Page 15 Quotes

“There was the gaudy patch of sunflowers beside the west gate of the palace of the Prince of Ombria, that did nothing all day long but turn their golden-haired, thousand-eyed faces to follow the sun.”
― Patricia A. McKillip, Ombria in Shadow

“...in English the word 'peripatetic' means 'one who walks habitually and extensively.”
― Rebecca Solnit, Wanderlust: A History of Walking

“To experience biophilia is to love a diversity that, as limitless as it is fragile, both haunts us and fills us with hope. ”
― Adam Leith Gollner, The Fruit Hunters: A Story of Nature, Adventure, Commerce, and Obsession

“It seemed as though Margaret hovered near Alice, aware of Alice when Alice didn't seem to be aware of Margaret.”
― Tracy Kidder, Among Schoolchildren

“Thunder Road' knows who I am and what I feel, and that, in the end, is one of the consolations of art.”
― Nick Hornby

“For lack of anything better... it is the failure of others that makes for the strength of the fühers. When there's no worthwhile banner, you start to march behind worthless ones.”
― Victor Serge, Memoirs of a Revolutionary

“I shall not indulge in descriptions of persons because, as Boethius says, nothing is more fleeting than the external form, which withers and alters like the flowers of the field at the appearance of autumn; and what would be the point of saying today that the abbot Abo had a stern eye and pale cheeks, when by now he and those around him are dust and their bodies have the mortal grayness of dust?”
― Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

“This was the thing with boys like him. What he was feeling just then, that rage, wasn't the world falling in on him. It was an illusion shattering, the one that told him he deserved everything, and that it was owed to him simply because he existed.”
― Alexandra Bracken, Lore

“Been biting my tongue till it bleeds
cry over things I don't need.
My mother told me
pick your battles wisely
but you made me angry
at the world
so I chose them all.”
― Halsey, I Would Leave Me If I Could: A Collection of Poetry

“Scorning to raise hand to the portal himself, possibly under the conviction that it was not fitting for a man to have to knock at the door of his own house, he tried the knob, found it unlocked, and entered. There was on the inside the distinctive and not unpleasant—and in this case enchanting—aroma a new house has, of freshly planed wood, the astringent turpentine in paint, window putty, and several other less identifiable ingredients.”
― Cornell Woolrich, Waltz into Darkness

“Vernon was, perhaps, a lonely little boy, but he never knew it. Because, you see, he had Mr Green and Poodle, Squirrel and Tree to play with.”
― Mary Westmacott, Giant's Bread