the same thing? Who knows what you might learn from taking a chance on conversation with a stranger? Everyone carries a piece of the puzzle. Nobody comes into your life by mere coincidence. Trust your instincts. Do the unexpected. Find the others.”

“What do you think, Doc?" The patient's question penetrated Auster's reverie. "I think you're doing about as well as you're going to do, Mr. Johnston. You're not going to play ball for the Yankees, but you're not going to drop dead anytime soon either. You'll probably still be fishing when they bury me." Johnston gave a little laugh. "I hope so, no offense. But I was thinking, Doc, you know. . . . I might need some tests." Auster looked back in puzzlement. Johnston had the tone of a patient who'd read some article on preven tive medicine in [i]Reader's Digest[/i]. He probably wanted a goddamn sixty-four-slice CAT scan of his heart.”

“What do you think for dinner? I know it’s important I don’t show you up.” Something soft and red filled his lust-hazed vision. “With this first one, I can’t wear a bra because it’s backless…” She swapped it out for something dark. “…but this second one is a little low-cut. Bra or no bra?” Think, man, think. The fate of the universe depended on the answer to this question.”

“What do you think happens?" I said instead. "When we die?" Jin didn't believe in gods. He didn't believe in heavens or hells or worlds after. Just in this world. Just in now. ... "I think they burn us and we become dust and ash." He ran a finger across the edge of my lips. "And I think that the dust that was me will spend until the end of time trying to get as close as possible to the dust that was you out in that vast desert." ...”

“What do you think has become of the young and old men? And what do you think has become of the women and children? They are alive and well somewhere, The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceas'd the moment life appear'd. All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.”

“What do you think I do?” And frisky too. “A model?” She shrugs. “An actor?” “No,” I say. “Flattering, but no.” “Well?” “I’m into, oh, murders and executions mostly. It depends.” I shrug. “Do you like it?” she asks, unfazed. “Um… It depends. Why?” I take a bit of sorbet. “Well, most guys I know who work in mergers and acquisitions don’t really like it,” she says. “That’s not what I said,” I say, adding a forced smiled, finishing my J&B. “Oh, forget it.”

“What do you think is my favourite book? Just now, I mean; I change every three days. "Wuthering Heights." Emily Bronte was quite young when she wrote it, and had never been outside of Haworth churchyard. She had never known any men in her life; how could she imagine a man like Heathcliff? I couldn't do it, and I'm quite young and never outside the John Grier Asylum - I've had every chance in the world. Sometimes a dreadful fear comes over me that I'm not a genius. Will you be awfully disappointed, Daddy, if I don't turn out to be a great author?”

“What do you think it is that makes a man" I started on the Definition. He cut me of after five words. "It is not!" he said. "A wax figure could have all that, and he'd still be a wax figure, wouldn't he?" ... "Well, then, what makes a man a man is something inside him." "A soul?" I suggested. "No... souls are just counters for churches to collect, all the same value, like nails. No, what makes man man is mind; it's not a thing, it's a quality, and minds aren't all the same value; they're better or worse, and the better they are, the more they mean.”

“What do you think it is to be normal?' Why in the world would you want to be?' she says. I don't know. I guess that's the problem.' I don't think normal is that great.' But so many people choose it,' I reply. I don't think that's it at all. I think most everyone is normal and some of us, for whatever reason, choose to reject that and wear ruby red slippers or old black hats.' Well, why do we choose the hard road?”

“What do you think it was like to come from a life involving years of hardship and turmoil and boredom and danger and responsibility, and battlefields that stank of blood and mud and worse, with the screams of and groans of the injured and dying-some of them your men and your friends-ringing in your ears? And then the war is over and you come back and try to fit into a society where people are dressed in satin, silk and lace, smelling of perfumes and their most serious problem is deciding who to dance with. Or what to order for dinner. Or how to dress their hair. Or what juicy snippets of gossip they can pass on.”

“What do you think it would have been like if Valentine had brought you up along with me? Would you have loved me?" Clary was very glad she had put her cup down, because if she hadn't, she would have dropped it. Sebastian was looking at her not with any shyness or the sort of natural awkwardness that might be attendant on such a bizarre question, but as if she were a curious, foreign life-form. "Well," she said. "You're my brother. I would have loved you. I would have...had to.”

“What do you think, Kaarz?” Standing next to him in the recently pressurized but still-cold office annex, Teela knew she was once again being tested. Every time she was around the Old Man, he did that. She’d heard that it took awhile for him to trust you - but once he did you were golden in his eyes. It seemed that everybody worth the salt in their bodies who worked for him wanted him to feel that way. And why shouldn’t they? A missive of recommendation from Stinex, even just a line or two, was worth just about any conceivable torture one could imagine and endure. It was a ticket for the hyperlane that could lead to wealth, fame, and the most desirable thing of all: Freedom. The freedom to design what one wished, to give free rein to one’s artistic expression, to create something that might truly outlast the ages, that might - Teela realized that the Old Man was waiting patiently for an answer to his question.”

“What do you think love is - a thing to startle from the heart like a bird at every shout or blow? You can fly from me, high as you choose into your darkness, but you will see me always beneath you, no matter how far away, with my face turned to you. My heart is in your heart. I gave it to you with my name that night and you are its guardian, to treasure it, or let it whither and die. I do not understand you. I am angry with you. I am hurt and helpless, but nothing will fill the ache of the hollowness in me where your name would echo if I lost you.”

“What do you think my chances might be of finding a soul mate in the group of you? I'll be lucky if I can just find someone who'll be able to stand me for the rest of our lives. What if I've already sent her home because I was relying on some sort of spark I didn't feel? What if she's waiting to leave me at the first sign of adversity? What if I don't find anyone at all? What do I do then, America?”

“What do you think of Chin Peng?” Hagar asked him, pointing to the TV screen with the remote control. “Chin Peng? What about him?” “He wants to come home but he’s not allowed to.” “The war is over. We signed the Hat Yai Treaty.” “Does that mean he can come home?” “Why shouldn’t he? It’s been 27 years.” “Is that your opinion as a veteran? You were a soldier. You fought against the Communists.” Our father stopped to look at Hagar, his face serious. “The war is over,” he stressed. “We stood down.”

“What do you think of Lord St. Vincent?” Pandora asked eagerly. West’s gaze moved to a man who appeared to be a younger version of his sire, with bronze-gold hair that gleamed like new-minted coins. Princely handsome. A cross between Adonis and the Royal Coronation Coach. With deliberate casualness, West said, “He’s not as tall as I expected.” Pandora looked affronted. “He’s every bit as tall as you!” “I’ll eat my hat if he’s an inch over four foot seven.” West clicked his tongue in a few disapproving tsk-tsks. “And still in short trousers.” Half annoyed, half amused, Pandora gave him a little shove. “That’s his younger brother Ivo, who is eleven. The one next to him is my fiancé.” “Aah. Well, I can see why you’d want to marry that one.”

“What do you think of Poe?" "He's awful. He was obviously . . . what's the term . . . 'disappointed in love' at some point. He probably never smiled again. The pages are just bursting with his longing for women to suffer. If he ever met me he'd probably punch me on the nose." "I think Poe's quite good, actually. The whole casual horror thing. Like someone standing next to you and screaming their head off and you asking them what the fuck and them stopping for a moment to say 'Oh you know, I'm just afraid of Death' and then they keep on with the screaming.”

“What do you think of the human mind? I mean, in case you think there is a human mind.”

“What do you think of the kombucha?“ he asks. It tastes like sadness. I don’t tell him this, of course. Mostly because my mouth is still full and both unable and unwilling to swallow. Instead, I draw a deep breath through my nose, telling myself that on the count of three, I’ll force it down. One… Two… I’m too late. My gag reflex overpowers my sheer will. Instead of swallowing, I spray. Like a Saturday-morning cartoon. All over the picnic blanket.”

“What do you think of this?" he asked, indicating the painting nearby. She gave him an odd look. "I think it's an enormous painting of a dog." He made a show of considering the picture and nodded seriously. "An astute observation." She gave a short laugh before he continued. "The visual arts have never been my specialty. I prefer to consider myself a connoisseur of music. As you know." The last words were spoken softly near her ear. They were meant to fluster her, to remind her of the evening in his bedchamber... of their first kiss. The strategy worked, and Ralston couldn't help the pleasure that shot through him at the sound of her breath catching.”