Immobile Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
the-universe-is-then-one-infinite-immobile-it-is-not-capable-comprehension-therefore-is-endless-limitless-to-that-extent-infinite-indeterminable-giordano-bruno
i-hate-being-immobile
we-just-lay-on-our-bellies-in-snow-gasping-immobile-peter-habeler
the-call-love-sounds-hollow-among-these-immobile-rocks
i-go-everywhere-by-boat-i-dont-fly-it-makes-me-feel-really-immobile-but-great-chantal-joffe
yes-we-need-euthanasia-for-certain-cases-where-people-are-in-comas-too-immobile-to-even-press-button
why-are-women-immobile-because-many-feel-like-theyre-waiting-for-someone-to-say-youre-good-youre-pretty-i-give-you-permission
why-are-women-immobile-because-many-feel-like-theyre-waiting-for-someone-to-say-youre-good-youre-pretty-i-give-you-permission-eve-ensler
mass-becomes-immobile-it-cannot-manoeuvre-therefore-cannot-win-victories-it-can-only-crush-by-sheer-weight-hans-von-seeckt
fear-sits-smiles-is-predatory-immobile-silent-serene-observer-who-conserves-his-energy-is-content-to-wait-john-scalzi
if-there-were-10000-us-forces-ashore-in-lebanon-authorized-to-move-about-there-would-be-less-risk-to-american-lives-than-there-is-with-immobile-force-george-will
the-multinational-corporation-international-production-reflect-world-in-which-capital-technology-have-become-increasingly-mobile-while-labor-has-robert-gilpin
in-perfect-patch-paradise-he-stays-immobile-for-eternity-while-predawn-breath-strokes-his-skin-kisses-each-vertebrae-down-his-spine-poppet
youre-alive-fezzik-cried-the-man-in-black-sat-immobile-like-ventriloquists-dummy-just-his-mouth-moving-that-is-perhaps-most-childishly-obvious-william-goldman
on-floor-hanging-on-to-bar-squatted-old-man-immobile-as-object-his-years-had-reduced-polished-him-as-water-does-stone-generations-men-do-jorge-luis-borges
when-i-was-finishing-grad-school-hot-new-pc-was-ibm-286-bulky-immobile-expensive-i-touched-typed-easily-quickly-but-nevertheless-i-realized-that-machine-was-chain
i-had-perfect-accident-for-perfect-idea-i-was-rendered-immobile-where-only-thing-i-could-do-is-mess-with-my-computer-harry-knowles
if-you-want-to-be-your-best-spend-lot-time-exploring-what-is-more-than-enough-push-yourself-until-bar-is-lying-immobile-across-your-chest-push-brad-alan-lewis
inside-movement-there-is-one-moment-in-which-elements-are-in-balance-photography-must-seize-importance-this-moment-hold-immobile-equilibrium-it-henri-cartierbresson
fearlessness-is-accounting-trick-you-feel-fear-you-just-defer-it-i-could-stand-on-cliff-immobile-feeling-terrified-i-could-leap-feel-terror-while-falling-elizabeth-mccracken
kat-stood-immobile-watched-with-pain-kiss-passion-kiss-desire-kiss-that-could-never-be-hers-kiki-archer
if-i-thought-about-it-i-could-be-bitter-but-i-dont-feel-like-being-bitter-being-bitter-makes-you-immobile-theres-too-much-that-i-still-want-to-do-richard-pryor
what-moron-said-that-knowledge-is-power-knowledge-is-power-only-if-it-doesnt-depress-you-much-that-it-leaves-you-in-immobile-heap-at-end-your-bed-paula-poundstone
childhood-lasts-all-through-life-it-returns-to-animate-broad-sections-adult-life-poets-will-help-us-to-find-this-living-childhood-within-us-this-permanent-durable-immobile-world-
Avendo perso uno degli inseguiti, Ivan concentre² la sua attenzione sul gatto, e vide quello strano animale avvicinarsi al predellino del vagone di testa del tram A immobile alla fermata, spingere via con insolenza una donna, afferrare la maniglia e tentare perfino di dare una moneta da dieci copeche alla bigliettaria attraverso un finestrino aperto per l'afa. Il comportamento del gatto sbalorde¬ talmente Ivan da lasciarlo immobile davanti alla drogheria sull'angolo; e subito una seconda volta, ma con molta pie¹ forza egli fu sbalordito dal comportamento della bigliettaria. Questa, non appena vide il gatto che saliva sul tram, gride² con una rabbia che la scuoteva tutta: - eˆ vietato ai gatti! eˆ vietato portare gatti! Passa via! Scendi, se no chiamo la polizia! Ne la bigliettaria ne i passeggeri furono colpiti dalla cosa principale: non dal fatto che un gatto salisse sul tram, questo poteva ancora passare, ma dal fatto che volesse pagare il biglietto! Il gatto si dimostre² animale non soltanto solvibile, ma anche disciplinato. Alla prima sgridata della bigliettaria cesse² l'attacco, si stacce² dal predellino e si sedette alla fermata, soffregandosi i baffi con la monetina. Ma non appena la bigliettaria diede il segnale e il tram si mosse, il gatto si comporte² come chiunque sia cacciato da un tram, sul quale deve viaggiare per forza. Dopo essersi lasciato passare davanti tutte e tre le vetture, balze² sulla parte posteriore dell'ultima, si afferre² con la zampa a un tubo che usciva dal veicolo e file² via, economizzando in tal modo il prezzo della corsa.

Mikhail Bulgakov
avendo-perso-uno-degli-inseguiti-ivan-concentre-la-sua-attenzione-sul-gatto-e-vide-quello-strano-animale-avvicinarsi-al-predellino-del-vagone-di-testa-del-tram-a-immobile-alla-fe
Fino allora egli era avanzato per la spensierata ete  della prima giovinezza, una strada che da bambini sembra infinita, dove gli anni scorrono lenti e con passo lieve, cose¬ che nessuno nota la loro partenza. Si cammina placidamente, guardandosi con curiosite  attorno, non c'e¨ proprio bisogno di affrettarsi, nessuno preme dietro e nessuno ci aspetta, anche i compagni procedono senza pensieri, fermandosi spesso a scherzare. Dalle case, sulle porte, la gente grande saluta benigna, e fa cenno indicando l'orizzonte con sorrisi di intesa; cose¬ il cuore comincia a battere per eroici e teneri desideri, si assapora la vigilia delle cose meravigliose che si attendono pie¹ avanti; ancora non si vedono, no, ma e¨ certo, assolutamente certo che un giorno ci arriveremo. Ancora molto? No, basta attraversare quel fiume laggie¹ in fondo, oltrepassare quelle verdi colline. O non si e¨ per caso gie  arrivati? Non sono forse questi alberi, questi prati, questa bianca casa quello che cercavamo? Per qualche istante si ha l'impressione di se¬ e ci si vorrebbe fermare. Poi si sente dire che il meglio e¨ pie¹ avanti e si riprende senza affanno la strada. Cose¬ continua il cammino in un'attesa fiduciosa e le giornate sono lunghe e tranquille, il sole risplende alto nel cielo e sembra non abbia mai voglia di calare al tramonto. Ma a un certo punto, quasi istintivamente, ci si volta indietro e si vede che un cancello e¨ stato sprangato alle spalle nostre, chiudendo la via del ritorno. Allora si sente che qualcosa e¨ cambiato, il sole non sembra pie¹ immobile ma si sposta rapidamente, ahime¨, non si fa in tempo a fissarlo che gie  precipita verso il confine dell'orizzonte, ci si accorge che le nubi non ristagnano pie¹ nei golfi azzurri del cielo ma fuggono accavallandosi l'una all'altra, tanto e¨ il loro affanno; si capisce che il tempo passa e che la strada un giorno dovre  pur finire. Chiudono a un certo punto alla nostre spalle un pesante cancello, lo rinserrano con velocite  fulminea e non si fa in tempo a tornare.

Dino Buzzati
fino-allora-egli-era-avanzato-per-la-spensierata-ete-della-prima-giovinezza-una-strada-che-da-bambini-sembra-infinita-dove-gli-anni-scorrono-lenti-e-con-passo-lieve-cose-che-ness
I imagined my coffin being closed, and the screws being turned. I was immobile, but I was alive, and I wanted to tell my family that I was seeing everything. I wanted to tell them all that I loved them, but not a sound came out of my mouth. My father and mother were weeping, my wife and my friends were gathered around, but I was completely alone! With all of the people dear to me standing there, no one was able to see that I was alive and that I had not yet accomplished all that I wanted to do in this world. I tried desperately to open my eyes, to give a sign, to beat on the lid of the coffin. But I could not move any part of my body. I felt the coffin being carried toward the grave. I could hear the sound of the handles grinding against their fittings, the steps of those in the procession, and conversations from this side and that. Someone said that he had a date for dinner later on, and another observed that I had died early. The smell of flowers all around me began to suffocate me. I remembered how I had given up trying to establish a relationship with two or three women, fearing their rejection. I remembered also the number of times I had failed to do what I wanted to do, thinking I could always do it later. I felt very sorry for myself, not only because I was about to be buried alive but also because I had been afraid to live. Why be fearful of saying no to someone or of leaving something undone when the most important thing of all was to enjoy life fully? There I was, trapped in a coffin, and it was already too late to go back and show the courage I should have had. There I was, having played the role of my own Judas, having betrayed myself. There I was, powerless to move a muscle, screaming for help, while the others were involved in their lives, worrying about what they were going to do that night, admiring statues and buildings that I would never see again. I began to feel how unfair it was to have to be buried while others continued to live. I would have felt better if there had been a catastrophe and all of us had been in the same boat, heading for the same abyss toward which they were carrying me now. Help! I tried to cry out. I'm still alive. I haven't died. My mind is still functioning! They placed my coffin at the edge of the grave. They are going to bury me! My wife is going to forget all about me; she will marry someone else and spend the money we have struggled to save for all these years! But who cares about that. I want to be with her now, because I'm alive! I hear sobs, and I feel tears falling from my eyes, too. If my friends were to open my coffin now, they would see my tears and save me. But instead all I feel is the lowering of the coffin into the ground. Suddenly, everything is dark. A moment ago, there was a ray of light at the edge of the coffin, but now the darkness is complete. The grave diggers' shovels are filling in the grave, and I'm alive! Buried alive! I sense that the air is being cut off, and the fragrance of the flowers is awful. I hear the mourners' departing footsteps. My terror is total. I'm not able to do anything; if they go away now, it will soon be night, and no one will hear me knocking on the lid of my coffin! The footsteps fade, nobody hears my screams, and I am alone in the darkness; the air is heavy, and the smell of the flowers is driving me crazy. Suddenly, I hear a sound. It's the worms, coming to eat me alive. I try with all my strength to move the parts of my body, but I am inert. The worms begin to climb over my body. They are sticky and cold. They creep over my face and crawl into my shorts. One of them enters through my anus, and another begins to sneak into a nostril. Help! I'm being eaten alive, and nobody can hear me; nobody says a word to me. The worm that entered my nostril has reached my throat. I feel another invading my ear. I have to get out! Where is God; why doesn't he help me? They are beginning to eat at my throat, and soon I won't be able to scream!

Paulo Coelho
i-imagined-my-coffin-being-closed-screws-being-turned-i-was-immobile-but-i-was-alive-i-wanted-to-tell-my-family-that-i-was-seeing-everything-i-wanted-to-tell-them-all-that-i-love
It is already the fashion to diminish Eliot by calling him derivative, the mouthpiece of Pound, and so forth; and yet if one wanted to understand the apocalypse of early modernism in its true complexity it would be Eliot, I fancy, who would demand one's closest attention. He was ready to rewrite the history of all that interested him in order to have past and present conform; he was a poet of apocalypse, of the last days and the renovation, the destruction of the earthly city as a chastisement of human presumption, but also of empire. Tradition, a word we especially associate with this modernist, is for him the continuity of imperial deposits; hence the importance in his thought of Virgil and Dante. He saw his age as a long transition through which the elect must live, redeeming the time. He had his demonic host, too; the word 'Jew' remained in lower case through all the editions of the poems until the last of his lifetime, the seventy-fifth birthday edition of 1963. He had a persistent nostalgia for closed, immobile hierarchical societies. If tradition is, as he said in After Strange Gods-though the work was suppressed-'the habitual actions, habits and customs' which represent the kinship 'of the same people living in the same place' it is clear that Jews do not have it, but also that practically nobody now does. It is a fiction, a fiction cousin to a myth which had its effect in more practical politics. In extenuation it might be said that these writers felt, as Sartre felt later, that in a choice between Terror and Slavery one chooses Terror, 'not for its own sake, but because, in this era of flux, it upholds the exigencies proper to the aesthetics of Art.' The fictions of modernist literature were revolutionary, new, though affirming a relation of complementarity with the past. These fictions were, I think it is clear, related to others, which helped to shape the disastrous history of our time. Fictions, notably the fiction of apocalypse, turn easily into myths; people will live by that which was designed only to know by. Lawrence would be the writer to discuss here, if there were time; apocalypse works in Woman in Love, and perhaps even in Lady Chatterley's Lover, but not n Apocalypse, which is failed myth. It is hard to restore the fictive status of what has become mythical; that, I take it, is what Mr. Saul Bellow is talking about in his assaults on wastelandism, the cant of alienation. In speaking of the great men of early modernism we have to make very subtle distinctions between the work itself, in which the fictions are properly employed, and obiter dicta in which they are not, being either myths or dangerous pragmatic assertions. When the fictions are thus transformed there is not only danger but a leak, as it were, of reality; and what we feel about. all these men at times is perhaps that they retreated inso some paradigm, into a timeless and unreal vacuum from which all reality had been pumped. Joyce, who was a realist, was admired by Eliot because he modernized myth, and attacked by Lewis because he concerned himself with mess, the disorders of common perception. But Ulysses , alone of these great works studies and develops the tension between paradigm and reality, asserts the resistance of fact to fiction, human freedom and unpredictability against plot. Joyce chooses a Day; it is a crisis ironically treated. The day is full of randomness. There are coincidences, meetings that have point, and coincidences which do not. We might ask whether one of the merits of the book is not its lack of mythologizing; compare Joyce on coincidence with the Jungians and their solemn concordmyth, the Principle of Synchronicity. From Joyce you cannot even extract a myth of Negative Concord; he shows us fiction fitting where it touches. And Joyce, who probably knew more about it than any of the others, was not at tracted by the intellectual opportunities or the formal elegance of fascism.

Frank Kermode
it-is-already-fashion-to-diminish-eliot-by-calling-him-derivative-mouthpiece-pound-forth-yet-if-one-wanted-to-understand-apocalypse-early-modernism-in-its-true-complexity-it-woul
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