Quotes About Wreckage

How could you commit suicide and not be a dick? Not leave detritus and wreckage behind you? But Tory—he'd taken it to the next level, hadn't he? Like sex, like drugs, like Star Wars, like anything he'd done.

It had come down in the storms several winters ago and he had watched it sink over time on the shattered branches beneath it, like a great gnarled monster protractedly lying down, bedding down in its own rot and wreckage.

In modern warfare, journalists are among the first responders, seeking out truth in the turmoil and wreckage, wherever it takes them.

Skirting the rubble and wreckage of the street at the foot of Center Point, he marched past a gigantic gold statue of Freddie Mercury that stood over the entrance of the Dominion Theatre across the road, head bowed, one fist raised in the air, like some pagan god of chaos.

everywhere was debris from the plane. No attempt was made to

All around us we have the wreckage – metaphorical and real – of all our dreams, our religions, our political ideologies and a thousand other aspirations, all of which in their turn have proved false. And though we have no more illusions or ambitions left, yet we are still here. So what do we do?

He bestowed his smiles indiscriminately and left a trail of havoc in his wake.

For the first time in history, drug addicts and drunks—once viewed as human wreckage that drained families and society of resources—had become valuable properties. People could make fortunes off them.

The walk between our house and the bus stop is marked by decay and wreckage. A row of shops, flats, community centres and an old cinema is boarded up, burned out, cracking and rotting.

We know that in September, we will wander through the warm winds of summer's wreckage. We will welcome summer's ghost.

I was a fallow field ruined by brackish flood, but I would choose the wave over the wind, I would swamp your world with wreckage, I would hold fast to you, and you would be saved.

If you lose money in business, you can still cover up the loss. If you lose time, the only thing you have by your side is wreckage.

I look like a quarry someone has dynamited.

When you are in the middle of a story it isn't a story at all, but only a confusion; a dark roaring, a blindness, a wreckage of shattered glass and splintered wood; like a house in a whirlwind, or else a boat crushed by the icebergs or swept over the rapids, and all aboard powerless to stop it. It's only afterwards that it becomes anything like a story at all. When you are telling it, to yourself or to someone else.

When you are in the middle of a story it isn't a story at all, but only a confusion; a dark roaring, a blindness, a wreckage of shattered glass and splintered wood; like a house in a whirlwind, or else a boat crushed by the icebergs or swept over the rapids, and all aboard powerless to stop it. It's only afterwards that it becomes anything like a story at all.

What most people don't seem to realize is that there is just as much money to be made out of the wreckage of a civilization as from the upbuilding of one. -Rhett Butler

What most people don't seem to realize is that there is just as much money to be made out of the wreckage of a civilization as from the upbuilding of one.

What most people don't seem to realize is that there is just as much money to be made out of the wreckage of a civilization as from the upbuilding of one.

Another secret we carry is that though drab outside - wreckage to the eye, mirrors a mortification - inside we flame with a wild life that is almost incommunicable.

All of my novels are seeded in real life events, and 'The Wreckage' is no different.

I got quite annoyed after the Haiti earthquake. A baby was taken from the wreckage and people said it was a miracle. It would have been a miracle had God stopped the earthquake. More wonderful was that a load of evolved monkeys got together to save the life of a child that wasn't theirs.

No doubt Gervase Fen or Peter Wimsey would immediately have grasped the vital clue revealing the identity of the murderer. But to me it looked like wreckage.

The past is not a peaceful landscape lying there behind me, a country in which I can stroll wherever I please, and will gradually show me all its secret hills and dales. As I was moving forward, so it was crumbling. Most of the wreckage that can be seen is colourless, distorted, frozen: its meaning escapes me... all that's left is a skeleton. I shall never find my plans again, my hopes and fears - I shall not find myself.

Literature is strewn with the wreckage of men who have minded beyond reason the opinions of others.