Quotes About Curious

She was not quite what you would call refined. She was not quite what you would call unrefined. She was the kind of person that keeps a parrot.

What a curious kind of fool a girl is. Never been licked in school. What's a licking?

His heaven is like himself: strange, interesting, astonishing, grotesque. I give you my word, it has not a single feature in it that he actually values. It consists -- utterly and entirely -- of diversions which he cares next to nothing about, here in the earth, yet is quite sure he will like them in heaven. Isn't it curious? Isn't it interesting? You must not think I am exaggerating, for it is not so. I will give you details.

seemed like a vast warty bug taking a meditative walk.

Denzil Smith was not a particularly pious man, but he was a curious one, which made him excellent company for Lady Agatha Ardry. They were dependent on one another in the mindless way of two gibbons dedicated to picking fleas off one another's fur.

I endeavoured to cheer and amuse her by reminiscences of my adventures in Afghanistan; but, to tell the truth, I was myself so excited at our situation, and so curious as to our destination, that my stories were slightly involved. To this day she declares that I told her one moving anecdote as to how a musket looked into my tent at the dead of night, and how I fired a double-barrelled tiger cub at it.

Very curious, and the story that hangs round it will strike you as being more curious still. These relics have a history then? So much so that they are history.

It was a curious thing, said the private tutor; one of those grotesque and whimsical incidents which occur to one as one goes through life. I lost the best situation which I am ever likely to have through it. But I am glad that I went to Thorpe Place, for I gained — well, as I tell you the story you will learn what I gained.

It is curious how sometimes the memory of death lives on for so much longer than the memory of the life it purloined.

It is curious how sometimes the memory of death lives on for so much longer than the memory of the life that it purloined.

All of this was odd, to say the least.

But if I were given a choice - of all centuries - I'd select last the curse of being born in this one. And perhaps, if I weren't curious, I'd choose never to be born at all.

Girls are weird, and I don't mean that offensively. I just can't put it any other way.

I am just a child who has never grown up. I still keep asking these 'how' and 'why' questions. Occasionally, I find an answer.

Remember to look up at the stars and not down at your feet. Try to make sense of what you see and wonder about what makes the universe exist. Be curious. And however difficult life may seem, there is always something you can do and succeed at. It matters that you don't just give up.

Remember to look up at the stars and not down at your feet. Try to make sense of what you see, wonder about what makes the universe exist. Be curious. However difficult life may seem, there is always something you can do and succeed at. It matters that you don't just give up.

We are all time travellers, journeying together into the future. But let us work together to make that future a place we want to visit. Be brave, be curious, be determined, overcome the oods. It can be done.

Did-a-chick? Dum-a-chum? Dad-a-cham? Ded-a-chek?

He's got all sorts of strange ideas to catch up on.

I was twenty-six years old and I wasn't really sure what I was.

It's a curious thing with George. With his glasses off, his eyes looked small and weak - blinky and a bit baffled, like an unintelligent sheep that's taken a wrong turn. But when he put them on again, they went all sharp and steely, more like the eyes of an eagle that eats dumb sheep for breakfast.

And, as for the younger generation! The Duke could – and often would – lecture for hours on the worthlessness of everyone born in the twentieth century. This last was curious, for, of all his relatives, the only one the Duke could stand (and who could also stand the Duke, it seemed) was the youngest member of his family – his twelve-year-old granddaughter, Priscilla.

It was one of those moments in a man's life upon which all else seems to hinge; there is a curious inevitability about it, as though it couldn't have happened any other way, and at the same time there is a sense that what happened couldn't have happened, that it was a miracle.

Her handwriting was curious — small sharp little letters with no capitals (who did she think she was, e. e. cummings?).