Quotes About Story

I feel like my music is just an extension of my acting. I treat the songs like scenes that tell a story... it's very similar. My favorite thing is when cartoon fans show up to my live gigs! They are always the most kick-butt audience members 'cause they're not trying to act all cool like a lot of the music fans do! It's refreshing!!

If you've heard this story before, don't stop me, because I'd like to hear it again.

Câu chuy?n v? ngh? thu?t chính là câu chuy?n v? s? b?t tuân th?.

Il tempo è come le pagine di un libro: nel momento in cui legge la pagina 66, le pagine 67 e 68 sono già scritte.

Carmen Cardoso believed the most dangerous tale of all: the one of the prince who would save her.

But I think it is a hopeful story. Is not some underwater paradise preferable to a life of poverty and incest and violence?

Los mortales no entienden que la vida no es un libro que cierras solo cuando has leído la última página. No existe tal cosa en el Libro de la Vida, ya que la última página siempre es la misma de la historia siguiente.

Or maybe the labyrinth had been built just for this purpose—to have them all play their part in a story written once upon a time and long ago.

Even when you're making a movie about life, death is a presence, and I guess it's part of my dramatic viewpoint. I'm not sure why exactly. Maybe I'm drawn to it as a story element.

If you don't have the story and the unfolding of the trajectory of the saga, it's like getting in a car and not having any gas.

Analogous examples are innumerable. As I write these lines the papers are full of the story of two little girls found drowned in the Seine. These children, to begin with, were recognised in the most unmistakable manner by half a dozen witnesses. All the affirmations were in such entire concordance that no doubt remained in the mind of the juge d'instruction.

Lives do not have plots, only biographies do.

I knew, once, a woman diamond bright, and two men I will not forget. I played a part in a story in a fierce, wild, windblown time. I do have that. I always will. I am here and it is mine, for as near to always as we are allowed.

I don't enjoy movies in 3D. I find I can't engage with the story as well.

My book was powerless. The hall was so narrow. I could not run away from you. If I stayed there facing you, it was not out of courage but out of fear, that is the truth - fear of seeing and fear of being seen. But my soul already saw the other truth. Only my soul can tell the story that began in this doorway, slightly to the left of my gaze. There is no other witness. My soul alone saw the struggle.

Your book of life is your story to tell, and the choices you make write the chapters.

I believe that life always has a way of surprising you, for better or for worse, And that you always have a choice as to how the story ends...

Achieving a more conscious participation in a richer story proves a great gift after all.

Without a larger measure of consciousness, we cannot begin to struggle with fate. We rather remain its prisoner. It behooves all of us to look at the prevalent patterns of our lives and ask what "story" they might be serving.

Personhood is not a gift; it is a continuing struggle; the gift is attained later, and only from living a mindful journey where, prompted by an inner summons, we write our story at last.

Why was the host (victim predestined) sad? He wished that a tale of a deed should be told of a deed not by him should by him not be told.

But the participants [in war] never forgot the details of their experience, and like the Wandering Jew, they were condemned to remain their own history books, each containing a story they could not pass on to others and from which no one would learn anything of value.

But perhaps age has taught me that the earth is still new, molten at the core and still forming, that black leaves in the winter forest will crawl with life in the spring, that our story is ongoing and it is indeed a crime to allow the heart's energies to dissipate with the fading of light on the horizon.

But perhaps age has taught me that the earth is still new, molten at the core and still forming, that black leaves in the winter forest will crawl with life in the spring, that our story is ongoing and it is indeed a crime to allow the heart's energies to dissipate with the fading of light on the horizon. I can't be sure. I brood upon it and sleep little. I wait like a denied lover for the blue glow of dawn.