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61 " Nothing is more tragic than loving someone to the depths of your soul and knowing they cannot and will not ever love you back. "
― Rick Riordan , The Hidden Oracle (The Trials of Apollo, #1)
62 " I would rather drown in the depths of Love than splash around on the shore of complacency. "
― Mishi McCoy
63 " How closely flattery resembles friendship! It not only apes friendship, but outdoes it, passing it in the race; with wide-open and indulgent ears it is welcomed and sinks to the depths of the heart, and it is pleasing precisely wherein it does harm. "
― Seneca
64 " The essential act of war is destruction, not necessarily of human lives, but of the products of human labour. War is a way of shattering to pieces, or pouring into the stratosphere, or sinking in the depths of the sea, materials which might otherwise be used to make the masses too comfortable, and hence, in the long run, too intelligent. "
― George Orwell , 1984
65 " War always reaches the depths of horror because of idiots who perpetuate terror from generation to generation under the pretext of vengeance. "
― , The Forgotten Soldier
66 " For the briefest of instants, a miles-wide hole appeared from the middle of the Earth to the top of the sky. The Moho rang like a tuning fork in harmonic response to the billion megaton impact. Seismic waves propagated in all directions, some dampening as normal, others amplified harmonically as Earth’s interior quivered like a bowl of pudding. Seismometers spiked wildly, their needles bouncing back and forth like pin-balls.A billion megatons exploded outward from the depths of the quivering Moho blasting a crater eighty-five miles in diameter and spewing billions of tons of superheated rock twelve hundred miles into space. In the blink of an eye the Earth grew a tail, as a mushroom cloud visible from Mars formed and spread, black as the Devil's eye. "
― Raymond Dean White , Impact (The Dying Time #1)
67 " As the map of the Great Plain was being redrawn by a young Shazarian councillor, the ageing Shylonian king interrupted mid-speech to ask him his name. With a piercing glare and a haughty flick of his cloak, he retorted ‘Lord Ratilla, Shazarian Imperial Secretary, and who might you be?’ Behind the gasps of horror, the message was clear. It was Shazaria who now bestrode the Amaran world, henceforth the office of Shazarian minister now held greater prestige than even that of foreign monarchs. What became even clearer were the depths of Shazarian treachery. The impudent youth who stood before the kings of Amara stripping them of ancient provinces, was the same adolescent reputed to have delivered an eloquent speech which swayed the Shazarian councillors in favour of war.Had this been their intention all along? "
― A.H. Septimius , Crowns Of Amara: The Return Of The Oracle
68 " Wow," Puck mused, standing beside me. " The River of Dreams." ... Moons, comets and constellations rippled on the surface, and other, stranger things floated upon the misty black waters. Petals and book pages, butterfly wings and silver medals. The hilt of a sword stuck out of the water at an odd angle, the silver blade tangled with ribbons and spiderwebs. A coffin bobbed to the surface, covered in dead lilies, before sinking into the depths once more. The debris of human imaginations, floating through the dark waters of dream and nightmare. "
69 " Like seeds planted in the depths of our souls, our dreams are at the center of who we really are. Our mission and our right is to nurture them and to allow them to grow. To follow your dreams takes courage, action, persistence, time and patience, but most of all, you must first believe in them. Believing in your dreams means that you trust your aspirations exist for a reason and the reason is your calling. Believing in your dreams means that you hold true that everything is possible and you can manifest the life and experiences you desire. We know that dreaming is a form of planning. We know that everything we enjoy and appreciate around us – every advancement and contribution to society – developed from the commitment, perseverance, and belief in our dreams. "
― , The Heroines Club: A Mother-Daughter Empowerment Circle
70 " I'm lonely, Yes! I'm so lonely. I'm Just a sad tear that came out of the depths of pain. I have neither friend nor a lover. I live in an empty dark shell. Punctuated by the lights of my dreams.I hear a whisper. I hear an echo.Why everything I love in this world. It's expensive, or it makes me sad. Beyond my shell, there is an empty world.A world filled with hatred and lies. A world filled with vanity and treason. A world filled with injustice and selfishness. There is a noise in my silence, but I shout quietly.So as to your pure heart can hear me. I tried to escape from my bitter reality. A reality that walks against my dreams.I found out that sleep is my best shelter.Because life is easy when eyes are closed. So I give up my eyes, and went to sleep. Then suddenly!I felt a call, something tried to wake me up. I felt whispers caressing my soul.That together we stand, divided we fall.That you are the king of my thrown,And only beside you, I feel like I have everything.I love you my shell, my home. "
― Eyden I. , Kiss Friendzone Goodbye
71 " He was a musician of the best nature, with guitar string fingertips and soft flute lips that could tighten in a trumpet's purse. Every movement was perfect, every breath filled with purpose. Whether close or open, his eyes seeped ambition and his body burned with chaotic passion. I was his instrument and he played me so well. His fingers fashioned a tune of ecstasy while his lips felt the reed shudders of my skin. He stole my breath and made it his own, using my lips to create his climactic song. A symphony of electricity and orgasmic bliss, he played me so well his fingers never did miss. Half-circles and hooks with my parted lips as his speaker, I never knew another musician so ruthlessly eager. To finish his song, to hit every note, elongating the melody of every sound from the depths of my throat. He was ambitious, pushing my limits, tearing my reservations and destroying my thresholds, all I could do was phase in and out, my ears ringing from the ballad I was made to produce. "
72 " They flew to avoid the horrors of land and sea, Daedalus and Icarus were for few moments free. Though the sun was Icarus' ultimate bane, we came to always remember his name. For he felt the sun's burn, a lesson Daedalus would never learn. When he found his son's corpse and looked upon his face, he saw a smile there fastened in place. He continued his life wondering what his son had seen, hoping it was worth it since his dead smile was so serene. The sun always seemed to mock him after, shining, brilliant, blinding laughter. Daedalus grew withered and haunted by light, preferring the sea's air in the depths of night. He watched lunar birds soar through the stars and away, forever regretting his decision to take flight during the day. He had lost his son to the sun in a twist of anomaly, he wondered which of them truly escaped that day, in all honesty. "
73 " Proletarians of the world, look into the depths of your own beings, seek out the truth and realise it yourselves: you will find it nowhere else. "
― , History of the Makhnovist Movement, 1918-21
74 " I have lived now for over a century, yet I can still say with complete confidence that no one can claim to have plumbed the depths of human misery who has not shared the fore-ends of a submarine with a camel. "
― John Biggins , A Sailor of Austria: In Which, Without Really Intending to, Otto Prohaska Becomes Official War Hero No. 27 of the Habsburg Empire (The Otto Prohaska Novels Book 1)
75 " The alchemist picked up a book that someone in the caravan had brought. Leafing through the pages, he found a story about Narcissus.The alchemist knew the legend of Narcissus, a youth who knelt daily beside a lake to contemplate his own beauty. He was so fascinated by himself that, one morning, he fell into the lake and drowned. At the spot where he fell, a flower was born, which was called the narcissus.But this was not how the author of the book ended the story.He said that when Narcissus died, the goddesses of the forest appeared and found the lake, which had been fresh water, transformed into a lake of salty tears.'Why do you weep?' the goddesses asked.'I weep for Narcissus," the lake replied.'Ah, it is no surprise that you weep for Narcissus,' they said, 'for though we always pursued him in the forest, you alone could contemplate his beauty close at hand.''But... was Narcissus beautiful?' the lake asked.'Who better than you to know that?' the goddesses asked in wonder. 'After all, it was by your banks that he knelt each day to contemplate himself!'The lake was silent for some time. Finally, it said:'I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see, in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty reflected.''What a lovely story,' the alchemist thought. "
76 " If I had had this experience earlier in life, I would have been much wiser, much more compassionate. I really didn't understand what it was that made people who came to me so indifferent to good judgement, to common sense, or why they would say " I know, I know" when I urged a little reasonableness on them, and why it meant " It doesn't matter, I just don't care." That's what the saints and the martyrs say. And I know now that it is passion that moves them to their prodigal renunciations. I might seem to be comparing something great and holy with a minor and ordinary thing, that is, love of God with mortal love. But I just don't see them as separate things at all. If we can be divinely fed with a morsel and divinely blessed with a touch, then the terrible pleasure we find in a particular face can certainly instruct us in the nature of the very grandest love. I devoutly believe this to be true. I remember in those days loving God for the existence of love and being grateful to God for the existence of gratitude, right down in the depths of my misery. I realized many things that I am at a loss to express. And of course those feelings become milder with time, which is a mercy. "
77 " The endlessness of the extent of that whistle resulted, without a doubt, also in an enormous metaphysical knowledge of the art of whistling, which mingled, not just with the hearing of people, but extended, in an incisive manner, to the depths of their souls, the protected corner where each one hid their things- that frightening cave, which many call the centre of their being. "
― Ondjaki , The Whistler
78 " Though I am often in the depths of misery, there is still calmness, pure harmony and music inside me. I see paintings or drawings in the poorest cottages, in the dirtiest corners. And my mind is driven towards these things with an irresistible momentum. "
― Vincent van Gogh
79 " Our vanity, our passions, our spirit of imitation, our abstract intelligence, our habits have long been at work, and it is the task of art to undo this work of theirs, making us travel back in the direction from which we have come to the depths where what has really existed lies unknown within us. "
― Marcel Proust , Time Regained
80 " Man screams from the depths of his soul; the whole era becomes a single, piercing shriek. Art also screams, into the deep darkness, screams for help, screams for the spirit. This is Expressionism. "
― Hermann Bahr