Quotes About Story

Un recuerdo evocado demasiado a menudo y expresado en forma de historia tiende a convertirse en un estereotipo... cristalizado, perfeccionado, adornado, instalándose en sí mismo en lugar de la memoria pura y dura, y creciendo a sus expensas.

Alongside the liberating relief of the veteran who tells us his story, I now felt in the writing a complex, intense, and new pleasure, similar to that I felt as a student when penetrating the solemn order of differentials calculus. It was exalting to search and find, or create, the right word, that is, commensurate, concise, and strong; to dredge up events from my memory and describe them with the greatest rigor and the least clutter.

Why does it happen? Why is the pain of every day translated so constantly into our dreams, in the ever-repeated scene of the unlistened-to story?

I will tell just one more story... and I will tell it with the humility and restraint of him who knows from the start that his theme is desperate, his means feeble, and the trade of clothing facts in words is bound by its very nature to fail.

L'histoire n'était pas une tache de sauce soja aisément essuyée par une serviette rose dans la main d'une jolie jeune fille comme celle qui le conduisait à présent à sa table, près de la grande porte-fenêtre.

These five teens are convinced it was not a prank. They all believe this is the beginning of the zombie apocalypse we hear so much about. But I'm not so sure I believe their story - not this close to Halloween. The girl with the ponytail frowned at him. I know what I saw, she said. They are here!

That's a perfect Cory story. I guess you're starting to get the idea. He doesn't need a rabbit's foot for luck.

guess I could start my story by telling you about the school assembly on Monday morning. It will give you a good idea of what has been happening to me. I pushed into the third row of the auditorium

A blank isn't the same. He remembered holding the book, feeling the history of the leather cover someone had tanned and stretched and cut to fit. The paper that someone had laboriously filled by hand and sewn into the binding. Years, heavy on the pages. Morgan had been reading a copy of it. An original. It felt like the old monk's story was part of his own. But when he read it in the blank, it was just words, and it had no power to carry him away.

It still might be a shock. To realize you are just one story walking among millions.

Strand, Mark [Blah blah blah biographical information, crossed out with Sharpie pen.] We are reading the story of our lives As though we were in it, As though we had written it.

Some candle inside him was dangerously close to guttering. A definition of loneliness surfaced in his mind: when you suddenly understand that the story of your life isn't what you thought it was.

Some candle inside him was dangerously close to guttering. A definition of loneliness surfaced in his mind: when you suddenly understand that the story of your life isn't what you thought it was.

Her direct stare probed, as if the story of my life were written in my eyes in a few succinct lines that she could read.

Home was the story of what happened there, not the story of where it happened.

Every home ceased to be a home sooner or later, but not with its demolition. It survived destruction as long as just one person who had loved it still lived. Home was the story of what happened there, not the story of where it happened.

By the time Bibi reached her bedroom, she understood as never before that home wasn't a place but rather a place in the heart. In this troubled world, everything was transient except what we could carry with us in our minds and hearts. Every home ceased to be a home sooner or later, but not with its demolition. It survived destruction as long as just one person who had loved it still lived. Home was the story of what happened there, not the story of where it happened.

Toda vida es una novela. La escribimos a medida que la vivimos.

Do you know the fable titled 'The Vain Wolf and the Lion'?

Nobody wanted to read sucky novels, and those people who wanted deep meaning didn't want it in every damn story

beyond that image conjured by Poe's famous story, "The Premature Burial

She listens to Walsh describe a boat that he observed passing Oak Haven Island;

If God is an author and the universe is the biggest novel ever written, I may feel as if I'm the lead character in the story, but like every man and woman on Earth, I am a supporting player in one of billions of subplots. You know what happens to supporting players. Too often they are killed off in chapter three or in chapter ten, or in chapter thirty-five. A supporting player always has to be looking over his shoulder.

Prim and proper, a cat woman . . .Hmm, I was left to wonder. Possibly a librarian in her late forties or early fifties. In town for a special occasion? It certainly left me to ponder her story.