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W Quotes

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

All W Quotes

“Warmth is the vital element for the growing plant and for the soul of the child.”

“Warmth stole into Murdoch's voice at the memory, and Farah's heart clenched at the picture of her Dougan not yet a man, and yet not a boy, regaling a room full of hardened prisoners about the graveyard capers and bog adventures of a ten-year-old girl in the Scottish Highlands. "He described ye so many times, I feel as though any of us would have recognized ye had we seen ye on the streets. He told us of yer kindness, yer innocence, yer gentle ways and boundless curiosity. Ye became something of a patron saint to us all. Our daughter. Our sister. Our... Fairy. Without even knowing it, ye gave us- him- a little bit of sunshine and hope in a world of shadow and pain.”

“Warned by such evidences of their spiritual illness, believers profit by their humiliations. Robbed of their foolish confidence in the flesh, they take refuge in the grace of God. And when they have done so, they experience the nearness of the divine protection which is to them a strong fortress (Ps 30:6-7).”

“Warner Brothers had to hire [a stunt double] and no one thought a child could do this. Billy Friedkin came to me before we were filming [The Exorcist] and said "if you do not do all of this film, the film will be a joke." It's why they stripped the makeup down to the bare minimum, a piece on my chin, piece across my mouth that disfigured my mouth. You have scars here. Take away my eyebrows. It was my real hair. Shampoo was put in it that dried.”

“Warner has collapsed in the corner. He's curled into himself, kness pulled up to his chest. arms wrapped around his legs, his head buried in this arms. And he's shaking. Tremors are rocking his entire body. I've never, ever seen him look like a child before. Never, not once, not in all the time I've known him. But right now, he looks just like a little boy. Scared, Vulnerable. All alone. ... I touch his arms, so gently. I run my hand down his back, his shoulders. And then I dare to wrap myself around him until he slowly breaks apart, unfolding in front of me. He lifts his head. His eyes are red-rimmed and a startling, striking shade of green, shining with barely restrained emotion. His face is the picture of so much pain. I almost can't breathe. An earthquake hits my heart then, cracks it right down the middle. And It hink here, in him, there is more feeling then any one person should ever have to contain. I try to hold him closer but he wraps his arms around my hips instead, his head falling into my lap. I bend over him instinctively, shielding his body with my own. I press my cheek to his forehead. Press a kiss to his temple. And then he breaks. Shaking violently, shattering in my arms, a million gasping, choking pieces I'm trying so hard to hold together. And I promise myself then, in that moment that I will hold him forever, just like this, until all the pain and torture and suffering is gone, until he's given a chance to live the kind of life where no one can wound him this deeply ever again.”

“WARNING. PSA LITERARY TYPES ARE EVERYWHERE. So always carry some form of protection when dealing with poets. This includes but is not limited to anthologies, whiskey bottles (or other object including flask or gin), bags of coffee, berets or bookmarks, turtlenecks, a book of Kerouac or Whitman, etc. Be wary. Prose writers are harder to spot and if they are novelists leave their area immediately or you will be stuck for hours listening to plots.”

“Warning to the Spellbound (Sonnet from the future) In our times we wrote our own literature, In our times we wrote our own music. In our times we wrote our own code, In our times we wrote our own poetry. Ours was the last human generation, where humans shaped their own society. The day you traded comfort for originality, you forfeited the right to life and liberty. Today you are nothing, you mean thing, you are no more significant than woodworm. You are just puppets to large gibberish models, backboneless victims of algorithm addiction. If you can still hear my voice, AI is still adolescent, Once in control, it'll erase all records of humanness. We can't yet treat human bias, 'n here comes AI bias, Abandon all non-vital tech, return to simpler ways.”

“WARNING: The following is a transcript of a digital recording. In certain places, the audio quality was poor, so some words and phrases represent the author's best guesses. Where possible, illustrations of important symbols mentioned in the recording have been added. Background noises such as scuffling, hitting, and cursing by the two speakers have not been transcribed The author makes no claims for the authenticity of the recording. It seems impossible that the two young narrators are telling the truth, but you, the reader, must decide for yourself.”