Quotes About Stories

But she couldn't start this, because then it would end. Stories like this always ended. She couldn't take this pleasure, because she would spend the rest of her life missing it, hurting from it.

I loved those eyes, even though they never saw my pain, I loved those ears, even though they heard my stories

Most people do a good deal of whatever they do motivated by love. For me, few stories are truly complete without it.

A fleeting second on someone's news feed, No dearth of meanings for those who read, Not my stories but 'tis what I think, I say I don't write poems, I just write dreams.

I heard her voice, her stories, her softness as she spoke of her family, and her iron as she spoke of me - I heard her scream, and I moved without thought.

There is a love that binds us allIt's in our blood, it's who we areand it's nested in the branches of this treeand it's rooted in the Earth where we keepall of our stories

Ideas come and go, stories stay.

Regular minds find similarities in stories (and situations); finer minds detect differences.

I prefer to use stories and vignettes to illustrate our gullibility about stories and our preference for the dangerous compression of narratives.*

Metaphors and stories are far more potent (alas) than ideas;

Il mio mestiere è scrivere delle storie, cose inventate o cose che ricordo della mia vita ma comunque storie, cose dove non c'entra la cultura ma soltanto la memoria e la fantasia. Questo è il mio mestiere, e io lo farò fino alla morte

What matters is the transformative power of metaphor and the stories we tell ourselves about the arc and meaning of our lives.

His stories are good to hear at night, because we can dream about them asleep; and good in the morning, too, because then we can dream about them awake. (Cowslip)

But it were folly to lay any stress on stories of this kind, which are sure to spring up around such an event as that now related, and which, as in the present case, sometimes prolong themselves for ages afterwards, like the toadstools that indicate where the fallen and buried trunk of a tree has long since mouldered into the earth.

a space of time is a great breeder of myths.

All resonates. The past, the present, and the future. The tales we hear as children—the stories we then pass on—have happened, are happening, or will happen soon enough. If not, then the stories would not exist. They resonate in our hearts because they are true. Even the ones that begin as lies.

The weird thing is, hearing stories like this makes me feel a kind of kinship with the Almighty, because it proves that even God has psychotic episodes.

She has no way of knowing that what occurred in his crate was a reenactment of what happened in her own, and in almost every other container on the plane. Fear, misgivings, questions rarely asked, and stories rarely told. The details are different, of course, as are the players, but the gist is the same. No one will discuss these things again, or even acknowledge having ever discussed them at all, but because of it, invisible bonds have been forged.

Only stories of love pass through our post-mortal filter, yet even then, we are baffled by the intensity of longing and loss that threatens those mortal tales of love.

waiting in a life full of little stories for a death to come

I walk into the kitchen, look at the typer down there on the floor. It's a dirty floor. It's a dirty typer that types dirty stories

so we had to tell our stories and they were stories.

You all have stories, Sandy said. And we have secrets

Time for some laughs with girlfriend Chelsea Handler and her adventures.