Quotes About Choice

A weapon is only a weapon with a will behind it, and a chain is only a chain when someone holds the key.

You paid your money and you picked your poison.

It would have been amazing, indeed, if my mother could have resisted him. If any woman could.

By the way, should you have the opportunity to be kidnapped by radicals, you'd rather fall in with the Right Hand Path than with Maenads, if you get the choice.

I'd had a taste of living for myself, and I could not go back to living entirely for others again.

Our patterns and stories, no matter how far back they go, can be surrendered and rewritten. We can walk away from them in any moment. Every choice can be change and every moment is a blank slate.

realized I was living in a misery of my own making. I was living in shackles I had put on myself. I was confined by walls I had built—walls I was continuing to build, choice by choice.

Our patterns and stories, no matter how far back they go, can be surrendered and rewritten. We can walk away from them in any moment. Every choice can be change and every moment is a blank slate. The way things have been does not have to be the way they continue to be.

The tumult in the heart keeps asking questions. And then it stops and undertakes to answer in the same tone of voice. No one could tell the difference. Uninnocent, these conversations start, and then engage the senses, only half-meaning to. And then there is no choice, and then there is no sense; until a name and all its connotation are the same.

I often gave way to self-pity. "Do I deserve this? I suppose I must. I wouldn't be here otherwise. Was there a moment when I actually chose this? I don't remember, but there could have been." What's wrong about self-pity, anyway? With my legs dangling down familiarly over a crater's edge, I told myself "Pity should begin at home." So the more pity I felt, the more I felt at home.

Think of the long trip home. Should we have stayed home and thought of here? Where should we be today?

The way one is envisaged by other people - what easier way is there of envisaging oneself? There is a fatalism in one's acceptance of it. Solitude is not the solution, one feels followed. Choice - choice of those who are to surround one, choice of those most likely to see you rightly - is the only escape.

A living dog's better than a dead lion.

Plot might seem to be a matter of choice. It is not. The particular plot is something the novelist is driven to: it is what is left after the whittling-away of alternatives.' Elizabeth Bowen opened her Notes on Writing a Novel (1945, reprinted in Collected Impressions, Longmans, Green & Co.

If God shall choose I shall love thee but better after death

Was honour the same as conscience? If not, how did one choose between them? And was the choice, when made, bitter as gall?

There was a dark satisfaction in choosing to remain wounded, yet he had seen what happened to Henry when he cut himself off from love.

I suspect he would rather have lived.

Grief was just the moment before you tied off the thread and began the next one. That was when you made your choice about what you were going to sew next.

That you should choose your battles wisely. You cannot fight everything and win. Sometimes the price of losing is beyond what you can afford to pay, but that applies to winning as well.

That springtime does not last forever and that the fine seasons should have their harvest gathered and stored against harsher times. That you should choose your battles wisely. You cannot fight everything and win. Sometimes the price of losing is beyond what you can afford to pay, but that applies to winning as well." She narrowed her focus on the girls. "Be very careful and think before you act. Make friends with those who you know will stay true to you and reward them fittingly.

No puedes elegir siempre como amar a una persona. El amor no es lógico o justo. Sólo pasa.

In spite of Agamemnon Achilles had greeted her clean heart. She decided, not her father - not even the gods - that she belonged to Artemis. She showed him that the way to make your fate your choice is to choose it, fearlessly, your lungs drinking the air. It makes the gods ashamed.

differently?" "I cannot go back and choose again," he replied. "So I don't ask myself what I could have done. I ask myself how I can live with it today.