Kirby Quotes

One often meets her destiny on the road she takes to avoid it.

But what I realize, here, now, is that it's not actually making the choice that takes courage. It's facing it afterward. Owning up to it, whether it's good or bad.

I read once that water is a symbol for emotions. And for a while now I've thought maybe my mother drowned in both.

It seems to me that the experiences that stay with you, the things you'll always remember, aren't the ones you can force, or go looking for. I've always thought of those things as the ones that somehow find you.

Sometimes, when we want something so badly, we fear failure more than we fear being without that thing.

We're all more than the person we show to everyone else.

Well, here’s the shocker,” said Kirby. “Majors Miller and McKinsey believe our former Captain Paul Remmich is acting as a spy for the Iraqi government.

But sometimes life gives us those rare moments where we do see chance as it’s happening. And in those moments, we have a choice. And sometimes we have to take a risk. And it’s scary. It makes us vulnerable. But I know now it’s worth it.

Sometimes...a person is up against more than they can handle. And sometimes a person loses, no matter what they're fighting for.

Ariel, Belle, Cinderella, Jasmine... none of them had mothers." I was still wasn't following, but she continued, obviously excited. "When I was little, I used to think that meant that life had to make it up to them, for taking their mothers away, and so that's why they ended up having the whole fairy-tale happily-ever-after magic happen to them. The deserved it more than other girls." She looked at me intently. "Life will make it up to you, Anna.

There are many things in life that will catch your eye, but only a few will catch your heart. Pursue those." - Michael Nolan

Sometimes a shock to the system is a good thing, you know? Like a reminder that you're alive.

The little poets sing of little things: Hope, cheer, and faith, small queens and puppet kings; Lovers who kissed and then were made as one, And modest flowers waving in the sun. The mighty poets write in blood and tears And agony that, flame-like, bites and sears. They reach their mad blind hands into the night, To plumb abysses dead to human sight; To drag from gulfs where lunacy lies curled, Mad, monstrous nightmare shapes to blast the world. MUSINGS [click on the thumbnail by Jack "King" Kirby]

Nothing could be left to chance, because chance, after all, can be dangerous. But what I didn't realize all that time, what I missed all along, is that chance is everywhere. It's also what life is made of. It's all around us, but most of the time we never see it working.

In life, the hardest decisions often have to be made more than once. But each time, it gets easier.

But it's terrifying to realise how much of your world is wrapped up in loving another person

In three words I can sum up all that I've learned about: It goes on.

It's easy to forget to look up when all you do is focus on the road straight ahead.

We're all more than the person we show to everyone else. At least I hope so. Because I feel like there's more to me than that. I just haven't had the chance yet to show it.

It's not actually making the choice that take courage. It's facing it afterward.

Little victories, they're the ones that counts.

For so long, I was the one with his heart. I just need to see where it is now.” - Quinn

Time goes by slowly when you spend it waiting.

It’s too much, this. Life, and love, and how fragile it all is.

You are stronger than me," Asa says. "And in bravery and strength, there is a kind of beauty.

Everyone wants the people to end up together in the end. It's human nature. The funny thing is, you always know they're going to. You just never know how.

Once we've learned enough about the universe we will admit to ourselves that we will never know everything.

For the first time I realized adults could back themselves into corners so remote that love, or its memory, could no longer reach them.

Hon, when someone's a true friend, there's no need to miss 'em." She patted her chest. "'Cause they're always right here.

She has that kind of manic focus about her, like if she just keeps moving, the things she's upset about can't catch her.

How many people have gotten older and forgotten about the things they hoped for and dreamed about when they were young? Or given up without ever taking a chance, or settled in life because it's easier, or they're scared, or whatever other excuses? How many people need a reminder of who they once were?

Some things need to be said. And sometimes they require strong words.

A moment was all it took to change everything.

But when’s the last time you took a chance? Or didn’t do what someone else expected of you? Or did something you really wanted to, even though you probably shouldn’t have?

I want this day to be my fresh start. I want this to be the day I step out of my comfort zone and go somewhere new.

Never trust a storyteller," he says. "We're all of us liars.

I will have to rely on that painful teacher, experience.

I've got this tiny pang of regret when I think of how much I have probably missed out on in the last few years because I was too scared to take a risk, or too shy to speak up, or too worried to be bold. It is my one wild and precious life, after all.

Today feels different because yesterday was different.

We lie together, quiet, under an endless sky, beside a bottomless ocean, and we don’t talk about how these are all the things that brought us together. We don’t talk about how we wouldn’t change any of them.We don’t have to, because these are the things we know by heart.

All life on Earth is subject to the rumbles and rockings of the parent stucture which has no control over the disastrous effects of its stresses and strains on whatever thrives on its surface. The ambitions and dreams of men are irrelevant to this planetary giant which pursues its own way in its own manner. Man is its child, tenant and still, to this date, its captive.

People always put their own spin on things, remember what they want to remember, and somewhere in the middle of it all is the truth - the real version - one you could only write yourself if you were willing to.

And the whole time I was pleading with fate, or chance, or whatever, for him to find me. Just find me again. Find me and take me somewhere secret, where I can be who I am when I’m with him.

Every choice has the power to affect your life later on in ways you can't go back and change.

You can never trust anyone once you've had to trap them in a cage.

Sir if I was your daughter I would wait until this train started again and throw myself in front of it!

Life is made of moments. and choices. Not all of them matter, or have any lasting impact. Skipping class in favor of a taste of freedom, picking a prom dress because of the way it transforms you into a princess in the mirror. Even the nights you steal away from an open window, tiptoe silent to the end of the driveway, where darkened headlights and the pull of something unknown beckon. These are all small choices, really. Insignificant as soon as they’re made. Innocent. But then. Then there’s a different kind of moment. One when things are irrevocably changed by a choice we make. A moment we will play endlessly in our minds on lonely nights and empty days. One we’ll search repeatedly for some indication that what we chose was right, some small sign that tells us the truth isn’t nearly as awful as it feels. Or as awful as anyone would think if they knew. So we explain it to ourselves, justify it enough to sleep. And then we bury it deep, so deep we can almost pretend it never happened. But as much as we wish it were different, the truth is, our worlds are sometimes balanced on choices we make and the secrets we keep.

I'd give anything right now to go back, even just for a few moments, so I could pay more attention. Inscribe every detail of him, and of us together, onto my heart, where I could keep it safe always. Where even time couldn't erase it.

Suspended as we were, with no horizon line or landscape or anything else to draw a separation between the water and the sky, I pictured us up there with the stars. Another story written in tiny lights. We were a constellation put in the sky-- two people holding hands, floating peacefully above everything else, in a beautiful, perfect moment.

[I]t wasn't history that was too fragile, but me.

One cannot apologize for one's nature.

When you are in pain, a moment is an eternity.

Do what I tell you, when I tell you, and the worst thing that'll happen is you'll fall in love.

We are made of our pasts, and our pains, our joys and our losses. It's in the very fiber of our beings. Written on our hearts.

It's a strange, surreal thing to watch an ideal crumble right in front of your eyes, and to know there's absolutely nothing you can do about it.

I'm OMAC! Evacuate this section! I'm going to destroy it!

KIRBY: A man can't give up his business. GRANDPA: Why not? You've got all the money you need. You can't take it with you.

There should be fireworks at last, when a dream dies.

A thousand fireworks explode inside me, and I feel them in him too, in his lips on mine, and his hands in my hair, and he way we pull each other closer. Everything else falls away, and in this moment, when we touch, we are light.

That's the best part. The how.

Remember how unimportant you are because that knowledge will gain you more respect than someone who thinks the world revolves around them.

He always told me to look strong even if I didn't feel it, because sometimes that's all you can do.

...we found our own synchronicity together, his heart thumping out a slow. steady beat and mine filling in the spaces between

Hattie.' Grace patted my arm. 'My cows sing better than you do.

What I mean is,how does he somehow know to show me things I didn’t realize I needed to see, or take me places I wouldn’t have guessed I needed to go?

My name is Kirby Rose, and I'm adopted. I don't mean to make it sound like an AA confession, although sometimes that's how people take it, like it's something they should be supportive about. I just mean that they are two basic facts about me.

Anna: Ash, I don't have anything planned with my Mother... She's dead. Ashley: What? Anna: She died when I was seven. She drowned. It's just my Dad and me. I didn't tell you before because I just wanted a fresh start here, because before I moved, everybody knew about it and... I'm sorry. Ashley: ....... You're like a Disney Princess!

She has no idea how careless I’ve already been, or that I know that heart of his maybe even better than he does.

Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year. No man has learned anything rightly, until he know that every day is Doomsday.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson

Clockwork could not run counter to its nature. The seconds, minutes, and hours moved only forward. Patient, precise, and unstoppable. Memory was an indulgence, an illusion that broke like a wave upon the juggernaut of time. The past remained the past.

I was afraid of what he might be able to see. Because all of a suddent it didn't feel like we were standing on the beach anymore. It felt like we were balanced on a thin, thin line. That fragile one that divides the invisible space between something and nothing, or before and after.

You know... sometimes we meet our destiny on the road we take to avoid it.

A story knows no honor. A story knows no allegiance. A story simply is.

What if the world was a coloring book and everything white is just waiting to be colored in?

I sink into it completely, letting everything else fall away so all that's left is this. A moment like a poem.

The days passed, one after another, measured out in an unbroken, never-ending rhythm.Seemingly infinite, but gone in the blink of an eye—like waves crashing on the shore, or the seasons passing. Or the beating of a heart.

The real measure of how passionate she is about something is whether she invokes an f-bomb.

Sharing his memories felt like handing over a sharp knife. A knife that others might handle carelessly. A knife that could be used to hurt him.

Life at best is bittersweet.

He waved to the city and said good-bye. The city responded by carrying on the way it always did, traffic moving forward uninterrupted, without slowing, as if it were trying to demonstrate its permanence and show him it would still be there if he ever wanted to return. That promise was the best and only thing he could ask of it.

That’s what seems the most sad to me—that neither of them even think there’s a possibility they can be together.

I can't say I wasn't hoping for it, but I didn't see it coming.

Our actions make the fragrance of our lives...Would you smell of plums? Or Vinegar?

Because when these tiny little things are afraid, they shine.

I don't know what comes next. I can't know, until I've walked the road I've chosen. I slow at the thought. I don't have a plan, and there is no map for this. It's terrifying, but there's a spark of exhilaration that gives me hope that the choice I just made could turn out to be the right and this feels infinitely better than the weight of regret.

In the early morning hours, Hannah read at the table by the dim light of dawn. She leaned in close to the pages, chin resting on her folded arms, eyes racing over the words, like chasing butterflies over the hills, to catch as many as she could before going to work. She wondered at how such tales of magic could be contained by mere paper and ink for her to read again and again.

You’re okay,” she says. “It’s just your first time back out here. You don’t need to go back.

no matter how big his smile or how loud his laugh, you could hear the hurt underneath.

Though a story may begin as a lie, perhaps it can be made true. Perhaps their ultimate power is found in how they inspire us to action.

What we should enjoy, perhaps, is not their performance, but the mere fact of their existence. That, we believe, is wonder enough.

Each heartbeat begins with a single, electrical impulse, or "spark." The distinctive sound we hear through a stethoscope, or when we place our head on a loved one's chest, is the sound of the heart valves opening and closing in perfect synchronicity with each other. It is a two-party rhythm - a delicate dance of systole and diastole, which propels the heart's electrically charged particles through its chambers roughly every second of the day, every day of our lives.

Listen,” he says. “I know earlier I said just a day, but that was…I wasn't being completely honest. And I know if I let you get in your car and drive away again without telling you the truth, I’ll regret it all the way home.” He drops his eyes to the ground for a moment, then brings them back up to mine. “Anyway. I promise I won’t surprise you at your door again, but if you ever decide you want another day–ever–I have lots of them, and I …I liked this one.

I hate them!' she cried. 'It's not fair!' 'No, it isn't,' Frederick said gently. 'I can't do it all!' 'No. You can't.' After a long moment he said, 'But you can do what you can.' 'And what if that isn't enough?' Frederick held her shoulders and took a step back. He looked in her eyes. 'Enough for what?' 'For my family.' 'What more could they ask for than what you've given?

When he saw Tyler, his face went serious, which struck me as comical. Andy had always been protective, but when it came to me having anything to do with guys, he felt it was his duty to inform and protect me from the ones he thought were most like himself. When I turned thirteen, he pulled me aside and we had his version of 'the talk,' which mostly consisted of a bunch of 'uhs' and 'ums,' but I got the gist of his speech: boys only wanted one thing, and I shouldn't give it to them until I was at least thirty-three. And married.

You don't sound like a librarian," she said. "I'm on vacation," Jacqueline laughed. "Well, I supposed there is an image, isn't there? But stereotypes are awfully misleading. there are typical librarians, but not all librarians are typical. Any more than any other profession.

Giuseppe would miss them as well, but in a different way than he would miss the city. A city would stay the same. The same buildings. The same streets. Not forever, but for a great long while. But Frederick and Hannah would never again be the people they were right now, standing on the dock, wishing him farewell. Tomorrow they would wake up and be a little bit different and a little bit different the day after that, and in no time they might become people he did not recognize. Giuseppe knew it because they were already different from when he had first met them. He knew it because he was different from when they had first met him.

At some point in your adult life, you’ve probably walked into a party and felt a frisson of relief upon discovering at least one woman there who was fatter, uglier, and/or dressed more inappropriately than you. We sure have. But if you want to have any hope of making peace with your own body, you need to knock that shit off. We’re not even telling you to stop just because it’s nasty, petty, and beneath you to judge other women so harshly; it is, but because you’re not a saint, and neither are we. We’re telling you to stop because it’s actually in your own self-interest to stop being such a bitch. ‘Cause you know what happens when you quit saying that crap about other women? You magically stop saying it about yourself so much, too. Judging other women negatively creates a constant stream of nasty thoughts in your head. It is inevitable that you will end up applying those same standards to yourself. We think we’re building ourselves up when we do this but, really, we’re just tearing other people down to our level. And we hate to go all Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood on you, but tearing other people down isn’t really productive. It leaves you in the same place you started, which is full of loathing for your own body.

His touch was like an electric current that ran through his fingers into my cheek and down the back of my neck. I took another step back, away from him. "Don't do that," I whispered and hated the part of myself that died for his soft touch. "Why? Why do you do things like that if you agree we shouldn't be involved? It's confusing and... and you make it so much worse." My words tumbled over each other as they poured from my mouth. He didn't reach for me again. His blue eyes were sad.

After a minute I leaned back, elbows on the table, and looked up for the twinkle of the first star in the evening sky. When we were little, it was a ritual Finn and I did on the front porch. He'd make his wish silently, and I would too, but I never could keep a secret; and I'd tell him what I wished every time. He'd always tell me it wouldn't come true, but I didn't believe him. I'd had plenty of them come true, from a new box of crayons showing up out of nowhere to a bag of candy left on my bed. It had been a while, though, and the only thing I'd wish for now was impossible. I found the first star in a patch of burnt-orange sky, above the crinkly purple mountains in the distance, and then I wished my brother back anyway.

Drawing a good figure doesn’t make you a good artist. I can name you ten men, right off the bat, who draw better than I do. But I don’t think their work gets as much response as mine. I can’t think of a better man to draw Dick Tracy than Chester Gould, who certainly is no match for Leonardo Da Vinci. But Chester Gould told the story of Dick Tracy. He told the story of Dick Tracy the way it should have been told. No other guy could have done it. It’s not in the draftsmanship, it’s in the man. Like I say, a tool is dead. A brush is a dead object. It’s in the man. If you want to do, you do it. If you think a man draws the type of hands that you want to draw, steal ‘em. Take those hands. The only thing I can say is: Caniff was my teacher, Alex Raymond was my teacher, even the guy who drew Toonerville Trolley was my teacher. Whatever he had stimulated me in some way. And I think that’s all you need. You need that stimulation. Stimulation to make you an individual. And the draftsmanship, hang it. If you can decently: learn to control what you can, learn to control what you have, learn to refine what you have. Damn perfection. You don’t have to be perfect. You are never going to do a Sistine Chapel, unless someone ties you to a ceiling. Damn perfection. All a man has in this field is pressure. And I think the pressure supplies a stimulation. You have your own stresses, that will supply your own stimulation. If you want to do it, you’ll do it. And you’ll do it anyway you can.