Quotes About Disappearance

You fall into a black hole, and you are irretrievably gone from the universe. That finality has made it irresistible to writers.

I don't think that Michael Jackson died. He's probably dead now, but I don't think he died when they said he did. I think he wanted out of the game anyway, so he just disappeared.

The disappearance of the Jewish state will not mean the disappearance of anti-Semitism.

Modern liberal societies are heirs to the moral confusion left by the disappearance of a shared religious horizon.

There can be no such thing as rigorously identical cultures. To believe one can create a black culture is to forget oddly enough that "Negroes" are in the process of disappearing, since those who created them are witnessing the demise of their economic and cultural superiority. There will be no such thing as a black culture . . .

I intend to die with a bottle of champagne by my bed. I'll drink a toast to the fact that, despite everything, I was able to experience the singular adventure of being born, living and one day disappearing into the darkness once again.

She almost blended in with the wall, dissolved, faded. Could a person become so pale that she was no longer visible?

There was a sort of spell in the sense that nobody in the world knew where she was. It was the first time in her life that this had happened; somebody, everybody appeared to have known before, at every instant of it, where she was; so that she was now suddenly able to put it to herself that that hadn't been a life.

little and then gone back.  Miss Mavis hadn't turned up—and she didn't turn up.  The stewardess began to look for her—she hadn't been seen on deck or in the saloon.  Besides, she wasn't dressed—not to show herself; all her clothes were in her

If you are asking did I support the Soviet Union, yes I did. Yes, I did support the Soviet Union, and I think the disappearance of the Soviet Union is the biggest catastrophe of my life.

The premise of 'Descent' may sound pretty straightforward: One summer morning while vacationing with her family in the foothills of the Rockies, a young girl, a high-school athlete in her senior year, goes out for a run in the higher altitudes - and disappears.

On embarking to return we could perceive no sign of One Tree Island; and as we swept down towards the sea the leafy top of a tree seen in the clear water under the boat was the only evidence of its existence; though a few hours ago it had formed so prominent an object.

Being nominated is such a tremendous honor. An Oscar win for me and for the 'Strong Island' team would be the cap to an incredible journey. But it would also mean that my brother will not disappear from history.

There was a strange happening during a performance of Elgar's 'Sea Pictures' at a concert hall in Bermuda tonight, when the man playing the triangle disappeared.

If she let herself feel warmly for someone, she feared she would disappear into the other, and enter a marginal, formless world, part human, part inanimate. Here hands, symbolic for her of human connectedness, reached out to her to lure her into a nonhuman nightmare.

I searched until I panted for breath, but could not find it. The solid stone structure was nowhere to be seen. The house was gone - and Merlin with it.

Actually I ran away from school when I was 13. No one could find me, and the police were called. I was just hiding in a little thicket of grass at my school, and went to sleep.

In writing, the point is not to manifest or exalt the act of writing, nor is it to pin a subject within language; it is, rather, a question of creating a space into which the writing subject constantly disappears.

It is no longer possible to think in our day other than in the void left by man's disappearance.

Writing unfolds like a game that invariably goes beyond its own rules and transgresses its limits. In writing, the point is not to manifest or exalt the act of writing, nor is it to pin a subject within language; it is rather a question of creating a space into which the writing subject constantly disappears.

The lodger told Anfisa, Anna Frantsevna's long-time and devoted housekeeper, to say, in case he received any telephone calls, that he would be back in ten minutes, and left together with the proper, white-gloved policeman. He not only did not come back in ten minutes, but never came back at all.

He's already the devil knows where!

Well, how are they going to find you missing?' Koroviev soothed him, and some papers and ledgers turned up in his hands. 'By your medical records?' 'Yes . . .' Koroviev flung the medical records into the fireplace. 'No papers, no person,' Koroviev said with satisfaction.

Behind the Blue Division, the frost-bitten horses of Kozyr-Leshko's cavalry regiment crossed the bridge at a wolfish lope followed by a rumbling, bouncing field-kitchen . . . then it all disappeared as if it had never been. All that remained was the stiffening corpse of a Jew on the approach to the bridge, some trampled hay and horse-dung.