Shutters 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
to-be-divine-is-to-put-down-times-shutters-over-atavistic-consciousness-nature-sorin-cerin
they-had-certainly-exasperated-them-could-not-disperse-them-as-after-every-charge-some-these-drove-people-right-against-shutters-in-shops-in-strand-they-returned-again
we-are-poor-indeed-when-we-have-no-halfwishes-left-us-the-heart-imagination-close-shutters-instant-they-are-gone-walter-savage-landor
i-keep-shutters-closed-because-i-like-to-work-in-hermetic-environment-i-like-mirrors-when-you-look-out-window-all-you-see-is-ugliness-but-when-you-sebastian-horsley
lilith-opened-shutters-allowed-herself-to-bathe-in-bright-moonlight-as-it-shone-across-highland-glen-alan-kinross
last-night-two-men-tried-to-force-my-shutters-i-recognized-them-they-are-two-rodins-italian-models-he-told-them-to-kill-me-i-am-in-his-way-he-wants-camille-claudel
god-is-waiting-to-be-gracious-is-willing-to-make-us-happy-in-religion-if-we-would-not-run-away-from-him-we-refuse-to-open-window-shutters-complain-that-it-is-dark
i-watch-springs-summers-autumns-and-when-comes-winter-snow-monotonous-i-shut-all-doors-shutters-to-build-in-night-my-fairy-palace-charles-baudelaire
we-are-splintering-what-was-camera-its-functionality-lens-sensors-processing-into-distinct-parts-but-instead-lenses-shutters-software-algorithms-are-becoming-driving-force
in-sickroom-bedroom-there-should-never-be-shutters-shut-florence-nightingale
for-long-time-now-my-heart-has-had-its-shutters-closed-its-steps-deserted-formerly-tumultuous-hotel-but-now-empty-echoing-like-great-empty-tomb-gustave-flaubert
in-la-i-love-lermitage-in-beverly-hills-also-beverly-wilshire-where-they-make-great-huevos-rancheros-i-also-love-shutters-on-beach-where-i-walk-around-everywhere-in-bathrobe
What agony he suffered as he watched that light, in whose golden atmosphere were moving, behind the closed sash, the unseen and detested pair, as he listened to that murmur which revealed the presence of the man who had crept in after his own departure, the perfidy of Odette, and the pleasures which she was at that moment tasting with the stranger. And yet he was not sorry that he had come; the torment which had forced him to leave his own house had lost its sharpness when it lost its uncertainty, now that Odette's other life, of which he had had, at that first moment, a sudden helpless suspicion, was definitely there, almost within his grasp, before his eyes, in the full glare of the lamp-light, caught and kept there, an unwitting prisoner, in that room into which, when he would, he might force his way to surprise and seize it; or rather he would tap upon the shutters, as he had often done when he had come there very late, and by that signal Odette would at least learn that he knew, that he had seen the light and had heard the voices; while he himself, who a moment ago had been picturing her as laughing at him, as sharing with that other the knowledge of how effectively he had been tricked, now it was he that saw them, confident and persistent in their error, tricked and trapped by none other than himself, whom they believed to be a mile away, but who was there, in person, there with a plan, there with the knowledge that he was going, in another minute, to tap upon the shutter. And, perhaps, what he felt (almost an agreeable feeling) at that moment was something more than relief at the solution of a doubt, at the soothing of a pain; was an intellectual pleasure.

Marcel Proust
what-agony-he-suffered-as-he-watched-that-light-in-whose-golden-atmosphere-were-moving-behind-closed-sash-unseen-detested-pair-as-he-listened-to-that-murmur-which-revealed-presen
If peace comes from seeing the whole, then misery stems from a loss of perspective. We begin so aware and grateful. The sun somehow hangs there in the sky. The little bird sings. The miracle of life just happens. Then we stub our toe, and in that moment of pain, the whole world is reduced to our poor little toe. Now, for a day or two, it is difficult to walk. With every step, we are reminded of our poor little toe. Our vigilance becomes: Which defines our day-the pinch we feel in walking on a bruised toe, or the miracle still happening? It is the giving over to smallness that opens us to misery. In truth, we begin taking nothing for granted, grateful that we have enough to eat, that we are well enough to eat. But somehow, through the living of our days, our focus narrows like a camera that shutters down, cropping out the horizon, and one day we're miffed at a diner because the eggs are runny or the hash isn't seasoned just the way we like. When we narrow our focus, the problem seems everything. We forget when we were lonely, dreaming of a partner. We forget first beholding the beauty of another. We forget the comfort of first being seen and held and heard. When our view shuts down, we're up in the night annoyed by the way our lover pulls the covers or leaves the dishes in the sink without soaking them first. In actuality, misery is a moment of suffering allowed to become everything. So, when feeling miserable, we must look wider than what hurts. When feeling a splinter, we must, while trying to remove it, remember there is a body that is not splinter, and a spirit that is not splinter, and a world that is not splinter.

Mark Nepo
if-peace-comes-from-seeing-whole-then-misery-stems-from-loss-perspective-we-begin-aware-grateful-the-sun-somehow-hangs-there-in-sky-the-little-bird-sings-the-miracle-life-just-ha
Peeta, ' I say lightly. 'You said at the interview you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?' 'Oh, let's see. I guess the first day of school. We were five. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair... it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up, ' Peeta says. 'Your father? Why?' I ask. 'He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner, '' Peeta says. 'What? You're making that up!' I exclaim. 'No, true story, ' Peeta says. 'And I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings... even the birds stop to listen.'' 'That's true. They do. I mean, they did, ' I say. I'm stunned and surprisingly moved, thinking of the baker telling this to Peeta. It strikes me that my own reluctance to sing, my own dismissal of music might not really be that I think it's a waste of time. It might be because it reminds me too much of my father. 'So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent, ' Peeta says. 'Oh, please, ' I say, laughing. 'No, it happened. And right when your song ended, I knew-just like your mother-I was a goner, ' Peeta says. 'Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you.' 'Without success, ' I add. 'Without success. So, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck, ' says Peeta. For a moment, I'm almost foolishly happy and then confusion sweeps over me. Because we're supposed to be making up this stuff, playing at being in love not actually being in love. But Peeta's story has a ring of truth to it. That part about my father and the birds. And I did sing the first day of school, although I don't remember the song. And that red plaid dress... there was one, a hand-me-down to Prim that got washed to rags after my father's death. It would explain another thing, too. Why Peeta took a beating to give me the bread on that awful hollow day. So, if those details are true... could it all be true? 'You have a... remarkable memory, ' I say haltingly. 'I remember everything about you, ' says Peeta, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. 'You're the one who wasn't paying attention.' 'I am now, ' I say. 'Well, I don't have much competition here, ' he says. I want to draw away, to close those shutters again, but I know I can't. It's as if I can hear Haymitch whispering in my ear, 'Say it! Say it!' I swallow hard and get the words out. 'You don't have much competition anywhere.' And this time, it's me who leans in.

Suzanne Collins
peeta-i-say-lightly-you-said-at-interview-youd-had-crush-on-me-forever-when-did-forever-start-oh-lets-see-i-guess-first-day-school-we-were-five-you-had-on-red-plaid-dress-your-ha
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds; While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, Gave a lustre of midday to objects below, When what to my wondering eyes did appear, But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer, With a little old driver so lively and quick, I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blixen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!" As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; So up to the housetop the coursers they flew With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too- And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack. His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath; He had a broad face and a little round belly That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread; He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose; He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight- 'Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Clement C. Moore
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