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Read through the most famous quotes by topic #love
Oh, what a love it was, utterly free, unique, like nothing else on earth! Their thoughts were like other people's songs. They loved each other, not driven by necessity, by the "blaze of passion" often falsely ascribed to love. They loved each other because everything around them willed it, the trees and the clouds and the sky over their heads and the earth under their feet. Perhaps their surrounding world, the strangers they met in the street, the wide expanses they saw on their walks, the rooms in which they lived or met, took more delight in their love than they themselves did. ↗
I looked at her. Sheila was my girl--the girl I wanted--and wanted for keeps. But it wasn't any use having illusions about her. Sheila was a liar and probably always would be a liar. It was her way of fighting for survival--the quick easy glib denial. It was a child's weapon--and she'd probably never got out of using it. If I wanted Sheila, I must accept her as she was--be at hand to prop up the weak places. We've all got our weak places. Mine were different from Sheila's, but they were there. ↗
I guess we're all, or most of us, the wards of that nineteenth-century science which denied existence to anything it could not measure or explain. The things we couldn't explain went right on but surely not with our blessing. We did not see what we couldn't explain, and meanwhile a great part of the world was abandoned to children, insane people, fools, and mystics, who were more interested in what is than in why it is. So many old and lovely things are stored in the world's attic, because we don't want them around us and we don't dare throw them out. ↗
#john-steinbeck #reality #reason #science #the-winter-of-our-discontent
[W]hat reasoning is this, to criticize an innocent majority who seldom make a slip, for a single act? This is not right. Why can't blame be borne individually for individual guilt? ... But for the love of Christ, those of you with some sense, do not blame the innocent without cause. For if, every time you see one man doing wrong, you're going to accuse all men likewise, it won't take long in any one day before you'll be saying that all men ought to be hung. If one man is a rogue, are all men too? No, there's no logic in that; you know what's true. Were a man hung or dismembered for theft, and they proposed to dish up the same treatment to you, you wouldn't consider it legal. You would look quite unamused, and take the liberty of bidding goodbye to all who pronounced that sort of judmgent. Think of others as you would have them think of you ... Let each bear guilt individually as is only right -- and as you'd wish to be upheld in your own case if you were innocent. ↗
You don’t have to do that,” I said, staring down at my hands. He turned his head to me. “Do what?” I rubbed the sweat from my palms off on my jeans. “Stick around. You can leave if you want. I’m not expecting you to stay and babysit me.” “Hey,” he nudged me with his shoulder, drawing my gaze to his. “I’m staying. You won’t get rid of me that easily.” Despite the tremors of relief coursing through me, I didn’t relax. “The offer stands. Any time you want to go just… go.” “Well, I don’t want the offer, because I’m not going anywhere, not unless you’re coming with me.” “Why?” It took a second to realize that the barely whispered word had come from me. He reached for my hand. His long, warm fingers laced through mine, and that was all the answer I needed. ↗
The school year progressed slowly. I felt as if I had been in the sixth grade for years, yet it was only October. Halloween was approaching. Coming from Ireland, we had never thought of it as a big holiday, though Sarah and I usually went out trick-or treating. For the last couple of years I had been too sick to go out, but this year Halloween fell on a day when I felt quiet fine. My mother was the one who came up with the Eskimo idea. I put on a winter coat, made a fish out of paper, which I hung on the end of a stick, and wrapped my face up in a scarf. My hair was growing in, and I loved the way the top of the hood rubbed against it. By this time my hat had become part of me; I took it off only at home. Sometimes kids would make fun of me, run past me, knock my hat off, and call me Baldy. I hated this, but I assumed that one day my hair would grow in, and on that day the teasing would end. We walked around the neighborhood with our pillowcase sacks, running into other groups of kids and comparing notes: the house three doors down gave whole candy bars, while the house next to that gave only cheap mints. I felt wonderful. It was only as the night wore on and the moon came out and the older kids, the big kids, went on their rounds that I began to realize why I felt so good. No one could see me clearly. No one could see my face. ↗
#love
It has always seemed to me that if one falls in love with any gentleman one becomes instantly blind to his faults.But I am not blind to your faults, and I do not think that everything you do or say is right! Only—Is it being—not very comfortable—and cross—and not quite happy, when you aren’t there?” “That, my darling,” said his lordship,taking her ruthlessly into his arms,“is exactly what it s!” “Oh—!” Frederica gasped, as she emerged from an embrace which threatened to suffocate her. “Now I know! I am in love! ↗
هملت: من افیلیا را دوست میداشتم. اگر محبت چهل هزار برادر را روی هم میگذاشتید با عشق من برابری نمیکرد. (به لایرتیس –برادر افیلیا) تو برای خاطر او چه کارهایی حاضر هستی بکنی؟ کلادیوس: لایرتیس، او دیوانه است. گرترود: شما را به خدا، راحتاش بگذارید. هملت: بگو ببینم. اشک میریزی؟ میجنگی؟ گرسنهگی میکشی؟ بدن خودت را پاره پاره میکنی؟ زهر مینوشی؟ نهنگ میخوری؟ من هم حاضرم همه این کارها را بکنم. آمدهای اینجا شیون بکنی! خودت را در گور میاندازی که بیش از من اظهار تالم کرده باشی؟ خودت را پهلوی او زنده به گور میکنی؟ من هم میکنم. سخن از کوه میگویی؟ بگو بیایند روی من و اُفیلیا میلیونها پیمانه خاک بریزند چنانکه قُلهی کوه مزار ما جرم سوزان خورشید را بخراشد، و کوه اوسا در مقابل آن مانند خاکی بر چهرهی زمین بیشتر نباشد. ها! اگر تو بخواهی پریشان بافی کنی من بیش از تو پریشان خواهم گفت. هملت، پردهی پنجم، صحنهی اول ترجمهی مسعود فرزاد ↗
#love
