Often when I thought of this I could make no answer or only a very foolish and halting one upon which he used to smile and nod his head twice or thrice.
— James Joyce, “The Sisters”
He knew that he would have to speak a great deal, to invent and to amuse.
— James Joyce, “Two Gallants”
Durring this conversation the vulture had been calmly listening, letting its eye rove between me and the gentleman.
— Franz Kafka, “The Vulture”
And plinko in my style.
— Macklemore & Ryan Lewis, “Can’t Hold Us - feat. Ray Dalton”
The future is a crosswalk.
— Judy
I stride along and my tempo is the tempo of all my side of the street, of the whole street, of the whole quarter.
— Franz Kafka, “The Way Home”
It’s good enough for me.
— Jolie Holland, “Old Fashioned Morphine"
I wanted to touch the rim.
— Macklemore & Ryan Lewis, “Wing$”
And that moment lasts the length of a breath.
— Francis Underwood, House of Cards
Auditing makes such good sense that I have to try hard not to wish I were doing it myself.
— Prof Alan Ryan
Because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am.
— Charles Warnke, “You Should Date An Illiterate Girl”
That always exceeds our representations of it.
— Lucien Castaing-Taylor, “Plumbing the Deep,” The New York Times
The amazing thing again is that most of what I’m telling you is true.
— Adam Burrows
But the gathering of such fragments responds to a much deeper compulsion. It resonates with the timeless desire to seize on the minimal remnant — the tiniest identifiable gesture — out of which the world could, in a pinch, be reconstructed.
— Geoffrey O'Brien, “We Are What We Quote,” The New York Times
The females like sculptures.
— Jame Gould
Tired but happy.
— Older Whitman Card-Check Man
A little bit of love.
— MIKA, “Happy Ending”
Humility is their form of pride. It is their strength. It is their weakness.
— Francis Underwood, House of Cards
We are all split by contradictions.
— Esther da Costa Meyer
As for the rest of his fellow citizens, he is close to them, but he does not see them; he touches them, but he does not feel them; he exists only in himself and for himself alone; and if his kindred still remain to him, he may be said at any rate to have lost his country.
— Alexis de Tocqueville, Democracy in America