#hid

You never know what's around the corner. It could be everything. Or it could be nothing. You keep putting one foot in front of the other, and then one day you look back and you've climbed a mountain. ↗

— Tom Hiddleston

#goals #life #mountain #path #perseverance

I do recall hearing a conversation in our home in Strausberg, between my mother and my father, where my mother sounded very angry that my cousin had let the Rödels down by having to be dragged out of Oma’s house, crying for his mother and shouting that he did not want to return to the war in Russia. Like a great many other soldiers throughout that period, he died in Russia on 5 May, 1944. He was just twenty years of age, and is buried somewhere in that country. ↗

— Alfred Nestor

#alfred-nestor #author-alfred-nestor #hitler #hitler-s-germany #nazi-party

Tom always did anger well. Hid it well, but showed it even better ↗

— Melina Marchetta

#hiding #thomas #anger

I took to the Kingswood the midsummer after the Dame died. I did not swear a vow, but I kept to myself just as strictly, living like a beast in the forest from one midsummer to the next, without fire or iron or the taste of meat. I lived as prey, and I learned from the dogs how to run, from the hare how to hide in the bracken, and from the deer how to go hungry. In sorrow and pride I exiled myself to Kingswood. I shunned fire for I feared the kingsmen would hunt me down, and so by the way of cold and hunger I came near to refusing life itself. I never thought to anger or please a god by it. ↗

— Sarah Micklem

#gods #hiding #hunger #running-away #survival

For anyone who wants to write, and hopes some day to publish what he or she has written, it is far more important to write than it is to study about writing. ↗

— Edith Schaeffer

#hiddden-art #writing #art

The trees around and overhead were so thick that it was always dry inside and on Sunday morning I lay there with Jonas, listening to his stories. All cat stories start with the statement: "My mother, who was the first cat, told me this," and I lay with my head close to Jonas and listened. There was no change coming, I thought here, only spring; I was wrong to be so frightened. The days would get warmer, and Uncle Julian would sit in the sun, and Constance would laugh when she worked in the garden, and it would always be the same. Jonas went on and on ("And then we sang! And then we sang!") and the leaves moved overhead and it would always be the same. ↗

— Shirley Jackson

#hiding #security #trees #change

You'd be surprised what poison is often hidden in the most beautiful camouflage. ↗

— Evelyn Klebert

#camouflage #hidden #poison #surprised #beauty

...listening with absorbed attention more to her voice than to what she was saying, and thinking how like she was, flowering through her voice into beauty in the darkness, to some butterflies he had come across in the Swiss mountains the summer before. When they were folded up they were grey, mothlike creatures that one might easily overlook, but directly they opened their wings they became the loveliest things in the world, all rose-colour or heavenly blue. So had she been to him in the daylight that afternoon,--an ordinary woman, not in any way noticeable; but now listen to her, opening into beauty on the wings of her voice! ↗

— Elizabeth von Arnim

#butterflies #hidden-beauty #voice #beauty

The only things that are a little bit newer are the CD burners, but we hid them under the table, so basically we had the feeling we were somewhere completely different, in another time. ↗

— Meg White

#another time #basically #bit #burners #cd

One day, I noticed that my father’s uniform had changed from a smart, light green colour with silver edging on the shoulder straps to a black uniform with SS markings and runes on the collar. I asked him why this was, and he told me that he was still a policeman, but now worked for the Schutzpolizei. ↗

— Alfred Nestor

#alfred-nestor #author-alfred-nestor #german-ss #hitler #hitler-s-germany