scribble QUOTES

1 " This was the time when all we could talk about was sentences, sentences—nothing else stirred us. Whatever happened in those days, whatever befell our regard, Clea and I couldn’t rest until it had been converted into what we told ourselves were astonishingly unprecedented and charming sentences:
“Esther’s cleavage is something to be noticed” or “You can’t have a contemporary prison without contemporary furniture” or “I envision an art which will make criticism itself seem like a cognitive symptom, one which its sufferers define to themselves as taste but is in fact nothing of the sort” or “I said I want my eggs scrambled not destroyed.”
At the explosion of such a sequence from our green young lips, we’d rashly scribble it on the wall of our apartment with a filthy wax pencil, or type it twenty-five times on the same sheet of paper and then photocopy the paper twenty-five times and then slice each page into twenty-five slices on the paper cutter in the photocopy shop and then scatter the resultant six hundred and twenty-five slips of paper throughout the streets of our city, fortunes without cookies. "

― Jonathan Lethem

2 " Sometimes, when it’s going badly, she wonders if what she believes to be a love of the written word is really just a fetish for stationery. The true writer, the born writer, will scribble words on scraps of litter, the back of a bus tickets, on the wall of a cell. Emma is lost on anything less than 120gsm. "

― David Nicholls , One Day

3 " He whistles. Que viva Colombia. Hands you back the Book. You really should write the cheater's guide to love.

You think?

I do.

It takes a while. You see the tall girl. You go to more doctors. You celebrate Arlenny's Ph.D defense. And then one June night you scribble the ex's name and: The half-life of love is forever.

You bust out a couple more things. Then you put your head down. The next day you look at the new pages. For once you don't want to burn them or give up writing forever. It's a start, you say to the room.

That's about it. In the months that follow you bend to the work, because it feels like hope, like grace—and because you know in your lying cheater's heart that sometimes a start is all we ever get. "

― Junot Díaz , This Is How You Lose Her

4 " As Danton sees it, the most bizarre aspect of Camille's character is his desire to scribble over every blank surface; he sees a guileless piece of paper, virgin and harmless, and persecutes it till it is black with words, and then besmirches its sister, and so on, through the quire. "

― Hilary Mantel , A Place of Greater Safety

5 " They are many wounded hearts here. Many! Some admit. Others - the stubborn ones, scribble poetry instead. "

― Saru Singhal

6 " Your eyes are like heavy rain
falling from pregnant clouds.
With one glance, you washed away
the poems I chalked on the ground
and drowned all my beliefs.
Now, I only scribble your name
and believe in your truth.
I know nothing but you. "

― Kamand Kojouri

7 " When Malingeau drew himself from his long sleep, the music was still droning in his head. Christelle was already gone. She had taken care to scribble a line on a scrap of paper." I drank your body until my thirst was worn. "

8 " God isn't going to scribble across the sky. " The shark is gone. "

9 " No man has your love at heart, they all pretend to be what they are not. They would rather write you out of relevance and reckoning than recommend you for elevation and prosperity. Your destiny is in your hands and it will take you to scribble boldly what you want the world to read about you.... "

― ,

10 " A few lessons learned as a teacher: I've learned that if you whisper, children will listen...a scribble can be anything (I mean anything!) a monster, a cat, a mom, a dad--our job is to ask to find out and pay attention--usually the most challenging student needs the most challenges to keep them learning and engaged---most of all we must care and the rest handles itself. xo "

― Jill Telford

11 " Whenever someone says some- thing about us, it gets written inside us, permanently. The good words, the ugly words, it’s all right here.” I placed a palm against my chest. “Sure, you can scribble out the words or try to paint over them, but beneath the layers of paint and ink, they’re still there, branded to our cores like initials carved in a tree. "

― Cole Gibsen , Life Unaware

12 " I don't remember much, which is a kind of mercy,I suppose. I see it in patterns.
Sometimes it's like a scribble on a wall- no matter how many times you paint over it, a bit of it always comes through, but not enough to put together the whole.
I try not to think about it too much. "

― Amitav Ghosh , The Glass Palace

13 " There are many wounded hearts here. Many! Some admit. Others - the stubborn ones, scribble poetry instead. "

― Saru Singhal

14 " Sometimes ideas flow from my mind in a raging river of stringed sentences; I can scarcely scribble on the page fast enough to keep up with the mental current. Sometimes, however, beavers move in and dam the whole thing up. "

― Richelle E. Goodrich

15 " She writes like an angel, it says of Laura on the back of one of the editions of The Blind Assassin. An American edition, as I recall, with gold scrollwork on the cover: they set a lot of store by angels in those parts. In point of fact angels don't write much. They record sins and the names of the dammed and the saved, or they appear as disembodied hands and scribble warnings on walls. Or they deliver messages, few of which are good news: God be with you is not an unmixed blessing. "

― Margaret Atwood , The Blind Assassin

16 " There is a weird kind of anonymity a roller coaster provides: It’s populated, but everyone’s too preoccupied with whirling around the roof of a casino to eavesdrop. It runs a fixed amount of time, has minimal surveillance for lack of a way to descramble the audio, and it’s conveniently out of earshot for certain writer- types who might scribble down the plan. "

― Daniel Younger , The Wrath of Con

17 " When I look up at Heaven,
I see the souls of those who died
Beaming down at me,
Wanting to scream: “I'm still alive!”,
Wishing to scribble across the sapphire sky -
Letters to their loved ones,
But a million dark oceans stand between us,
Between those who passed and the living,
Between those of us still stuck below,
And those who have crossed over the threshold of time -
Where what seems like eternity to us,
Is really only a few minutes to them.
So you see, there is no reason to weep over the shining ones -
For even though the space that separates us is limitless,
The wall of time that divides us is only paper-thin.
And one day, we shall all reunite with them,
When our souls are released like fish
Back into the vast shimmering sea
To shine together like
Glittering diamonds. "

― , Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem

18 " This hinted at something that no one had ever suspected -- that the brain tracks moving things more easily that still things. We have a built-in bias toward detecting action. Why? Because it's probably more critical for animals to spot moving things (predators, prey, falling trees) than static things, which can wait. In fact, our vision is so biased toward movement that we don't technically see stationary objects at all. To see something stationary, our brains have to scribble our eyes subtly over its surface. Experiments have even proven that if you artificially stabilize an image on the retina with a combination of special contact lenses and microelectronics, the image will vanish. "

― Sam Kean , The Tale of the Dueling Neurosurgeons: The History of the Human Brain as Revealed by True Stories of Trauma, Madness, and Recovery

19 " Here, this is for you," the girl said, holding out one of the pages on which she'd been drawing." Oh, I... well, thank you." Meg reached out and took the sketch between her fingers.Gazing down, her eyes widened. Instead of the typical childish scribble she'd expected, she discovered two well-rendered figures. The style was a bit loose, and still immature with a tendency to distort the proportions. Even so, it was refined enough enough to have captured remarkably accurate likenesses of her and Cade seated side by side on the sofa. Esme might be only be nine years of age, but already she was an exceptional artist, better than many adults would ever hope to be." This is... extraordinary," Meg said." It's you and Cade," the girl offered, clutching a small fist against her yellow wool skirt. " Do you like it?" " I most certainly do. How could I not? You've drawn Cade and me so perfectly. It's beautiful." The girl's oval features came alive with a pleased smile. " Good night, Miss Amberley. I'm glad you're going to be my sister." At a sudden loss for what she knew would never be, Meg settled on the only honest reply she could offer." Sweet dreams, Esme. "

20 " The greatest gift of life on the mountain is time. Time to think or not think, read or not read, scribble or not scribble -- to sleep and cook and walk in the woods, to sit and stare at the shapes of the hills. I produce nothing but words; I consumer nothing but food, a little propane, a little firewood. By being utterly useless in the calculations of the culture at large I become useful, at last, to myself. "

― , The Best American Nonrequired Reading 2009

1
2