Quotes About Author

She searched her daughter's bright blue gaze, looking for reproach, but saw nothing but love.

I know, Fireheart. You've always been loyal, not like those others." As if the strength of her fury had exhausted her, she limped back to her bedding.

You idiot!" she spat, flattening her ears. "What are you doing in my territory?" "Drowning?" replied Graystripe.

Hailstar? Oh, great. We've been rescued by the leader of RiverClan.

but I managed to take Oakheart's life while he was still gloating over his victory.

WindClan has also thrived, despite the weather," Harespring announced.

and a loud purr rose from his throat, an enormous sound to come from his small, fluffy body.

This is a fierce bad rabbit; look at his savage whiskers, and his claws and his turned-up tail.

La originalidad de Borges (entre otras, entre las muchas formas de su originalidad) reside en su resistencia a ser encontrado allí donde lo buscamos: algo del viejo vanguardista queda en esa resistencia a responder lo que se le pregunta y ajustarse a lo que se quiere escuchar de él.

Se podría decir que Arlt construye la perspectiva del cínico. También podría decirse, la perspectiva nihilista de quien denuncia la violencia enmascarada pero inexorable de una forma social hipócrita. La refutación

All I can think about is bed." We're sharing the same thought." You're thinking about bed too?" I'm thinking about YOU in MY bed.

Say 'provoking' again. Your mouth looks provocative when you do.

It is rare that the feeling of absurdity is not followed by the feeling of necessity.

But he had turned, little by little, a disturbance into words, he had made a pillow of old words, for his head.

The worst thing in this world, next to anarchy, is government.

Our earthly loves are but so many silver steps leading us up to the great golden love of God.

Doctrine is nothing but the skin of truth set up and stuffed.

Of all earthly music, that which reaches the farthest into heaven is the beating of a loving heart.

Vulgarity has its uses. Vulgarity often cuts ice which refinement scrapes at vainly.

The literary gift is a mere accident--is as often bestowed on idiots who have nothing to say worth hearing as it is denied to strenuous sages.

Why are we quarreling about a tie? flashed through her mind; at the same time, as if propelled by a force outside of herself, she tore it from his hand and flung it furiously into the wastebasket.

The long procession of men flickered before her like faces on cards quickly riffled—blurred, two-dimensional. Only their desire for her mattered.

The vampire was a complete change from the usual romantic characters I was playing, but it was a success.

This is the most uncomfortable coffin I've ever been in. You are wasting my time.