#literature

At one magical instant in your early childhood, the page of a book--that string of confused, alien ciphers--shivered into meaning. Words spoke to you, gave up their secrets; at that moment, whole universes opened. You became, irrevocably, a reader. ↗

— Alberto Manguel

#childhood #literature #reading #stories #words

She asked where he lived. Second to the right,' said Peter, 'and then straight on till morning. ↗

— J.M. Barrie

#fantasy #peter-pan #fantasy

Countless words count less than the silent balance between yin and yang ↗

— Lao Tzu

#classics #tao-te-ching #balance

Medicine is my lawful wife, and literature is my mistress. When I get fed up with one, I spend the night with the other ↗

— Anton Chekhov

#medicine #medicine

I hate vulgar realism in literature. The man who would call a spade a spade should be compelled to use one. ↗

— Oscar Wilde

#literature

Human beings do not live forever, Reuven. We live less than the time it takes to blink an eye, if we measure our lives against eternity. So it may be asked what value is there to a human life. There is so much pain in the world. What does it mean to have to suffer so much if our lives are nothing more than the blink of an eye? I learned a long time ago, Reuven, that a blink of an eye in itself is nothing. But the eye that blinks, that is something. A span of life is nothing. But the man who lives that span, he is something. He can fill that tiny span with meaning, so its quality is immeasurable though its quantity may be insignificant. Do you understand what I am saying? A man must fill his life with meaning, meaning is not automatically given to life. It is hard work to fill one's life with meaning. That I do not think you understand yet. A life filled with meaning is worthy of rest. I want to be worthy of rest when I am no longer here. ↗

— Chaim Potok

#life

Nor shall this peace sleep with her; but as when The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, Her ashes new-create another heir As great in admiration as herself. ↗

— William Shakespeare

#drama #english-literature #drama

Who are we, who is each one of us, if not a combinatoria of experiences, information, books we have read, things imagined? ↗

— Italo Calvino

#experience

Still more horrible was the color of the flames that licked the latticed cabin vents before shooting skyward, as though - might I say? - the sun itself had crashed to earth, spewing its heavenly fire in all directions. ↗

— Ryūnosuke Akutagawa

#japan #japanese #japanese-literature #japan

People used to say that on moonless nights Her Ladyship's broad-skirted scarlet trousers would glide eerily along the outdoor corridor, never touching the floor. ↗

— Ryūnosuke Akutagawa

#japanese #japanese-literature #japan