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Quirks Quotes

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Quirks Quotes

“Beware trying to iron out all your quirks, perceived flaws and doubts. It's often these things that help you find strength, compassion, empathy for others and heart.”

“You are beautiful. Yes, you are beautiful. You are beautiful in all your inimitable ways. You are beautiful in all your charming ways. You are beautiful in all your unique ways. Yes you are beautiful! You are beautiful! You are beautiful in all your inimitable ways. You are beautiful in spite of what they call as your flaws, quirks, and weirdness. You are beautiful in all your unique ways. Don't believe them who say you are not beautiful. They are insecure people who say you are not beautiful! Yes you are beautiful! You are magical because of all your flaws, quirks, and weirdness! Yes you are beautiful in your own unique way. Your imperfections make you unique and beautiful! Yes you are beautiful! You are uniquely beautiful! You are beautiful in your magical way!”

“Any society is controlled by a web of feedback control mechanisms, from the private, then public opinion of colleagues to police rapid-response teams, all of which limits and guides the actions of the society's members. A few years of exotic living spent free of such controls are usually sufficient for personal character quirks and obsessions, of whatever kind, to develop to levels that would be deemed pathological on one's home ground.”

“He'd seen how uncomfortable she'd looked being the center of attention. His aunt had told him how, when she'd asked Cinderella what she wished to wear for the ball, she'd replied, "Something blue. It was my mother's favorite color, and I wish with all my heart she could have met Charles and seen us together." Other young women in the kingdom would have asked for a gown fit for a princess, for satin gloves rimmed with crystals, a tiara studded with rubies. Cinderella had asked for none of these things. That was why he loved her. For the earnest way she thought of her words before she spoke, or how her eyebrows danced when she smiled, or how her voice became singsong when she teased him. That was why he missed her.”

“How many marks do you think you’ll get for treason?” “One from the Scholar to make my skin fairer, one from the Weaver to make me taller, one from the King to make me fatter, one from the Inquisitor to make me stronger, and one from the Warmaster to fix whatever it is he doesn’t like about me.” “Probably your general attitude. He gets at least a dozen offers of marriage a week; he doesn’t understand what you don’t like about him.” “Probably his general attitude.”

“...imagine that you hold in one hand an oddly shaped stone. You keep this hand closed into a fist, but still you can feel the stone’s curvature and the pointed edges, the roughness—of course, you know the relative size and weight and might even have a mental image of the color of this stone, even if you have not yet laid eyes upon it. Imagine that stone in your hand. Imagine what it is like to know everything about the way it feels, but nothing of how it looks. Hold that in mind for a moment. Now, imagine that there is a person standing next to you who tells you that she also holds a stone in her hand. You look down and see the clenched fist and she sees yours and you confess the same. Neither of you, it seems, has yet opened the hand and seen the stone. Still, you can only trust each other’s proclamations. Standing together with your stones in hand, the two of you theorize about whether or not your respective stones are similar to one another. You discuss mundane details about your stones (not the special ones—you hesitate to make mention of the sharp point in the northern hemisphere or the flat area on the bottom). Your neighbor finally notes similarities between her stone and yours and you nod with relief and acknowledge that your stones indeed share reasonable commonalities. Over the course of your discussion, you and your neighbor finally conclude, without bothering to open your hands, that the stones you hold must indeed be quite similar. Are they? It is only suitable to say that they are. At the same time, and in spite of your desire not to offend, there is no doubt in your mind that the stone you hold bespeaks a greater prominence than that of your neighbor. You are not sure how you know this to be true, but it must be so! And I do not mean that this stone simply holds a greater subjective prominence. It has something of the universal, for it is, indeed, an auspicious stone! Silently, you hypothesize in what ways it must be special. It is possibly different in shape, color, weight, size and texture from the other, but you cannot confirm this. Perhaps, it is special by substance? Still, you are unsure. The very fact of your uncertainty begins to bother you and unleashes within you a deep insecurity. What if you are wrong and your stone is actually inferior to the other…or inferior even to some third stone not yet encountered? Meanwhile, your neighbor is silently suffering in the same agony. Both of you tacitly understand that, without comparing the two visually, it is absurd to proclaim the two stones similar. Yet, your fist remains clenched, as does your neighbor’s and so you find yourselves unable to hold out the stones before you and compare them side-by-side. Of course, this is possible, but the mutual curiosity is outstripped by an inveterate pride, and so you both become afraid of showing (and even seeing) what you have, for fear that your respective stones will be different in appearance from the model that you have each conceptualized in mind. Meekly your eyes meet and you smile to one another at your new comradeship, but, all the while, remain paralyzed by a simultaneous shame and vanity.”

“Although a stream of cheerful postcards and letters had arrived from Evie for the past three weeks, they were a poor substitute for the sound of her voice, and her good morning kisses, and the quirks only a husband would know about. The adorable way her toes would wiggle in her sleep whenever he touched her foot. And the way she would bounce a little on her heels when she was especially happy or excited about something. God, he needed her back in his bed. He needed it soon.”

“Perhaps I’m off the mark,” Westcliff said, “but I suspect it may have something to do with Miss Hathaway.” Cam sent him a damning glare. St. Vincent looked alertly from Cam’s stony face to Westcliff’s. “You didn’t tell me there was a woman.” Cam stood so quickly the chair nearly toppled backward. “She has nothing to do with it.” “Who is she?” St. Vincent always hated being left out of gossip. “One of Lord Ramsay’s sisters,” came Westcliff’s reply. “They reside at the estate next door.” “Well, well,” St. Vincent said. “She must be quite something to provoke such a reaction in you, Rohan. Tell me about her. Is she fair? Dark? Well formed?” To remain silent, or to deny the attraction, would have been to admit the full extent of his weakness. Cam lowered back into his chair and strove for an offhand tone. “Dark-haired. Pretty. And she has … quirks.” “Quirks.” St. Vincent’s eyes glinted with enjoyment. “How charming. Go on.” “She’s read obscure medieval philosophy. She’s afraid of bees. Her foot taps when she’s nervous.” And other, more personal things he couldn’t reveal … like the beautiful paleness of her throat and chest, the weight of her hair in his hands, the way strength and vulnerability were pleated inside her like two pieces of fabric folded together. Not to mention a body that had been designed for mortal sin.”

“Sport is a seductive metaphor (life as a game in which we gain victory through hard work, discipline, and visualizing success). but the older metaphor of farming (life as hard labor that is subject to weather and quirks of blind fate and may return no reward whatsoever and don't be surprised) is still in our blood.”

“It is not however, adulthood itself, but parenthood that forms the glass shroud of memory. For there is an interesting quirk in the memory of women. At 30, women see their adolescence quite clearly. At 30 a woman's adolescence remains a facet fitting into her current self.... At 40, however, memories of adolescence are blurred. Women of this age look much more to their earlier childhood for memories of themselves and of their mothers. This links up to her typical parenting phase.”

“A hunter that is worth his salt does not catch game because he sets his traps, or because he knows the hunting routines of his prey, but because he himself has no routines. This is his advantage. He is not at all like the animals he is after, fixed by heavy routines and predictable quirks; he is free, fluid, unpredictable”

“Through my scientific work I have come to believe more and more strongly that the physical universe is put together with an ingenuity so astonishing that I cannot accept it as a brute fact....I cannot believe that our existence in this universe is a mere quirk of fate, an accident of history, an incidental blip in the great cosmic drama.”

“I think it would be self-indulgent to go, "Oh, I'm going to make this character different by giving him a quirk of some kind." I don't think that serves the story, particularly. But even very similar scenes with a different set of actors, a different set of circumstances, it starts to evolve as a different character.”

“I'm moved by us, our quirks and mistakes. I find inspiration in everything from a piece of art to the hem of a dress. I'm one of those people who sees Frank Zappa in a cup of coffee, or elephants wrestling in clouds. But also, conscious creation of all kinds moves me. And a divinely expressed performance in any genre sets me completely on fire.”

“I am really touched and surprised that your generation [of millenials] feels that way, and I'm really happy the work stands up. But that show [Seinfeld] is going to stand up for all time: it's one of the greatest things that has ever been written, and still speaks to the quirks of being a human being no matter what the era.”