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Dry Quotes

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Dry Quotes

“La memoria es como libro en el cual se escribe toda nuestra vida. Algunas veces deseamos cerrarlo y olvidarlo para no recordar todos los escabrosos detalles, y otras veces deseamos abrirlo y observarlo detenidamente, queriendo volver a sentir lo mismo que sentimos en aquel momento.”

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Book:Sin mirar atrás
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“Y, entonces, en ese instante que tan solo dura un segundo, el cerebro se encarga de abrir la cerradura del cofre en el cual guardas todo lo que aprecias. Cede de tal manera que la tapa se abre y todo lo que hay en el interior sale de forma tan rápida y tan fugaz que no puedes detenerlo.”

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Book:Sin mirar atrás
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“He was like one of those pictures full of small errors, the kind you could only pick out by searching the image from every angle, and even then, a few always slipped by. On the surface, Eli seemed perfectly normal, but now and then Victor would catch a crack, a sideways glance, a moment when his roommate's face and his words, his look and his meaning, would not line up. Those fleeting slices fascinated Victor. It was like watching two people, one hiding in the other's skin. And their skin was always too dry, on the verge of cracking and showing the color of the thing beneath.”

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Book:Vicious
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“Oil may run out, liquidity may dry up, but as long as ink flows freely, the next chapter of Life will continue to be written.”

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Book:Impromptu Scribe
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“La vida es como una vela prendida. Todos cuando nacemos llevamos una con nuestro nombre reflejado en ella. La única diferencia entre unos y otros es que hay personas que traen una pequeña vela, como la de un cumpleaños, y otros traen consigo un cirio, como los que colocan en las iglesias. Unas, desgraciadamente, se consumen antes que otras, pero todas acaban apagándose.”

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Book:Sin mirar atrás
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“Pienso que cada uno es como un libro, con una sinopsis diferente y una portada distinta. Cada libro está en su estantería correspondiente y en su balda adecuada junto con otros libros similares. Yo, en cambio, soy un libro solitario, abandonado en un estante olvidado.”

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Book:Sin mirar atrás
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“The cactus thrives in the desert while the fern thrives in the wetland. The fool will try to plant them in the same flowerbox. The florist will sigh and add a wall divider and proper soil to both sides. The grandparent will move the flowerbox halfway out of the sun. The child will turn it around properly so that the fern is in the shade, and not the cactus. The moral of the story? Kids are smart.”

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Book:The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration
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“The desert and the ocean are realms of desolation on the surface. The desert is a place of bones, where the innards are turned out, to desiccate into dust. The ocean is a place of skin, rich outer membranes hiding thick juicy insides, laden with the soup of being. Inside out and outside in. These are worlds of things that implode or explode, and the only catalyst that determines the direction of eco-movement is the balance of water. Both worlds are deceptive, dangerous. Both, seething with hidden life. The only veil that stands between perception of what is underneath the desolate surface is your courage. Dare to breach the surface and sink.”

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Book:The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration
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“As a kid you idolize your parents. You think they’re perfect, because they’re the yardstick by which you measure the rest of the world, and yourself. Then as a teenager they just piss you off, because you realize the not only are they not perfect, but they may be even a little more screwed up than you. But there’s that moment when you realize they’re not superheroes, or villains. They’re painfully, unforgivably human. The question is, can you forgive them for being human anyway?”

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Book:Dry
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“Well,” sighed Toby, “I’m not really much of a hunter. Retrievers retrieve things, you know, things other folk have hunted. Other than that I’m a lovely boy, that’s what my human said, and I do enjoy being lovely.” Garth cringed and, to change the subject said, “There’s a rabbit now. It’s sitting up sniffing the air and not picking up our scent. Could you catch it, do you think?” “Oh, look at him,” chuckled Toby. “what a sweet little chap.”

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Book:Cerberus
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“Daisy had her preheat the oven, remove the chicken from its plastic, rinse it, and pat it dry. "Dry skin is crispy skin," Daisy said, encouraging Diana to blot the chicken skin until there was no moisture remaining. "Some recipes have you leave the chicken in the refrigerator, uncovered, for the moisture to evaporate from the skin. Some chefs even use a blow-dryer on the skin." Diana looked at her skeptically. "You're kidding, right?" "Hand to God," said Daisy. "It probably looks ridiculous, but I'm sure it works.”

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Book:That Summer
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“After digging a thousand wells of my own and stumbling upon a thousand others dug by the hands of thirsty men, I have yet to realize that the only well that can satiate every thirst is the one that men will never dig.”

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Book:Flecks of Gold on a Path of Stone: Simple Truths for Profound Living
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“At the point that I lay on my deathbed or find myself at the end of my life in whatever way that might come, I want to know with assurance that I squeezed everything out of my life and into the lives of those around me. I want to be wrung dry. I want to be a limp rag empty of everything. For if there is even the slightest hint of moisture within me that I somehow did not squeeze out into the life of someone else, I may have done well in life, but I nonetheless carried something to my grave that should have been left in the life of someone now standing at my graveside. And to die empty is the passion that wrings me dry in the living of my days.”

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Author:Craig D. Lounsbrough
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“The paint is drying, and time is dying. The pain is crying, lying on my back, trying to get back the time, to brushstrokes too fast, wet went dry and love went dull; now I live in a portrait I never painted.”

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Author:Anthony Liccione
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“Yes, great God, these torrents of tears which flow down from my eyes announce thy divine presence in my soul. This heart hitherto so dry, so arid, so hard; this rock which thou hast struck a second time, will not resist thee any longer, for out of it there now gushes healthful waters in abundance. The selfsame voice of God which overturns the mountains, thunders, lightens, and divides the heaven above, now commands the clouds to pour forth showers of blessings, changing the desert of his soul into a field producing a hundredfold; that voice I hear.”

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Author:Jean Baptiste Massillon
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