Quotes About Friendship

Returning, it was noticeable, as his friend the Seeker pointed out to the head-priest, that he ceased for a while to mourn the loss of his River, or to draw wondrous pictures of the Wheel of Life, but preferred to talk of the beauty and wisdom of a certain mysterious chela whom no man of the temple had ever seen.

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING

Though I've belted you and flayed you, By the livin' Gawd that made you, You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

nothin', or his edukashin which he niver got? You that think ye know things, answer me that. But I found no answer. I was wondering how long Ortheris, in the bank of the river, would hold out, and whether I should be forced to help him to desert, as I had given my word.

We all have our little secrets, no? And we all tell little lies, sometimes for innocent reasons. To make friends, for instance, or to avoid embarrassment. Or just to keep things simple. Sometimes the truth is too complicated to pass along in a short conversation or interview. And sometimes it's just irrelevant.

People ask me how I got from St Eustace to Riddley Walker and all I can say is that it's a matter of being friends with your head. Things come into the mind and wait to hook up with other things; there are places that can heighten your responses, and if you let your head go its own way it might, with luck, make interesting connections. On March 14th, 1974 I got lucky.

Captain Jack: Rose, you are worth fighting for. [Jack kisses Rose passionately] Captain Jack: Wish I'd never met you, Doctor, I was much better off as a coward. [Jack kisses the Doctor the same way]

Kenji knew people who knew how to party, and so when it was time to transport their friend's body to the crematorium, the musicians canceled the hearse and took matters into their own hands. Annabelle went along with them. The coffin was heavy, but Kenji added little to its weight, and so they were able to lift it, taking turns carrying it on their shoulders, New Orleans–style, through the narrow back alleys and the dark, rain-slick streets.

I remembered a friend who'd died of a bad liver, and what he'd always said. Yeah, he'd said, maybe it's just my idea, but really it always hurts, the times it don't hurt is when we just forget, we just forget it hurts, you know, it's not just because my belly's all rotten, everybody always hurts. So when it really starts stabbing me, somehow I feel sort of peaceful, like I'm myself again. It's hard to take, sure, but I feel sort of peaceful. Because it's always hurt ever since I was born.

I was worried that at this rate our mutual affection might begin to cool, that the special feelings we had for each other would end up as nothing more than close friendship. Male–female relationships are always in transition. If there's no forward progress, things tend to slip backwards.

Sometimes you can remember everything about an old friend, down to minor details about his behaviour, but for the life of you you can't picture his face.

Que haveria de olhar ou amar? Que palavras ainda ouviria com prazer, meus amigos? Nenhuma! Só me resta pedir-vos: levai-me para longe daqui sem demora. Eu vos peço: levai, meus amigos, o maldito, motivo de horror, odiado por deuses e homens!

There is nothing everyone is so afraid of as being told how vastly much he is capable of. You are capable of - do you want to know? - you are capable of living in poverty; you are capable of standing almost any kind of maltreatment, abuse, etc. But you do not wish to know about it, isn't that so? You would be furious with him who told you so, and only call that person your friend who bolsters you in saying: 'No, this I cannot bear, this is beyond my strength, etc.

Every individual, however original he may be, is still a child of God, of his age, of his nation, of his family and friends. Only thus is he truly himself. If in all this relativity he tries to be the absolute, then he becomes ridiculous.

Job endured everything — until his friends came to comfort him, then he grew impatient.

So wonderful a power is remorse, so sincere is its friendship that to escape it entirely is the most terrible thing of all.

True, fear deceptively offers to help us. It too offers to keep us on the right track. Yet the one who strives in fear never becomes God's friend. Fear is a deceitful aid. It can sour your delight, make life arduous and miserable, make you old and decrepit; but it is never able to help you toward the Good. The Good will not tolerate any alien helper.

Maldito azar! ¡Tú, mi único amigo íntimo, único ser al que creía digno de confianza, de mi alianza y de mi enemistad, siempre inestable y siempre igual a ti mismo, siempre incomprensible, eterno enigma!

Good to have powerful friends. Even better to be a powerful friend, neh?

me and Rebecca

I had a hell of a time getting here, brother," I revealed when we had finished trading insincerities.

A moment later, Schrift reappeared in a striking pair of undershorts, with vertical stripes like French wallpaper. "Now, for openers," he began, extracting the trees from a pair of suède chukker boots, "did you read this new best seller Valuta, by Waldemar Knobnose!" "Only the first eighteen pages," I admitted. "The woman whose copy it was got off the bus at Altman's.

By this same post, I am delegating a close friend of mine, Irving Wiesel, to visit your place of business and ferret out the truth. You can lay your cards on the table with Wiesel or not, as you see fit. When he finishes with you, you will have neither cards nor table.

Like its elder sibling love, friendship was a set of obligations willingly assumed, truth and trust among them, not just a pleasure or a feeling. At least it was if you were to be a friend worth having.