Quotessence
Home / Topics / Story Quotes

Story Quotes

Browse 1009 quotes about Story.

Story Quotes

“Music is the fastest motivator in the world.”

“I want to share my story, and I want to know yours. I believe with all my heart that sharing our stories, the real, ugly, broken ones, is one of the most powerful things in the world, because to share our story we must first accept it. We must own it. We must stop running from it or shoving it into the corner when company comes over. To share our story is to admit that we've been changed.”

“A father before he died said to his son: “this is a watch your grandfather gave and this is more than 200 years old, but before I give it to you go to the watch shop on the first street, and tell him I want to sell it, and see how much it is”. He went and then came back to his father, and said, "the watchmaker paid ₹200 because it's old”. He said to him : “go to the coffee shop”. He went and then came back, and said: “He paid ₹250 father”. “Go to the museum and show that watch”. — He went then came back, and said to his father “They offered me a billion rupees for this piece”. The father said: “I wanted to let you know that the right place values your value in a way right, don't put yourself in the wrong place and get angry if you don't. Who knows your value is who appreciates you, don't stay in a place that doesn't suit you". Know your worth!”

“I can imagine you, Shun and Nozomi, having read this far, thinking 'but will making one little story into a picture really be able to express a problem so huge?' This world is made up of little stories. Those modest daily lives, those lives that may seem insignificant, they give the world shape — that's what I believe. Don't you think that presenting small stories in details is precisely the most certain way to depict huge things?”

“We tell the story of our grief for two reasons: first, to solidify in our brains and hearts that life without our loved one is our new reality; and second, to realize that we are not alone. Just as grief is not a one-time event, telling the story of our loss is not a one-time event, either. We must share the story of what happened, to make sense of it for ourselves and to connect with others who are experiencing similar pain.”

“Then, one day, he came across a maiden in the wood." "A brave maiden?" I ventured. "Brave," he agreed. "And beautiful." I scoffed. "This is a fairy tale indeed." "Shush." He touched a finger to my lips. "The maiden was both brave and beautiful, beautiful in ways that she did not see. Could not see, for all her beauty was locked away inside, magic and music, waiting to be set free.”

“So just over a year ago, there was this guy. I really liked him. I mean really – since I was a kid.” “Did Frankie know him?” “The three of us were best friends. We basically grew up together.” “Complicated.” “Very. So anyway, last year on my birthday, he finally kissed me.” Sam stays quiet, focused on his feet taking off and landing against the sand. It feels strange to tell him about this for so many reasons, but the words are coming too fast for me to stop, even if I want to. “We started hanging out all the time – even more than before. Every night. Only we didn’t know how to tell Frankie, because we didn’t want her to freak or feel left out or whatever.” “Makes sense,” Sam says. “He thought it would be better if he told her himself, so I promised him that I wouldn’t say anything. But before he could talk to her about it, he–” I almost choke on the word, holding my hand against Sam’s arm to stop our forward motion along the shore. “What did he do?” Sam asks. “He just – he – I’m sorry. Wait.” The words of this story have passed a thousand times from my hand to the pages of my journal, but never from my lips to the ears of another living soul. I take a few deep breaths before I’m able to meet Sam’s eyes and say it. “He died, Sam.”

“Tonight, I decided to take a stroll down to my local liquor store. Maybe I’ll find a refreshment to wash down this full moon. I hate showing up & the clerk fucking knows my name, perhaps because I’m a regular. Anyways got my shit, left…barely covering the tax. Took the long way home; to get away from that haunting typewriter. Sat down at some park bench, as I started to open my poison; A memory rushed into me. A empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s under the Christmas tree. I thought my dad would want another drink, so started to pour my bottle into the dirt & cried.”

“In times like these I always cheered myself up with a certain story. I forgot just when I first heard it, or who I heard it from... but, back when I was young it would cheer me up when I was feeling depressed. Basically, you think of life in terms of a single 24 hour day. So if you take the average human lifespan, to be around 72 years, then dividing that by 24... that comes to 3 years per hour. Meaning, that if you were 18 it'd only be 6 AM! 6 in the morning is nothing! Schools aren't even open by then! It's only been a couple of hours before sunrise, the day's just begun! So if you're 18, you can still fix you life by then! In fact even if you were 30 year old, that's still only 10 AM! The sun's still high, and there's still 2 hours until noon! You still have the whole afternoon to fix your life! You could still make something of yourself. I've always been thinking that, but... I'm now 45 years old! 45 divided by 3 is 15 meaning, that the time 3PM! Ring Ring Ring! I can hear the clock, ringing in my mind! There's only 2 hours before work is over at 5PM! I can't redo anything, it's almost time to go home already.”

“We are all born as storytellers. Our inner voice tells the first story we ever hear.”

“You can not control the thought, but you can control the tongue.”

“A certain mother noticed that her ten year old daughter had a driving desire to take possession of everything – to the extent of using lies to claim something that does not belong to her; and besides that, she noticed that her seven year old son would crush an ant or any other insect cruelly and brutally with his foot – as if he were taking revenge on those weak creatures! To deal with these problems, the mother went to a library and borrowed some stories focusing on generosity and helpfulness, and on kindness to animals. The outcome of this is described by the mother in these words, "The story which left the deepest effect on the children's consciousness was that of 'The Blind Cat', which is about a cat which lost her vision during pregnancy; and when she delivered her kittens she had to face the problem of how to care for them, and how to keep them near her." Then she adds, "More than ten times I told this story to my children; and every time one or more of them wept at hearing it. Then one said, in perfect innocence, 'Mom, why don't you bring this cat to our home, so that we help her care for her kittens?”

“Those who do not know story remain bound to tale. Our roots lie not in blood or soil; we grow from yesterday’s tales and blossom in today’s stories. آن‌ها که داستان نمی‌دانند، در قصه می‌مانند. ریشه‌های انسان در خون و خاک نیست؛ ما با قصه‌های دیروز می‌روییم و در داستان‌های امروز می‌شِکُفیم.”

“Destiny. To believe that a life is meant for a single purpose, one must also believe in a common fate. Father to daughter, brother to sister, mother to child. Blood ties can be as unyielding as they are eternal. But it is our bonds of choice that truly light the road we travel. Love versus hatred. Loyalty against betrayal. A person's true destiny can only be revealed at the end of his journey, and the story I have to tell is far from over.”

“Given everything we know about the universe it would seem utterly impossible for any sane person to believe that the ultimate truth about the universe and human existence is the story of Israeli, German or Russian nationalism – or indeed of nationalism in general. A story that ignores almost the whole of time, the whole of space, the Big Bang, quantum physics and the evolution of life is at most just a tiny part of the truth. Yet people somehow manage not to see beyond it. Indeed, billions of people throughout history have believed that for their lives to have meaning, they don’t even need to be absorbed into a nation or a great ideological movement. It is enough if they just ‘leave something behind’, thereby ensuring that their personal story continues beyond their death. The ‘something’ I leave behind is ideally my soul or my personal essence. If I am reborn in a new body after the death of my present body, then death is not the end. It is merely the space between two chapters, and the plot “that began in one chapter will carry on into the next. Many people have at least a vague faith in such a theory, even if they do not base it on any specific theology. They don’t need an elaborate dogma – they just need the reassuring feeling that their story continues beyond the horizon of death.”