Quotes About Diary

and declining all efforts at closeness or intimacy. "James just doesn't seem to want me," I wrote in my diary. "Bastard, I hate him. Why do I love him so? Why don't I love a Giver? I suppose I need enough elusiveness to keep me feeling as unworthy as I believe myself to be. Perhaps James has

Lying on the front passenger seat, as if it didn't matter, was Rose's Diary. It Mattered.

As Samuel Pepys would chirp—

It's the diary that makes the man.

I was in hopes that, if anything ever happened to me, the diary would be an endless source of pleasure to you both; to say nothing of the chance of the remuneration which may accrue from its being published.

Memory is the diary that we all carry about with us.

Socks to keep your feet warm. Your diary, too—don't worry, I haven't read it or anything." "I'd be surprised if you had. You're more trustworthy than that." "No, I'm illiterate." Her eyes flared. "Anyway"—his voice was hard as his jawline—"I figured you'd want some of your own stuff.

DMX wasn't checking what his fans were saying to him on Twitter or Facebook. Jay-Z is on a boat in Saint-Tropez. I'm hands-on. Girls write to me like I'm their diary. That's a huge responsibility. I don't take it for granted.

I recently found a diary entry from college in which I described my classmates as 'a herd of mouth-breathing fucktard yokels who wade around in a miasma of cliché so thick you can practically smell the bacon and cabbage and cow shite and altar candles.' Even assuming I was having a bad day, I think this shows a certain lack of respect for cultural differences.

The notes I have made are not a diary in the ordinary sense, but partly lengthy records of my spiritual experiences, and partly poems in prose.

My wife thinks I'm too nosy. At least that's what she writes in her diary.

I saw Roland Barthes's 'Mourning Diary' at a bookshop, and I felt it was like I was destined to see the book. I read it all in one go while I was in the shop. The book was mind-blowing.

In the early '90s, I wrote a play called 'Word of Mouth' in which I played a number of different characters. One was a thirteen-year-old boy who, through a series of diary entries, realizes that he's gay.

The way I look at it, they're all part of my musical diary, and I can listen to any one of them and it will bring up memories of what was going on at that time.

I have kept a reading diary since I was 18. I am jealous of my friend who has kept hers since she was ten.

From 1929 to 1933, [age 25-29] I lived almost continuously in Berlin, with only occasional visits to other parts of Germany and to England. Already, during that time, I had made up my mind that I would one day write about the people I'd met and the experiences I was having. So I kept a detailed diary, which in due course provided raw material for all my Berlin stories. [from preface]

I have kept this diary doggedly, day by day, because I believe a continuous record, no matter how full of trivialities, will always gradually reveal something of the subconscious mind behind it. I've never regretted keeping a diary yet. There are always a few nuggets of literary value under all that sand.

I would write, Dear Diary, Today I convinced myself it's ok to give up. Stick with the status quo, now just isn't the time. But my reasons aren't reasons, they're excuses and the truth is, I'm scared Stefan. I'm scared that if I let myself be happy for one minute, that the my world's going to come crashing down and I don't know if I'll be able to survive that.

Patton wrote in his diary on April 15th, the morning after his departure from II Corps: "War is very simple, direct and ruthless. It takes a simple, direct and ruthless man to wage war." He had no doubt that he was such a man.

Some would assert that Providence was at work shaking out its pockets in Humanity's lap. Other would argue for that mindless choreographer, Chance. Either way it was a simple thing: a lost diary fell into the hands of a soul-sick war hero on a train from Bombay to Jaipur just when he'd grown tired of the scenery and needed something to keep his thoughts from the minefield of his wretched thoughts. In such mild ways is the groundwork laid for first kisses and ruined lives.

My mother had always taught me to write about my feelings instead of sharing really personal things with others, so I spent many evenings writing in my diary, eating everything in the kitchen and waiting for Mr. Wrong to call.

Her paintings formed a visual diary, an outward manifestation of her inward dialog that was, all too often, a scream of pain.

E così sentir parlare di quella persona, mi scuote e tormenta come a chi si tastasse o palpeggiasse una parte del corpo addoloratissima, e spesso mi fa rabbia e nausea... Diario del primo amore

I came across my diary again today, which for some time I have neglected, and I'm astonished how consciously, step by step, I walked into it all. How clearly I have always seen my condition and acted like a child nevertheless, and how clearly I still see now, and still with no sign of a cure.