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Waste Quotes

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Waste Quotes

“Full little knowest thou that hast not tried, What hell it is in suing long to bide: To loose good dayes, that might be better spent; To waste long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow; To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow.”

LittlesLongMightNightHellSorrowWasteSpeedGood DayDiscontentMorrowWooingPensiveLong NightsSuing
Book:The Canterbury Tales and Faerie Queene: With Other Poems of Chaucer and Spenser
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“We are close to dead. There are faces and bodies like gorged maggots on the dance floor, on the highway, in the city, in the stadium; they are a host of chemical machines who swallow the product of chemical factories, aspirin, preservatives, stimulant, relaxant, and breathe out their chemical wastes into a polluted air. The sense of a long last night over civilization is back again.”

LongBodyLastsFacesNightCitiesAirProductsCivilizationWasteMachinesBreatheChemicalsHostFactoriesHighwaysLast NightStadiumsBack AgainDance FloorAspirinStimulantsMaggots
Book:Cannibals and Christians
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“A boundless continent, Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of night Starless expos'd.”

WorldNightDarkWasteContinentsBoundless
Book:The First Six Books of Milton's Paradise Lost: Rendered Into Grammatical Construction ... with Notes Grammatical, Geographical, Historical, Critical, and Explanatory. To which are Prefixed Remarks on Ellipsis and Transposition ...
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“Whiles in the early Winter eve We pass amid the gathering night Some homestead that we had to leave Years past; and see its candles bright Shine in the room beside the door Where we were merry years agone But now must never enter more, As still the dark road drives us on. E'en so the world of men may turn At even of some hurried day And see the ancient glimmer burn Across the waste that hath no way; Then with that faint light in its eyes A while I bid it linger near And nurse in wavering memories The bitter-sweet of days that were.”

MenWorldWayYearsMayStillsLightEyePastNightTurnsMemoriesDarkRoomsDoorsSweetWasteShiningWinterAncientBitterNurseCandleGatheringMerryWaveringBitter SweetYears Past
Book:The House of the Wolfings: A Tale of the House of the Wolfings and All the Kindreds of the Mark
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“A Christmas frost had come at midsummer; a white December storm had whirled over June; ice glazed the ripe apples, drifts crushed the blowing roses; on hayfield and cornfield lay a frozen shroud: lanes which last night blushed full of flowers, to-day were pathless with untrodden snow; and the woods, which twelve hours since waved leafy and flagrant as groves between the tropics, now spread, waste, wild, and white as pine-forests in wintry Norway.”

LastsNightHoursWhiteFlowerWasteLaysRoseSpreadWoodsStormSnowForestsIceApplesTwelveFrozenLast NightJuneCrushedLanesRipeDecemberFrostGroveNorwayShroudsMidsummerTropics
Book:Jane Eyre (World Classics, Unabridged)
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“How I will cherish you then, you grief-torn nights! Had I only received you, inconsolable sisters, on more abject knees, only buried myself with more abandon in your loosened hair. How we waste our afflictions! We study them, stare out beyond them into bleak continuance, hoping to glimpse some end. Whereas they're really our wintering foliage, our dark greens of meaning, one of the seasons of the clandestine year -- ; not only a season --: they're site, settlement, shelter, soil, abode.”

YearsEndsNightDarkGriefStudyHairWasteSeasonsStaringKneesSoilAbandonCherishBuriedShelterSiteAfflictionTornGlimpseSettlementBleakAbodeContinuanceFoliageClandestine
Book:Rilke and Andreas-Salomé: A Love Story in Letters
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“The night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow; But a tyrant spell has bound me And I cannot, cannot go. The giant trees are bending Their bare boughs weighed with snow; The storm is fast descending, And yet I cannot go. Clouds beyond clouds above me, Wastes beyond wastes below; But nothing drear can move me; I will not, cannot go.”

MovingNightTreeWindWasteBoundsRoundsCloudsBlowStormSnowGiantsSpellsTyrantsBendingDescendingDarkening
Author:Emily Bronte
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“Gradually, the night stumbled as if stunned and wandering aimlessly into an overcast day -- limped through the wilderland of transition as though there were no knowing where the waste of darkness ended and the ashes of light began. The low clouds seemed full of grief -- tense and uneasy with accumulated woe -- and yet affectless, unable to rain, as if the air clenched itself too hard for tears. And through the dawn, Atiaran and Covenant moved heavily, unevenly, like pieces of a broken lament.”

IfsHardLightNightGriefDarknessKnowingPiecesAirTearsBrokenWasteLowsRainMovedCloudsWanderDawnTransitionAshesWoeTenseCovenantUneasyLamentStunnedOvercastWandering Aimlessly
Book:Lord Foul's Bane
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“If there is pain, nurse it, and if there is a flame, don't snuff it out, don't be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night, and watching others forget us sooner than we'd want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything - what a waste!”

IfsWantFeelsShouldAgePainNightForgetTerribleOffersWasteForgottenFasterFlamesAwakeThirtyNurseBrutalRipTerrible ThingsWithdrawalSnuffAwake At Night
Author:André Aciman
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“Don't waste your time, do something worthwhile with it." But what can that mean: worthwhile? Finally to start realizing long-cherished wishes. To attack the error that there will always be time for it later....Take the long-dreamed-of trip, learn this language, read those books, buy yourself this jewelry, spend a night in that famous hotel. Don't miss out on yourself. Bigger things are also part of that: to give up the loathed profession, break out of a hated milieu. Do what contributes to making you more genuine, moves you closer to yourself.”

GivingMeanLongBookMovingNightLanguageWishRealizingBreakMissingGiving UpWasteBiggerErrorsProfessionGenuineHatedHotelWorthwhileJewelryBreak OutDon't Waste Your TimeMilieu
Author:Pascal Mercier
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“The poet’s life is just so much crenellated waste, nights and days whipping swiftly or laboriously past the cinematic window. We’re hunched and weaving over the keys of our green our grey or pink blue manual typewriter maybe a darker stone cold thoritative selectric with its orgasmic expectant hum and us popping pills and laughing over what you or I just wrote, wondering if that line means insult or sex. Or both. Usually both.”

IfsMeanPastLife IsNightSexLinesWonderLaughingPoetKeysColdWasteStonesWindowBlueGreenInsultGreyPillsTypewritersManualsCinematicWeavingPoppingWhippingStone Cold
Author:Eileen Myles
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