All Quotes with Person/Author Starting with I

Often I've thought of myself as a state; a country or, at the very least, a city. It used to seem to me that the different ways I felt sometimes about ideas, courses of action and so on were like the differing political moods that countries go through. It has always seemed to me that people vote in a new government not because they actually agree with their politics but just because they want a change. Somehow they think that things will be better under the new lot. Well, people are stupid, but it all seems to have more to do with mood, caprice and atmosphere than carefully thought-out arguments. I can feel the same sort of thing going on in my head. Sometimes the thoughts and feelings I had didn't really agree with each other, so I decided I must be lots of different people inside my brain.

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He knew from long experience that a letter sent in fury merely put a weapon into the hands of your enemy. Poison, in preserved form, to be used against you long into the future.

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...guilt refined the methods of self-torture, threading the beads of detail into an eternal loop, a rosary to be fingered for a lifetime.

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In his corner of West London, and in his self-preoccupied daily round, it was easy for Clive to think of civilization as the sum of all the arts, along with design, cuisine, good wine, and the like. But now it appeared that this was what it really was--square miles of meager modern houses whose principle purpose was the support of TV aerials and dishes; factories producing worthless junk to be advertised on the televisions and, in dismal lots, lorries queuing to distribute it; and everywhere else, roads and the tyranny of traffic. It looked like a raucous dinner party the morning after. No one would have wished it this way, but no one had been asked. Nobody planned it, nobody wanted it, but most people had to live in it. To watch it mile after mile, who would have guessed that kindness or the imagination, that Purcell or Britten, Shakespeare or Milton, had ever existed? Occasionally, as the train gathered speed and they swung farther away from London, countryside appeared and with it the beginnings of beauty, or the memory of it, until seconds later it dissolved into a river straightened into a concreted sluice or a sudden agricultural wilderness without hedges or trees, and roads, new roads probing endlessly, shamelessly, as though all that mattered was to be elsewhere. As far as the welfare of every other living form on earth was concerned, the human project was not just a failure, it was a mistake from the very beginning.

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Girls can wear jeans and cut their hair short and wear shirts and boots because it's okay to be a boy; for girls it's like promotion. But for a boy to look like a girl is degrading, according to you, because secretly you believe that being a girl is degrading.

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I'm getting more pissed with every passing heartbeat. Yet, one can only wonder, isn't every passing heartbeat another step towards death? Are we not in this world, only so we can die? Is the only reason of living, dying? What purpose do we have, to get up every morning, to a scarred body, work, and do it all over again? Are nothing but toys to a supposed god, moving around and doing everything he 'commands'? Does this not mean that suicide is the easiest way out? People say that you shouldn't kill yourself because it's easy, well, isn't anyone who's ever cheated on anything taking the easy way out? So they really can't be saying nothing and still not be involved with hypocrisy. Do we live in a world of liars and hypocrites? Or do they just keep us alive for their own well-being, if they really loved you, they'd let you go to a place where you'd be in peace. This is were hatred comes from, too many people thinking about themselves and not letting others go, making them live a life they don't want to live anymore. Or maybe, the suicidal people are the selfish ones, only thinking about themselves and trying to escape to a better place. That, my friend, is what I want to know.

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She's not like that. It's like she doesn't need other people to define who she is. She knows.




I need you to hear. I need you to see.
That I have had all I can take
And exploding seems like a definite possibility
To me
So Pardon me while I burst into flames.
I've had enough of the world, and its people's mindless games
So Pardon me while I burn, and rise above the flame
Pardon me, pardon me. I'll never be the same.

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Falling, falling, falling, falling down. Look yourself in the eye before you drown.

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All my life, I've painted with anger's brush.

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I have spent nights with matches and knives
Leaning over ledges only two flights up
Cutting my heart, burning my soul
Nothing left to hold
Nothing left but blood and fire.

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I knew him well enough not to mourn his passing.




I enjoy it. Take your aesthetes, tastes, pure things, kill them swiftly if you will, but do it! For do not doubt, you are a killer, Louis!




Evil is a point of view. God kills indiscriminately and so shall we. For no creatures under God are as we are, none so like him as ourselves.




As he listened to her, he lightly tapped the back of his boots with his riding crop. He turned toward his soldiers and gave them a good dressing down. Lucile realised he was ordering them to get the house back in order, to fix what had been broken, to polish the floors and the furniture. His voice, when he spoke German, especially with that commanding tone, took on a sharp, resonant quality. Hearing it gave Lucile the same pleasure that a slightly rough kiss might - the kind of kiss that ends with a little bite.

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