Quotes About Patience

I went back to my car again and sat and sat. The top dripped on my knees and my stomach burned from the whiskey. No more cars came up the hill. No lights went on in the house before which I was parked. It seemed like a nice neighborhood to have bad habits in.

She made a humph noise and played another card. She got the ace of diamonds up to the top line. "The ace of clubs is buried, darn it. I'm not going to get it out in time." "Kind of slide it out," I said, "when you're not looking

I looked at my watch, put my pipe in an ashtray, and then had to look at my watch again to see what time it was

Love doesn't demand; it accepts. It has taken me my life to learn this.

One of the problems with being my age is you look at everyone who is younger as children, and when everyone else around you is younger, it means you live in a universe of children. So you tend to scold more than is proper.

Some love comes like a wind off the sea, while others grow slowly from the seeds of friendship and kindness.

Seconds slowed and passed before Nicholas's mind's eye like a parade of snails upon the garden path.

But to speed it along, he needs to know that pain will come. The knack is to not engage the pain, not hold on to it like a treasured thing, but to simply let it pass through and wait until it's gone. It will come less frequently and after a time, be gone.

revenge is a dish best served cold. This is a mistake; you must never lose the heat of rage that drives you to revenge.

When you're at an inn and someone in the room above kicks off a boot before going to bed, you hear the first one hit the floor and you wait until you hear the second before your mind can return fully to what it was doing before.

He'll get over it,' said his father. 'But to speed it along, he needs to know that pain will come. The knack is to not engage the pain, not hold on to it like a treasured thing, but to simply let it pass through and wait until it's gone. It will come less frequently and after a time, be gone.

Perché vuoi fare la maestra? - Per rompere le balle alle bambine, - rispose Zazie.- Quelle che avranno la mia età fra dieci, tra vent'anni, tra cinquant'anni, fra cento anni, fra mille anni. Aver sempre da rompere le balle a qualcuno.

Hannah had a future if she could just settle down.

You write your books. You scatter your seeds. Rats might eat them, or they might rot. In California, some seeds lie dormant for decades because they only germinate after fire, and sometimes the burned landscape blooms most lavishly.

Time always wins; our victories are only delays; but delays are sweet, and a delay can last a whole lifetime.

A woman goes walking down a thousand-mile road. Twenty minutes after she steps forth, they proclaim that she still has nine hundred ninety-nine miles to go and will never get anywhere.

I was being cured of soldiering on endlessly: my job was now to be still, which had become almost easy at last.

How long does it take to see something, to know someone? If you put in years, you realize how little you grasped at the start, even when you thought you knew. We move through life mostly not seeing what is around us, not knowing who is around us, not understanding the forces at play, not understanding ourselves. Unless we stay with it, and maybe this is a movie about staying with it.

Hope is not a door, but a sense that there might be a door at some point, some way out of the problems of the present moment even before that way is found or followed.

I fear their false urgency, their call to speed, their insistence that travel is less important than arrival...

Hope is not a door, but a sense that there might be a door at some point, some way out of the problems of the present moment even before the way is found or followed.

You can't assume that you know why what you're doing matters. You can't at least declare failure immediately, because consequences are not always direct, or immediate, or obvious, and the indirect consequences matter.

A manilla envelope came through the mail slot a few weeks later. I had a little queasiness about meeting that teenager directly, and so I waited several years to open it.

Writing is lonely, it's an intimate talk with the undead, with the unborn, with the absent, with strangers , with the readers who may never come to be and who even if they read you will do so weeks, years, decades later.