I wish I had the power to flip my reality upside down like an hourglass, and that life wasn't a finite affair, but rather a perpetually recurring passage through a hole in time.— Anne Fortier
The most skyrocket Anne Fortier quotes to discover and learn by heart
Only weak men want women to be weak.
I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, “at nine o’clock.
Don’t open your door to anyone else.” “Not even my balcony door?” “Especially not your balcony door.
While at Oxford in 1999, I met Jonathan Fortier, who is a Montreal-born Canadian. Despite the challenges of a transatlantic relationship, we remained keen on each other and eventually married in 2002.
Peppo!" I yelled, pulling at my cousin's suspenders.
"I really don't want to be arrested, okay?" "Don't worry!" Peppo turned a corner and accelerated as he spoke. "I go too fast for police!
Look,' I said, struggling to keep up, 'I just wanna make one thing absolutely clear. I don't believe in guns. I just want peace. Okay?' Alessandro stopped in the middle of the corridor, took out the gun, and wrapped my hand around it before I realized what he was doing. 'Can you feel that? That's a gun. It exists. And there are a lot of people out there who do believe in it. So, excused me for taking care of them so you can have your peace.
...had always taken for granted that the whole world was in a state of constantly fluctuating madness, and that a neurosis was not an illness, but a fact of life, like pimples.
Everything we say is a story. But nothing we say is just a story.
I absolutely believe the past had its share of warrior women who fought like men. Whether some of these were the actual Amazons from Greek myth is another matter.
If you let go of me now,” I whispered, stretching against him, “it could be another six hundred years before you find me again. Are you willing to take that risk?
It's what we call a dolce pazzia... a sweet madness. Once you feel it, you will never want to leave it.
Think about it. He drinks poison. What kind of man drinks poison? She is the one who stabs herself with his dagger. The manly way.
In many ways, a degree in the history of ideas is the ideal training for an aspiring writer.
After the dress rehearsal that afternoon, someone had misplaced the vial of poison, and for lack of better, Romeo would have to commit suicide by eating Tic Tacs.
You owe me nothing, but I want everything.
When the old men fight, the young people die.
Great love, you believe, carries the seeds of great sorrow.
The Hawley Book of the Dead had me completely spellbound from beginning to end.
A storytelling virtuosa, Chrysler Szarlan has woven a wondrous, scintillating web of suspense, love, history, and magic that will keep you eagerly turning the pages late into the night. Even readers not normally drawn to the supernatural will be swept away by this book; it has everything a great adventure should have-and so much more.
There is a trick to flying. The angels told me." He had smiled at my wide-eyed awe. "You need to forget everything you know as a human being. When you are human, you discover that there is great power in hating the earth. And it can almost make you fly. But it never will." I had frowned, not quite understanding him. "So, what's the trick?" "Love the sky.
Don't underestimate the power of events that happened a long time ago.
That is the tragic flaw of modern man.
Romeo was cute …” “Cute?” Alessandro rolled his eyes.
“What kind of man is cute?” “… and an excellent dancer …” “Romeo had feet of lead! He said so himself!” “… but most importantly,” I concluded, “he had nice hands!
She laughed out loud, a warm, knowing laughter that made me once again wonder about the secret ingredient in these women’s lives. Whatever it was, I was clearly missing it. It was so much more than just self-confidence; it seemed to be the ability to love oneself, enthusiastically and unsparingly, body and soul, naturally followed by the assumption that every man on the planet is dying to get in on the act.
I did not know my soul until I saw it's reflection in your eyes.
There is lust and then there is love.
They are related, but still very different things. To indulge in one requires little but honeyed speech and a change of clothes; to obtain the other, by contrast, a man must give up his rib. In return, his woman will undo the sin of Eve, and bring him back into Paradise.
I am sorry I didn’t tell you the truth before.
I was hoping I wouldn’t have to. You kept asking about Romeo and what he was really like. I was hoping that”—he smiled wistfully—“you would recognize me.
Who is more amateurish, more vulnerable---those who rely on machines that need to be plugged in, or logged on, or in some other way connected in order to be more than a useless slab of plastic ... or those who have learned to master life without?
A novel is, hopefully, the starting point of a conversation, one in which the author engages readers and asks that they see things from a different point of view than they might otherwise.
Verona is a very beautiful city, but Siena just never ceases to fascinate me.
But he is an Italian," was Umberto's sensible reply.
"He doesn't care if you break some law a little bit, as long as you wear beautiful shoes. Are you wearing beautiful shoes? Are you wearing the shoes I gave you?...principessa?" I looked down at my flip-flops. "I guess I'm toast.
And whether or not we had now paid our dues, he was my blessing, and I was his.
I think Shakespeare is everybody's treasure.
We are all cups, and our destiny is poured according to measures we cannot understand, cannot influence.
By the time we left college, I had become my own image: a dandelion in the flower bed of society. Kinda cute, but still a weed.
Janice used to say that instinct was reason in a hurry; I was not so sure about the reason part.
For as long as I could remember, he had never worn a single piece of clothing that could be considered casual. Khaki shorts and golf shirts, to Umberto, were the garments of men who have no virtues left, not even shame.
.... "death turns all men into great lovers. Would that they were equally ardent while the lady was still alive!
...it is fifty percent what they see, and fifty percent what they think they see.
You were right and I was wrong. When life hurts more than death, it is not worth living.
Great love, you believe, carries the seeds of great sorrow.
Well, perhaps you are right. Perhaps the wise spurn one to remain safe from the other, but I should rather choose to have my eyes burnt in their sockets than to have been born without.
She had died peacefully, in her sleep, after an evening of listening to all of her favorite Fred Astaire songs, one crackling record after another. Once the last chord of the last piece had died out, she had stood up and opened the French doors to the garden outside, perhaps waiting to breathe in the honeysuckle one more time.
Perhaps. But the firstborn of hope is tragedy.
Was I insane? Maybe. But then, there were many different kinds of insanity. Aunt Rose had always taken for granted that the whole world was in a state of constantly fluctuating madness, and that a neurosis was not an illness, but a fact of life, like pimples. Some have more, some have less, but only truly abnormal people have none at all. This commonsense philosophy had consoled me many times before, and it did now, too.