Colleen Mccullough Quotes

Never forget, Caelius, that a great man makes his luck. Luck is there for everyone to seize. Most of us miss our chances; we're blind to our luck. He never misses a chance because he's never blind to the opportunity of the moment.

There are no ambitions noble enough to justify breaking someone's heart.

When we press the thorn to our chest we know, we understand, and still we do it.

There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. And, dying, it rises above its own agony to outcarol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative song, existence the price. But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles. For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain… Or so says the legend.

Belief doesn't rest on proof or existence...it rests on faith...without faith there is nothing.

..the best is only bought at the cost of great pain...or so says the legend

If you love people, they kill you. If you need people, they kill you. They do I tell you!

What was sleep? A blessing, a respite from life, an echo of death, a demanding nuisance?

There is a legend about a bird which sings only once in it's life, more beautifully than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves it's nest, it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then, it impales it's breast on the longest, sharpest thorn. But as it is dying, it rises above it's own agony to outsing the Lark and the Nightingale. The Thornbird pays it's life for that one song, and the whole world stills to listen, and God in his heaven smiles, as it's best is brought only at the cost of great pain; Driven to the thorn with no knowledge of the dying to come. But when we press the thorn to our breast, we know, we understand.... and still, we do it." ~ Colleen McCullough

And gradually his memory slipped a little, as memories do, even those with so much love attached to them; as if there is an unconscious healing process within the mind which mends up in spite of our desperate determination never to forget.

Each of us has something within us which won't be denied, even if it makes us scream aloud to die. We are what we are, that's all. Like the old Celtic legend of the bird with the thorn in its breast, singing its heart out and dying. Because it has to, its self-knowledge can't affect or change the outcome, can it? Everyone singing his own little song, convinced it's the most wonderful song the world has ever heard. Don't you see? We create our own thorns, and never stop to count the cost. All we can do is suffer the pain, and tell ourselves it was well worth it.

For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain.

You still think love can save us. It’s more killing than hate. Hate is so clean, so simple. Like being in the ring. With hate, you just keep hitting. You hit until they stop hitting back. With love… They never stop.

Truly God was good, to make man so blind.

Love and hate are cruel, only liking is kind

The bird with the thorn in its breast, it follows an immutable law; it is driven by it knows not what to impale itself, and die singing. At the very instant the thorn enters there is no awareness in it of the dying to come; it simply sings and sings until there is not the life left to utter another note. But we, when we put the thorns in our breasts, we know. We understand. And still we do it. Still we do it.

...she looked like the sort of woman most men would want to get to know because they weren't sure what went on inside.

The best thing about being 40 is that you can appreciate 25-year-old men more.

Perfection in anything is unbearably dull. Myself, I prefer a touch of imperfection.

But we, when we put the thorns in our breasts, we know. We understand. And still we do it. Still we do it.

How frightening, that one person could mean so much, so many things.

Twelve thousand miles of it, to the other side of the world. And whether they came home again or not, they would belong neither here, nor there, for they would have lived on two continents and sampled two different ways of life.

There was some justice in his pain

Казваш, че ме обичаш, но нямаш представа какво е любов; само редиш думи, които си научил наизуст, защото ти се струва, че звучат добре

You just hang onto the thought that every dog has its day, even the bitches

The law should not be a huge and weighty slab which falls upon a man and squashes him into a uniform shape, for men are not uniform.

We're working-class people, which means we don't get rich or have maids. Be content with what you are and what you have.

I can’t share your love of God. But I do understand your need to give your life to him. Each of us has within us something that just won’t be denied. Something to which we are driven even though it makes us scream aloud to die.

No man sees himself in a mirror as he really is, nor any woman.

Best of all she liked his eyes, such a translucent golden brown, and so laughing.

Yet there's something ominous about turning sixty-five. Suddenly old age is not a phenomenon which will occur; it has occurred.

Oh, that feels good! I don't know who invented ties and then insisted a man was only properly dressed when he wore one, but if I ever meet him, I'll strangle him with his own invention

We can know what we do wrong even before we do it, but self-knowledge can't affect or change the outcome, can it? Everyone singing his own little song, convinced it's the most wonderful song the world has ever heard. Don't you see? We create our own thorns, and never stop to count the cost. All we can do is suffer the pain, and tell ourselves it was well worth it.

Всеки от нас носи в себе си нещо, от което не може да се отрече, дори то да ни кара да вием от болка и да призоваваме смъртта. Такива сме си и това е!

For the best is only brought at the cost of great pain. Or so says the legend.

Nothing is given without a disadvantage in it,

It's not worth getting upset about, Mrs. Dominic. Down in the city they don't know how the other half lives, and they can afford the luxury of doting on their animals as if they were children. Out here it's different. You'll never see man, woman or child in need of help go ignored out here, yet in the city those same people who dote on their pets will completely ignore a cry of help from a human being.

Às vezes a distância não conta, pensou, às vezes reduz-se ao silêncio breve que espaça as batidas de um coração.

Maybe no great man is virtuous. Or good. Perhaps a man rich in those qualities by definition is barred from greatness.

Living’s for those of us who failed. Greedy God, gathering in the good ones, leaving the world to the rest of us, to rot.

He owe his wife a debt he couldn't hope to pay with any coin save one: open the cage and let the bird fly.

For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain

И ето пак: посреща лошото с вдигната глава, поема новия удар- без вик, без сълзи, без протест. Само леко трепва, сякаш да намести товар, за да може по- добре да го носи. И затаи дъх, без дори да въздъхне. "- Колийн Маккълоу, Птиците умират сами

All that power held dormant, sleeping, only needing the detonation of a touch to trigger a chaos in which mind was subservient to passion, mind’s will extinguished in body’s will.

Age brought wisdom, but it also brought a genuine gratitude for the happiness of sharing life with someone as much liked as loved.

But not we men. We weren't fit to be told. For so you women think, and hug your mysteries, getting your backs on us for the slight God did in not creating you in His image.

Something in her little soul was old enough and woman enough to feel the irresistible, stinging joy of being needed; she sat rocking his head back and forth, until his grief expended itself in emptiness.

No creo que el final sea muy feliz. Creo que obtendremos el resultado que se obtiene siempre con la imparcialidad. Nadie nos dará las gracias, y todos nos criticarán.

- Мислех, че съм успяла да те натикам в миша дупка завинаги. - Един свестен мъж не може да остане в миша дупка завинаги.

- Питай Господ, Ралф. - отвърна Меги - Той знае всичко за болката. Нали той ни е създал такива - и нас, и целия свят. Значи той е създал и болката.

Love isn't truly the body. Love is freedom to roam the heart and mind of the beloved.

But work used to be the lot of every man, and now it is rapidly becoming an aristocratic privilege. Men nowadays are more often paid not to work.

Suddenly the thought that the end of her life was imminent shocked him; it was one thing to pity someone he didn't know, quite another to face the same dilemma with someone he knew intimately. That was the trouble with beds. They turned strangers into intimates more quickly than ten years of polite teas in parlours.

Until you can leave the matter of forgiveness to God, you will not have acquired true humility.

father could hope for in a son.To have

stayed as close to Theatre as she could, working Casualty or Men’s;

Họ không muốn có nhiều người vây quanh giữa lúc buồn khổ, họ thích đối diện một mình với nỗi thương đau.

I’ll aways be wondering how you are, what you’re doing, if you’re all right, if there’s anything I could do to help you. I’ll even have to wonder if you’re still alive, won’t I?

Later on after the war was over the women were to find this constantly; the men who had actually been in the thick of battle never opened their mouths about it, refused to join the ex-soldiers’ clubs and leagues, wanted nothing to do with institutions perpetuating the memory of war.

The lioness in Rome is quiet. I will not wake her to seek more money.

Nav jēgas bārstīt Šekspīru tur, kur gluži labi pietiek ar grafomānu.

Cerība ir visnežēlīgākā pavadone, un reizēm otram vislabāk var palīdzēt, nogalinot viņā bezcerīgu cerību.

Rain, rain, rain. Like a benediction from some vast inscrutable hand, long withheld, finally given. The blessed, wonderful rain. For rain meant grass, and grass was life.

Что толку томиться по человеку, если он все равно твоим никогда не будет?

helaban

if you only shine lights on your flaws, all your perfects will dim

No one ever dreamed that she loathed the willow pattern tea set, the blue table and chairs, and Agnes’s blue dress.

Ôi, cuộc sống là một cực hình ghê gớm. Ta chỉ có đủ can đảm đi men bên rìa cuộc sống.

What could death be for him but the entrance into everlasting life? For the rest of us, the passage is not so easy.

Duty, the most indecent of all obsessions, was only another name for love.

A man who has nothing to lose have everything to gain, and a man without feelings cannot hurt.

Сълзитe я заслепяваха, сърцето й бе свито от непозната до сега болка, защото никога преди не бе притежавала нещо, заради което да тъгува

Chính cuộc sống này mới là địa ngục; một bản án nô lệ suốt đời ở trần thế.

Was war eigentlich Besonderes mit dem nächtlichen Himmel? Dass, wie von einer sonst verschlossenen Truhe, der blaue Deckel des Tages hochgeklappt worden war und der Mensch nun gleichsam einen Blick werfen konnte in die Ewigkeit?

You still think love can save us. It's more killing than hate. Hate is so clean, so simple. Like being in the ring. With hate, you just keep hitting back. You hit until they stop hitting back. With love... they never stop." ~ (Frank)

And gradually his memory slipped a little, as memories do, even those with so much love attached to them; as if there is an unconscious healing process within the mind which mends us in spite of our desperate determination never to forget.

There's a story... a legend, about a bird that sings just once in its life. From the moment it leaves its nest, it searches for a thorn tree... and never rests until it's found one. And then it sings... more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. And singing, it impales itself on the longest, sharpest thorn. But, as it dies, it rises above its own agony, to outsing the lark and the nightingale. The thorn bird pays its life for just one song, but the whole world stills to listen, and God in his heaven smiles.

We are not here together just to make children, Elizabeth. What we're going to do is sanctified by marriage. It's an act of love - of love. Not merely of the flesh, but of the mind and even the soul. There's nothing about it you shouldn't welcome.

Then God's a bigger poofter than Sweet Willie. "You might be right" said Justine. "He certainly isn't too fond of women, anyway. Second-class, that's us, way back in the Upper Circle. Front Stalls and the Mezzanine, strictly male.

Great literature was never intended to be either facsimile or echo of real life; it was meant to shut out real life for a while, to free the harried mind from mundane considerations, so that the mind could holiday amid glorious language and vivid word-pictures and inspiring or alluring ideas.

Tại sao chúng ta lại đau xót? Con may mắn được sớm thoát khỏi cuộc sống mỏi mệt này. Chính cuộc sống này mới là địa ngục; một bản án nô lệ suốt đời ở trần thế. Chúng ta phải chịu đựng sự đau khổ trong địa ngục này khi chúng ta còn sống là như thế

The shock of having to pull herself up in the midst of a spontaneous reaction — I must remember to tell Dane about this, he’ll get such a kick out of it — that was what hurt the most. And because it kept on occurring so often, it prolonged the grief.

— Съмнявах се в себе си, Рейн. Винаги съм се съмнявала. И може би винаги ще се съмнявам. — О, херцхен, надявам се, че няма да е така. За мен никога не ще има друга. Само ти. Цял свят го знае от години. Но обясненията в любов не значат нищо. Бих могъл да ти ги повтарям, да крещя дори, без да разсея ни най-малко съмненията ти. Затова не ти говорих за любовта си, Джъстийн; преживявах я. Как можеш да се съмняваш в чувствата на най-верния си поклонник?

It’s Fortune,” he said. “I was given the hardest consulship a man has ever had. Just as I was given the hardest life a man has ever had. I’m not the kind to surrender, and I’m not the kind to care how I win. There are plenty of eggs in the cups and plenty of dolphins down. But the race won’t be over until I’m dead.

Why shouldn't the living cords which lace our being together flick softly against a loved one in the very moment of their unraveling?...Sometimes, all the miles between are as nothing, sometimes, they are narrowed to the little silence between the beats of a heart.

Corunda Base Hospital itself continued to function on doctors, nurses, domestic staff, food preparers, and ancillary staff in the same old way, so that the patients lived (or died) in relative ignorance of the drama going on at an executive level. Indeed, it was a rare patient even knew that a hospital had executives.

There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. And, dying, it rises above its own agony to outcarol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative song, existence the price. But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles. For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain… Or so says the legend.” —Colleen McCullough, The Thorn Birds

Meggie dropped to her knees, scrambling frantically to collect the miniature clothes before more damage was done them, then she began picking among the grass blades where she thought the pearls might have fallen. Her tears were blinding her, the grief in her heart new, for until now she had never owned anything worth grieving for.

Though they were very dissimilar in character, they also shared many tastes and appetites, and those they didn’t share they tolerated in each other with instinctive respect, as a necessary spice of difference. They knew each other very well indeed. Her natural tendency was to deplore human failings in others and ignore them in herself; his natural tendency was to understand and forgive human failings in others, and be merciless upon them in himself. She felt herself invincibly strong; he knew himself perilously weak.

Птичката с тръна в гърдите следва неумолим закон.Сама не знае какво я кара да забие шипа в сърцето си и да умре, пеейки. Когато острия трън я пронизва,тя не подозира, че я очаква смърт..само пее и пее, докато не и останат сили да издаде нито звук повече. Но ние- когато ние забиваме шипа в гърдите си, знаем. Разбираме. И все пак го правим. Все пак го правим.

Quand vous avancerez en âge, vous vous apercevez que la vie est faites de rencontres, de connaissances et de séparations. Parfois, nous aimons les gens que nous rencontrons, parfois, nous ne les aimons pas, mais les connaitre est ce qu'il y a de plus important dans la vie, c'est cela qui fait de nous des être humains.

La buena literatura nunca había tenido por objeto ser un ejemplo o eco de la vida real, sino que estaba hecha para abstraer al lector momentáneamente de la vida, liberando su mente de consideraciones para posibilitar su solaz con el glorioso lenguaje de vívidas composiciones de palabras en forma de ideas imaginarias o fantasiosas.

Не че беше светица или нещо повече от другите. Тя просто никога не се оплакваше и бе надарена- или прокълната- със способността да приема нещата. Каквото и да станеше, каквото и да я сполетеше, тя го посрещаше, приемаше и трупаше на склад като гориво за двигателя на своя живот.

Kovėsi jis geriau negu kada nors gyvenime, regis, buvo pasiryžęs sutelkti visą didžiulę jį lydinčią šlovę į šią vienintelę dieną. Užuot pasidavęs įprastiniam siautuliui žudyti, stengėsi, kad sektųsi mirmidonams. Kovėsi nebe kirviu, o kalaviju ir visiškai tylomis, kaip karalius, kasmet atliekantis didįjį atnašavimą dievui. Ta mintis patraukė paskui save kitą, ir aš iš karto supratau, kokia permaina jame įvykusi. Visada jis būdavo tik karalaitis, niekada nebuvo karalius. O tą dieną jis buvo karalius.

Luke’s not a bad man, or even an unlikable one,” she went on. “Just a man. You’re all the same, great big hairy moths bashing yourselves to pieces after a silly flame behind a glass so clear your eyes don’t see it. And if you do manage to blunder your way inside the glass to fly into the flame, you fall down burned and dead. While all the time out there in the cool night there’s food, and love, and baby moths to get. But do you see it, do you want it? No! It’s back after the flame again, beating yourselves senseless until you burn yourselves dead!

От свободно падащите черни къдрави коси и поразително сините очи до изящните ръце и крака отец Ралф беше действително съвършен. Не, изключено беше да не си дава сметка за това. И все пак държанието му й подсказваше, че той е над всички тези неща и че никога не е робувал и няма да робува на външността си. Той без угризение би я използвал, ако трябва, за да постигне целта си, но не като че ли жертва нещо скъпо, а по-скоро с презрение към хората, над които тази външност имаше влияние.

As separações são o que mais custa, Tim! É muito difícil aceitá-las, principalmente quando gostávamos dessa pessoa. A separação significa que depois disso nunca mais somos os mesmos, que perdemos qualquer coisa, uma parte de nós mesmo que nunca mais reencontramos nem pode ser substituída. Mas temos de passar por muitas separações, Tim, porque fazem parte da vida, tal e qual como conhecer pessoas novas.

There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. And, dying, it rises above its own agony to outcarol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative song, existence the price. But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles. For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain… Or so says the legend

It had happened again. He had made everyone laugh by doing something silly, but he didn't know what it was, why it was so funny. His father would have said he ought to be a "wakeup," whatever that meant, but he hadn't been a wakeup, he had happily eaten a sausage sandwich that hadn't been a sausage sandwich. A piece of shit, they said it was, but how could he know what a piece of shit tasted like, when he had never eaten it before? What was so funny? He wished he knew; he hungered to know, to share in their laughter and understand. That was always the greatest sorrow, that he could never seem to understand. His wide blue eyes filled with tears, his face twisted up in anguish and he began to cry like a small child, bellowing noisily, still wringing his hands together and shrinking away from them.

His sudden and utterly overwhelming panic was over almost before it began; but not quickly enough. In the midst of his brief yet total terror, the King of Pontus shat himself. It went everywhere, solid faeces mixed with what seemed an incredible amount of more liquid bowel contents, a stinking brown mess all over the gold-encrusted purple cloth of his cushion, trickling down the legs of his throne, running down his own legs into the manes of the golden lions upon the flaps of his boots, pooling and plopping on the deck around his feet when he jumped up. And there was nowhere to go! He could not conceal it from the amazed eyes of his attendants and officers, he could not conceal it from the sailors below amidships who had looked up instinctively to make sure their King was safe.