How nice—to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive.
— Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse Five
The more I know of the world the more I am convinced that I shall never see a man whom I can really love. I require so much!
— Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility
He would have had a wife of whose temper he could make no complaint, but he would have been always necessitous—always poor; and probably would soon have learned to rank the innumerable comforts of a clear estate and good income as of far more importance, even to domestic happiness, than the mere temper of a wife.
— Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility
Certainly not; but if you observe, people always live for ever when there is an annuity to be paid them.
— Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility
Bea says the art of reading is slowly dying, that it’s an intimate ritual, that a book is a mirror that offers us only what we already carry inside us, that when we read, we do it with all our heart and mind, and great readers are becoming more scarce by the day.
— Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind
‘People aren’t either wicked or noble,’ the hook-handed man said. ‘They’re like chef’s salad, with good things and bad things chopped and mixed together in a vinaigrette of conflict and confusion.’
— Lemony Snicket, The Grim Grotto
Few things leave a deeper mark on a reader than the first book that finds its way into his heart. Those first images, the echo of words we think we have left behind, accompany us throughout our lives and sculpt a place in our memory to which sooner or later - no matter how many books we read, how many worlds we discover, or how much we learn or forget - we will return.
— Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind
Books are mirrors: you only see in them what you already have inside you.
— Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind
The female heart is a labyrinth of subtleties, too challenging for the uncouth mind of the male racketeer. If you really want to possess a woman, you must think like her, and the first thing to do is win over her soul. The rest, that sweet, soft wrapping that steals away your senses and your virtue, is a bonus.
— Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind
Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.
— Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
Paris is the only city in the world where starving to death is still considered an art.
— Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind
Learn from me, if not by my precepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge, and how much happier that man is who believes his native town to be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature will allow.
— Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
Alas! why does man boast of sensibilities superior to those apparent in the brute; it only renders them more necessary beings. If our impulses were confined to hunger, thirst, and desire, we might be nearly free; but now we are moved by every wind that blows, and a chance word or scene that the world may convey to us.
— Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.
— Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
Certain people will dislike you on principle. It is the disadvantage of being charismatic and good-looking.
— Richard Mason, History of a Pleasure Seeker