Quotes About Wonder

Her students come and go..she loves to ask them about their lives, to wonder what adventures they've had, what lusts, what secret follies they carry in their hearts.

Every second of every day has its own magic. - Pg. 163-4

As if, inside Werner's head, an infinitesimal orchestra has stirred to life.

Consider a single piece glowing in your family's stove. See it, children? That chunk of coal was once a green plant, a fern or reed that lived one million years ago, or maybe two million, or maybe one hundred million . . .

When the wind is blowing, which it almost always is, with the walls groaning and the shutters banging, the rooms overloaded and the staircase wound tightly up through its center, the house seems the material equivalent of her uncle's inner being: apprehensive, isolated, but full of cobwebby wonders.

Algumas vezes, eu me apanho encarando o mar e me esqueço de minhas tarefas. Parace grande o suficiente para conter qualquer coisa que as pessoas possam sentir.

What mazes there are in this world. The branches of trees, the filigree of roots, the matrix of crystals, the streets her father re-created in his models. Mazes in the nodules on murex shells and in the textures of sycamore bark and inside the hollow bones of eagles. None more complicated than the human brain, Etienne would say, what may be the most complex object in existence; one wet kilogram within which spin universes. She

A book not so much full of birds as full of evanescence, of blue-winged, trumpeting mysteries.

The murex Dr. Geffard keeps on his desk can entertain her for a half hour, the hollow spines, the ridged whorls, the deep entrance; it's a forest of spikes and caves and textures; it's a kingdom. Her

Então, crianças, como o cérebro, que vive sem uma centelha de luz, constrói para nós um mundo cheio de luz?

De entre todas las cosas que he visto en la vida, creo que el mar es mi favorita.

It was the summer when fireflies showed up in Saint-Malo, and their father was very excited, building long-handled nets for his boys and giving them jars with wire to fasten over the tops, and Etienne and Henri raced through the tall grass as the fireflies floated away from them, illuming on and off, always seeming to rise just beyond their reach, as if the earth were smoldering and these were sparks that their footfalls had prodded free.

Anthony Doerr

Se pelo menos a vida fosse como um romance de Júlio Verne... e você pudesse passar as páginas para a frente, quando precisasse, para descobrir o que estava para acontecer.

Bastian speaks to a horror of any sort of corruption, and yet, Werner wonders in the dead of night, isn't life a kind of corruption?

found myself? … … down from that high place … … crawled in the grass, the trees … … fingers, toes, a tongue to speak! … the smell of wild onions … … dew, the lines? of the hills, … sweetness of light, moon overhead … … the green beauty of the broken? world.

The girl climbs into the swing and pendulums back and forth, pumping her legs, and watching her opens some valve in Werner's soul. This is life, he thinks, this is why we live, to play like this on a day when winter is finally releasing its grip.

She clutches the sack. West, she thinks, this is all she knows, west where the sun goes down, west across the Propontis, and her mind sends up visions of the blessed island of Scheria, and of the bright oil and soft bread of Urbino, and of Aethon's city in the clouds, each paradise blurring into the last. It does exist, Aethon-the-fish told the wizard inside the whale. Otherwise what's it all been for?

The sea is only a receptacle for all the prodigious, supernatural things that exist inside it. It is only movement and love; it is the living infinite.

Cloud Cuckoo Land by Antonius Diogenes, Folio K

El mar es todo. Cubre siete décimas partes del globo… El mar no es más que un receptáculo para todas las criaturas prodigiosas y sobrenaturales

Clouds like those," he'd show her, "are called cumulus congestus. Each one is riding along on a big column of slowly cooling air. Like a big invisible ice-cream cone. That small cloud there probably weighs five hundred thousand pounds." "Nooo," she'd say. "It's floating—it weighs nothing." Still, she would not look away.

What," he asked into the silence, "is her name?

All the things he did not see... (a black bear, two hawks, horsemen, a trio of summer cabins far below him...)