Quotes About Fate

They say in the old tales that when a man and a woman exchange looks the way we did, their spirits mingle. Their gaze is a rope of gold binding each to the other. Even if they never meet again, they carry a little of the other with them always. They can never forget, and they can never be wholly happy again.

aren't we all pawns in the hands of Time, the greatest player of them all?

If she had another chance, she thinks, she would do it differently. But chance is a slippery customer, and she can feel Amit's hands growing cold.

It added that I was no ordinary person but one with a complicated destiny. My great sacrifice, it indicated, would save the world. Or did it mean that I was the great sacrifice? The bow was often troublingly ambiguous. Once it told me I wasn't a woman at all. 'What am I, then?' 'A goddess, obviously.

The life that you're living today is only a bubble in the cosmic stream, shaped by the karma of other lifetimes. The one who is your husband in this birth was perhaps your enemy in the last, and he whom you may hate, may have been your beloved. Why weep for any of them, then?

Behold, we give you this girl, a gift beyond what you asked for. Take good care of her, for she will change the course of history.

The life that you're living today is only a bubble in the cosmic stream, shaped by the karma of other lifetimes. The one who is your husband in this birth was perhaps your enemy in the last, and he whom you hate may have been your beloved. Why weep for any of them, then?

There's always a connection, a reason because of which people enter your orbit, bristling with dark energy like a meteor intent on collision.

Later I would ask, "Why did you save me, why?" The serpents never answered. What answer is there for love.

It's hard to tell them apart, what we bring upon ourselves and what destiny determines.

In only a few hours, the ground turned red as though the skies had rained blood. What would happen by the end of the eighteen days?

Fortune has hair in front but is bald behind.

No one said living isn't a pretty chancy business, Sibyl. No one gets out of here alive.

Life is the ultimate adventure, and Death, the prize that awaits us all.

Life is savagely unfair. It ignores our deep-seated convictions and places a disproportionate emphasis on the decisions we make in split seconds.

We cannot choose where to start and stop. Our stories are the tellers of us.

Women fall differently, that's all. We die by the stopping of our hearts, they by the insistence of theirs.

I hope this letter reaches you (Osama) anyway. I hope it finds you before the Americans do otherwise I'm going to wish I hadn't bothered aren't I?

The heart was a bicameral thing, both stoical and skittish. Who was to say that it mightn't endure the years of separation and the abrupt reversals of fate, only to be repulsed by a misaligned vase, by a lipsticked tooth, by a hundredth of an ounce of ash?

I know the answer to the question now, by the way: why bad things happen to good people and good things happen to bad people. It came from my inner editor, the part of me that forces the wordy writer in me to dump ninety percent of all modifiers: Ask both questions again, minus the adjectives. "Why do things happen to people?" Just because.

He knew that we take what the universe gives us, and we either get the most out of it or we don't, but in the end we all go out the same way.

One of the only coherent philosophical positions is revolt. It is a constant confrontation between man and his obscurity. It is not aspiration, for it is devoid of hope. We cannot influence fate: we will all die and our individual beings will be obliterated. But we have a choice in how we live. A living man can be enslaved and reduced to the historic condition of an object. But if he dies in refusing to be enslaved, he reaffirms the existence of another kind of human nature.

Sometimes, our fates are no longer ours to decide, and we can only grip our fists until our knuckles turn white and hang on for the rest of the ride.

Last week at school Pam Struger wondered why the brilliant girls all die.