Um einen Kommentar zu einem Spruch einzutragen, brauchst du nichts weiter als einen Benutzernamen und deinen Kommentar.
Dazu musst du noch nicht einmal registriert sein.
Es gibt eine Vielzahl von Smileys, aus denen du wählen kannst (beim Klick auf "mehr Smilies" öffnet sich ein neues Fenster), bitte
gehe trotzdem sparsam damit um.
Um deine Nachricht besonders zu gestalten, kannst du BB-Code verwenden oder einfach auf die Schaltflächen rechts über dem Eingabefeld
klicken (dazu muss Javascript aktiviert sein).
Hier bei den Kommentaren sind nicht alle BB-Codes erlaubt, z.B. darfst du hier nicht zitieren oder Bilder einfügen.
Suche nach allen englischen Sprüchen, die den Tag 'aus Büchern' besitzen
The grass is not, in fact, always greener on the other side of the fence. Fences have nothing to do with it. The grass is greenest where it is watered. When crossing over fences, carry water with you and tend the grass wherever you may be.
You don't have to be an academic. You don't have to be anything. Don't force it. Feel your way, and don't stop feeling your way until something fits. Maybe nothing will. Maybe you are a road, not a destination. That is fine. Be a road. But make sure it's one with something to look at out of the window.
If you have children and love one more than another, work at it. They will know, even if it's by a single atom less. A single atom is all you need to make a very big explosion.
To like something is to insult it. Love it or hate it. Be passionate. As civilisation advances, so does indifference. It is a disease. Immunise yourself with art. And love.
When you watch the news and see members of your species in turmoil, do not think there is nothing you can do. But know it is not done by watching news.
Sometimes, to be yourself you have to forget yourself and become something else. Your character is not a fixed thing. You will sometimes have to move to keep up with it.
Humans are always doing things they don't like doing. In fact, to my best estimate, at any one time only point three percent of humans are actively doing something they like doing, and even when they do so, they feel an intense amount of guilt about it and are fervently promising themselves they'll be back doing something horrendously unpleasant very shortly.
[...] being human is being a young child on Christmas Day who receives and absolutely magnificent castle. And there is a perfect photograph of this castle on the box and you want more than anything to play with the castle and the knights and the princesses because it looks like such a perfect human world, but the only problem is that the castle isn't built. It's in tiny intricate pieces, and although there's a book of instructions you don't understand it. And nor can your parents or Aunt Sylvie. So you are just left, crying at the ideal castle on the box which no one would ever be able to build.
Past and future are myths. The past is just the present that has died and the future will never exists anyway, because by the time we get to it the future will have turned into the present. The present is all there is. The ever-moving, ever-changing present. And the present is fickle. It can only be caught by letting go.
The point of love is to help you survive. The point is also to forget meaning. To stop looking and start living. The meaning is to hold the hand of someone you care about and to live inside the present.
[...] this is the species whose main excuse for not doing something is 'if only I had more time'. Perfectly valid until you realise they do have more time. Not eternity, granted, but they have tomorrow. And the day after tomorrow. In fact, I would have to write 'the day after' thirty thousand times before a final 'tomorrow' in order to illustrate the amount of time on a human's hands.
Some humans not only like violence, but crave it [...]. Not because they want pain, but because they already have pain and want to be distracted away from that kind of pain with a lesser kind.
[...] the whole of human history is full of people who tried against the odds. Some succeeded, most failed, but that hasn't stopped them. Whatever else you could say about these particular primates, they could be determined.
That is the fear: I have lost something important, and I cannot find it, and I need it. It is fear like if someone lost his glasses and went to the glasses store and they told him that the world had run out of glasses and he would just have to do without.
[...] A lot of times, people die how they live. And so last words tell me a lot about who people were, and why they became the sort of people biographies get written about.
That's always seemed so ridiculous to me, that people want to be around someone because they're pretty. It's like picking your breakfeast cereals based on color instead of taste.
Before I got here, I thought for a long time that the way out of the labyrinth was to pretend that it did not exist, to build a small, self-sufficient world in the back corner of the endless maze and to pretend that I was not lost, but home.
Thomas Edison's last words were 'It's very beautiful over there'. I don't know where there is, but I believe it's somewhere, and I hope it's beautiful.
The weird thing about houses is that they almost always look like nothing is happening inside of them, even though they contain most of our lives. I wondered if that was sort of the point of architecture.
Sometimes you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read that book.
But, in fact, depression is not a side effect of cancer. Depression is a side effect of dying. (Cancer is also a side effect of dying. Almost everything is, really.)
When adults say, "Teenagers think they are invincible" with that sly, stupid smile on their faces, they don't know how right they are. We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. We think that we are invincible because we are. We cannot be born, and we cannot die. Like all energy, we can only change shapes and sizes and manifestations. They forget that when they get old. They get scared of losing and failing. But that part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail.
You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about how you'll escape it one day, and how awesome it will be, and imagining that future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present.
Touching now the point of human skill, reason becomes the marshal to my will, and leads me to your eyes, where I o' erlook love's stories, written in love's richest book.
To you your father should be as a god, one that compos'd your beauties: yea, and one to whom you are but a form in wax, by him imprinted, and within his power to leave the figure, or disfigure it.
Der Vater sollte wie ein Gott Euch sein, der Euren Reiz gebildet; ja, wie einer, dem Ihr nur seid wie ein Gepräg, in Wachs von seiner Hand gedrückt, wie's ihm gefällt, es stehnzulassen oder auszulöschen.
I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!
Maybe it's always pepper that makes people hot-tempered and vinegar that makes them sour – and camomile that makes them bitter – and – and barley-sugar and such things that make children sweet-tempered. I only wish that people knew that: then they wouldn't be so stingy about it, you know.
"Then you should say what you mean," the March Hare went on. "I do," Alice hastily replied; "at least – at least I mean what I say – that's the same thing, you know." "Not the same thing a bit!" said the Hatter. "You might just as well say that 'I see what I eat' is the same thing as 'I eat what I see'!"
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
We all leave one another. We die, we change - it's mostly change - we outgrow our best friends; but even if I do leave you, I will have passed on to you something of myself; you will be a different person because of knowing me; it's inescapable...
What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again.
