librariansti’s most recent Quotables

Anne smiled and said, "My idea of good company, Mr. Elliot, is the company of clever, well-informed people, who have a great deal of conversation; that is what I call good company."
"You are mistaken," said he gently, "that is not good company, that is the best."

Know your own happiness. Want for nothing but patience -- or give it a more fascinating name: Call it hope.

Look at everything as though you were seeing it either for the first or last time. Then your time on earth will be filled with glory.

She was made up of more, too. She was the books she read in the library. She was the flower in the brown bowl. Part of her life was made from the tree growing rankly in the yard. She was the bitter quarrels she had with her brother whom she loved dearly... She was the shame of her father stumbling home drunk. She was all of these things and of something more.

Oh, magic hour, when a child first knows she can read printed words.

Sometimes I think it's better to suffer bitter unhappiness and to fight and to scream out, and even to suffer that terrible pain, than to just be... safe. At least she knows she's living.

"It's come at last", she thought, "the time when you can no longer stand between your children and heartache."

As she read, at peace with the world and happy as only a little girl could be with a fine book and a little bowl of candy, and all alone in the house, the leaf shadows shifted and the afternoon passed.

I hate all those flirty-birty games that women make up. Life's too short. If you ever find a man you love, don't waste time hanging your head and simpering. Go right up to him and say, "I love you. How about getting married?"

Heart! We will forget him!
You and I -- tonight!
You may forget the warmth he gave --
I will forget the light!

When you have done, pray tell me
That I may straight begin!
Haste! lest while you're lagging
I remember him!

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

My friends are my "estate." Forgive me then the avarice to hoard them.

There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away
Nor any Coursers like a Page
Of prancing Poetry.

The Soul selects her own Society—
Then—shuts the Door—
To her divine Majority—
Present no more.

They shut me up in prose—
As when a little girl
They put me in the closet—
Because they liked me ‘still’.

And that white sustenance—
Despair.

I never spoke with God
Nor visited in heaven—
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the checks were given.

Hope is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all.

I died for beauty—but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain
If I can ease one life the aching
Or cool one pain
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again
I shall not live in vain.