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True Story Quotes

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True Story Quotes

“My back curves over my soft belly. My shoulders are shaking. I’m broken and folded over and sobbing. My dignity dissolves into snot and dribble. I feel wretched. I'm so sick of being scared. I could howl at the moon in my misery. Looking up through my veil of tears, I see it behind a cloud shaped like a wolf's head with its muzzle raised. Silently it howls above me. Oh great — a cloud is mocking me. Life is actually taking the piss out of me while I’m having a breakdown. It’s not even doing it behind my back. It’s up there in the fucking sky. I must be a mess if even God is mocking me.”

“Philip: I have vivid memories from those early volleyball training nights. Memories of looking under the (volleyball) net at this vivacious, sparkling, smiley-faced, bright-eyed vision of female sensuality dressed in her vest top and short shorts. I could not take my eyes off her, and my memory says she smiled at me every time she caught me looking at her. Was I flirting? If I was, it was not knowingly”

“Today, sadly, Italy is still a very male-dominated society, however I simply couldn’t understand why, back then like nowadays, women were confined to the role of stay at home mums or housewives in the society I was living in. I remember saying to my parents that one day I will be a successful working woman, earning my own money, and unfortunately I wasn’t the only one girl who had received the answer “well, then marry a rich man!”.”

“After the troubled times we have had to face, today more than ever the world needs hope and benevolence. If society is not going well, humanity is not dead. It lives on in every heart, every smile, every moment of joy, every prayer... This intimate light of consciousness rises to the sky in an eternal clamor. Silent, filled with secret hopes...”

“One thing that I find very weird here in Australia is Latvians in Australia celebrate Latvian traditions by a calendar, not by the seasons as they do in Latvia. It’s a bit strange for me, everyone said a few weeks ago, ‘Merry Christmas,’ in Latvian, or maybe Winterfest, and here I was sweating like a pig saying, ‘Merry Winterfest!’ – Viktor Brenners, 2nd Generation DP”

“I pass the torch to the monster, the beast, the phantasm, Red Buttons who lurks behind the eyes of the pedophile priest. You just continue raping the children. Softening their flesh with fear. I'll stop by once in a while. See if, I don't know, they are tired of "IT" and want to come with me, where they'll make a delicious addition to my carpet of bones.”

“I believe war should be the last result, but I do believe that when we find ourselves at war, we should unite as a people and not do anything to aid or encourage the enemy. We should stay the course and remember that the people we are defending, though they may not always be Americans, are people dependent upon us to see the conflict through to an end.”

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“I’ve often wondered that if I could go back in time, would I make the same decisions? I think I would. After all, we all make bad decisions and some of them snowball into cataclysms far bigger than we could have imagined and beyond our control. We still make them because they are meant to be made; they are meant to reveal who we are, to aid us in our journeys …”

“Growing up, I had three amazing dogs with distinct personalities. One of them was a randy mid-sized German spitz called Snoopy, father to countless puppies within a one- mile radius of our home in the cantonment. No lock could keep Snoopy in, no wall was too high. In the summer months, he slept besides his knell in the garden. His nocturnal rendezvous became the talk of town when he snuck into a fellow officer’s garden to sow his wild oats with Debbie the Doberman, who was twice his size. Snoopy was as unapologetic as my mother was embarrassed when the offi cer’s wife came home. She feared for Snoopy’s life, she told my mother diplomatically.”

“All children grow up, all but one. His name is Peter and by now, all the civilized world has heard of him. He has captured the public imagination and become a legend, a subject for poets, philosophers and psychologists to write about, and for children to dream of. The children’s tales might be lacking in some details, but on the whole they are more accurate than most other accounts, for children will always understand Peter intuitively, as I did when I first met him. "I shall endeavor to tell you the true story of my friend Peter, because he cannot tell it to you himself. Afterward I hope you will love him and defend him as I have for the remainder of your days. Pass on to others a true account of the wild boy who would not grow up, who danced with kings and won the hearts of princesses. He defied logic and reason, lived and loved with an innocent heart, and found peace in the midst of a turbulent world.”

“Prince of the Enchanted Forest. Adopted son of the Fairy Folk. Wild Boy. Your reputation precedes you, child. All of Germany has been talking about you lately. And yet, no one knows your name.” The boy looked up at the King and smiled. The king smiled back, and took a deep breath. “…Henceforth, you shall be known as Peter.”

“But I did not bring the Wild Boy to England simply so he could learn from us. I also brought him here so we could learn from him; so we can remember what it means to be young- to be innocent. You are still young now, but there will come a time when you will be grown-up, and it is easy, so easy, to forget how precious, how dear, life is. Then you forget to smile, to laugh, to cry, to dream. I hope knowing Peter will help you to hold on fiercely to your own innocence, to live joyfully, even in the midst of difficult times.”

“Peter and the deer herd ranged over the forest together, and without words, Peter told the deer about his new life at the Palace, amongst people. The scents that lingered on him told a hundred stories. His expressions and movements too, echoed foreign influences. And in Peter’s eyes, the story was told plainly. They sensed that he had grown not just physically, but in his being he was bigger, more mature. The deer wanted the Wild Boy to return to the Enchanted Forest with them, but they were uncertain he would come. They called him by his forest name, and he replied, “Peter.” The strangeness of this intonation puzzled them.”

“He might have run off then, and thus avoided a great many adventures to come, but the girl cried, “Wait!” and he turned to face her. “Please,” she implored from the window. “Don’t go. Come with us. I promise you won’t regret it.” For a moment, Peter stood in the road indecisively, staring into the girl’s eyes as if trying to penetrate a great mystery.”

“The meal was full of jovial conversation and laughter. Everyone was as happy as if Peter was right there amongst them, for you see, it was true what the King and the doctor had observed- Peter had a way of infecting people with happiness that lingered even in his absence. The effect was stronger for some people than it was for others, but all of the company gathered here had come to love and trust Peter, and therefore his influence on them was very strong- strong enough, perhaps, to last them to the end of their days.”

“Proscenium Panther by Stewart Stafford The actor missed his line, Whispers from the wings, Deafening silence hanging, Another cue came briskly. A pregnant pause of years, The frozen player’s lips moved, Offstage, a mock post-mortem, The thespian grinned impishly. After the audience’s first line laugh, He racked his brain for more jokes, Flouting the text and all the cast, O, limelight, of hot-headed hydras. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

“Many Germans nowadays say they were not Nazi, and many were not, but they were nearly ALL Party members. It was safer ... and if you were not, you could end up in a ‘camp’ for retraining ... so they mostly all paid ‘lip service’ to the Nazi Party.”

“The next morning re-supply choppers brought mail, supplies, and Christmas stockings that had been packed by young school kids. Each stocking contained lots of candy and a letter. We took turns passing the letters around. Tex’s parents had sent him a small, artificial Christmas tree. We set it up on the top of our foxhole and decorated it with white shaving cream from our sundry supplies. The shaving cream looked like snow.”

“It just so happened that a big old crocodile had been sunning himself on the beach very close to the soldier who was on point in the left-hand column, but the soldier was concentrating so hard on the tree line ahead that he didn’t notice the creature. Well, the crock got nervous and made a loud hissing sound and then headed for the river. I was nearby in the center column and watched as that soldier turned as white as a sheet.”