Quotes About Hidden

There're things we keep hidden from one another. Things we hide from ourselves. Things that are kept hidden from us. And things no one knows. You always learn the damnedest things at the worst possible times.

the worst madmen don't seem odd at all," Grimm said. "They appear to be quite calm and rational, in fact. Until the screaming starts.

That's the difficult part of being mortal. Of having choice. Much is hidden from you.

The real war happened when you weren't looking.

Everything's never in the open, son," he responded. "There're things we keep hidden from one another. Things we hide from ourselves. Things that are kept hidden from us. And things no one knows. You always learn the damnedest things at the worst possible times. Or that's been my experience.

Bernard nodded. Then he put his hand on the ground, and Amara felt a faint tremor in the earth beneath their feet as he called upon his earth fury, Brutus, to create a hiding place. A few seconds later, the ground under them simply began to flow away, a slithery sensation in the soles of her feet, and they sank downward

The cellar, uncorked like a buried bottle, gave off the stale breath of the years.

He could be breaking apart inside and you'd never know it from the way he acted. He'd be just as pleasant and polite as if he didn't have a care in the world. You had to be careful with someone like that. You could never know what he was thinking.

Nous volons au passage un plaisir clandestin Que nous pressons bien fort comme une vieille orange. (34)

Old hurts run deep. They hide inside you, only to be awakened at a moment's notice.

All schools have their skeletons. St Oswald's is no exception. Most of the time, we try our best to keep them in the closet. But this time, the only recourse we have is to throw open all the closets, light as many bulbs as we can and catch the vermin as it comes out.

People are reserved, pretending indifference though inwardly they burn with curiosity.

Quem não sabe que ao pé de cada bandeira grande, pública, ostensiva, há muitas vezes várias outras bandeiras modestamente particulares, que se hasteiam e flutuam à sombra daquela, e não poucas vezes lhe sobrevivem? Mal

This was something she would keep hidden within herself, maybe in place of the knot of pain and anger she had been carrying under her breastbone...a security blanket, an ace up her sleeve. She might never use it, but she would always feel its presence like a swelling secret stone, and that way when she let go of the rage, she would not feel nearly as empty.

And oh she had been broken. She hid it well, but Ross knew from personal experience that once you had put the pieces together, even though you might look intact, you were never quite the same as you'd been before the fall

Even though it hurt, there are kinds of pain you couldn't speak out loud.

There are kinds of pain that you can't speak out loud.

A jewel's just a rock put under enourmous heat and pressure. Extraordinary things are always hiding in places people never think to look.

I understand better than she'd imagine that history is indelible. You can mask it; you can patch it smooth and clear; but you always know what's hidden underneath.

I don't know whether you can look at your past and find, woven like the hidden symbols on a treasure map, the path that will point to your final destination.

It is so strange, to encounter an ex. It's as if you're in a foreign film, and what you're saying face-to-face has nothing to do with the subtitles flowing beneath you. We are so careful not to touch, although once upon a time, I slept plastered to him in our bed, like lichen on a rock. We are two strangers who knows every shameful secret, every hidden freckle, every fatal flaw in each other.

Each memory is like a paper flower stowed up a magician's sleeve: invisible one moment and then so substantial and florid the next I cannot imagine how it stayed hidden all this time. And like those paper flowers, once they've been let loose in the world, the memories are impossible to tuck away again.

Stories are all around us, caught in the throats of the strangers you walk past and scrawled on the pages of locked diaries. They're in love letters that were never sent and between the lines of every conversation ever spoken. Just because your story's not written down doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

I drew it over my skin like a violins bow, No one would ever hear the song of my shame.