Sal Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Sal. Here they are! All 100 of them:

I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till i drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.
Jack Kerouac
Sal, we gotta go and never stop going 'till we get there.' 'Where we going, man?' 'I don't know but we gotta go.
Jack Kerouac (On the Road)
What would I gain from telling you the first moment I realized you were meant to be mine? Nothing. You’re supposed to protect what you love, Sal. You taught me that. I didn’t wake up one day and know I didn’t want to live without your horrible temper. I saw so much of me in you at first, but you aren’t like me at all. You’re you, and I will go to my grave before I let anyone change any part of you. I know that without a doubt in my mind. This,” he pointed between us. “This is what matters.
Mariana Zapata (Kulti)
people are going to judge you regardless of what you do, Sal. Don’t listen to what they have to say because at the end of the day, you’re the one that has to live with your choices and where they take you. No one else is going to live your life for you.
Mariana Zapata (Kulti)
Every single thing that has ever happened in my life has led me here, Sal. Destiny is a ladder, a series of steps that takes you where you’re supposed to go. I am the man that I am, and I have done the things that I’ve done, to get me to you.
Mariana Zapata (Kulti)
Soccer has given me everything, but it’s also taken away just as many things.” He gave me a sad determined look. “I don’t want it to take you away as well. You are the least shameful thing in my life, Sal. Understand?
Mariana Zapata (Kulti)
Then he did it, he crossed the line again. “Sal—Sal, don’t tell anyone, but you’re my favorite.
Mariana Zapata (Kulti)
Si todos los rios son dulces de donde saca sal el mar? If all rivers are sweet where does the sea get its salt?
Pablo Neruda (The Book of Questions)
I am no coward sir! I shall stand and fight!" "Well, I am," said Sal. "So can we go... please?
Alex Scarrow (The Eternal War (TimeRiders, #4))
This conversation" - Dez rapped her knuckles against the Formica table- "is over." "Be careful, Dez," Jimmy stated earnestly. "And don't sleep with him the first night," Vinny warned. "We know what a slut you can be." Dez turned to Sal. "Do you have anything to add to this bullshit?" "Yeah." Sal looked down from the ceiling he'd been staring at. "Based on the structure of this building, if we removed that pillar back there, we could take out this whole block." Dez sighed.
Shelly Laurenston (The Mane Event (Pride, #1))
No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego: te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras, secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma. Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores, y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra. Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde, te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo: así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera, sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres, tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecha es mía, tan cerca que cierran tus ojos con mi sueño.
Pablo Neruda (100 Love Sonnets)
Cuando vayamos al mar yo te diré mi secreto: Me envuelve, pero no es ola... Me amarga..., pero no es sal...
Dulce María Loynaz
…I’m Salhudin. Sal.” “’Sal’? No way … You make people call you by your name. If they can say Santiago, Alexander, Demetrius, and Ecclesiastes, they can say Salahudin.
Sabaa Tahir (All My Rage)
Or, even worse, calling Sal a monster. It’s interesting to compare your reporting about Sal to your recent articles on the Stratford Strangler. He murdered five people and pleaded guilty, yet in your headline you referred to him as a “lovesick young man.” Is that because he’s white?
Holly Jackson (A Good Girl's Guide to Murder (A Good Girl's Guide to Murder, #1))
Mar Português Ó mar salgado, quanto do teu sal São lágrimas de Portugal! Por te cruzarmos, quantas mães choraram, Quantos filhos em vão rezaram! Quantas noivas ficaram por casar Para que fosses nosso, ó mar! Valeu a pena? Tudo vale a pena Se a alma não é pequena. Quem quere passar além do Bojador Tem que passar além da dor. Deus ao mar o perigo e o abismo deu, Mas nele é que espelhou o céu.
Fernando Pessoa
Tommy told Sal about the strange white-cloth figure with black stitches that he had found on the front porch. "Sounds like Pillsbury Doughboy gone punk," Sal said.
Dean Koontz (Tick Tock)
And though this story does have its monsters, I’ve found that it is not one that can be so easily cleaved into the good and the bad. In the end, this was a story about people and their different shades of desperation, crashing up against each other. But there was one person who was good until the very end. And his name was Sal Singh.
Holly Jackson (A Good Girl's Guide to Murder (A Good Girl's Guide to Murder, #1))
He was my Huckleberry, my Han Solo, my one, but most of all he was my Becks and I was his Sal. That was the truth. It
Cookie O'Gorman (Adorkable)
And just for a moment I had reached the point of ecstasy that I always wanted to reach, which was the complete step across chronological time into timeless shadows, and wonderment in the bleakness of the mortal realm, and the sensation of death kicking at my heels to move on, wiht a phantom dogging its own heels, and myself hurrying to a plank where all the angels dove off and flew into the holy void of uncreated emptiness, the potent and inconceivable radiancies shining in bright Mind Essence, innumerable lotus-lands falling open in the magic mothswarm of heaven. - Sal Paradise
Jack Kerouac (On the Road: The Original Scroll)
Anhele el amor, Marcus. Haga de él su más hermosa conquista, su única ambición. Después de los hombres, habrá otros hombres. Después de los libros, hay otros libros. Después de la gloria, hay otras glorias. Después del dinero, hay más dinero. Pero después del amor, Marcus, después del amor, no queda más que la sal de las lágrimas.
Joël Dicker (La verdad sobre el caso Harry Quebert)
Death is more uni­ver­sal than life; everyone dies but not every­one lives.
Alan Sachs
Observation #3: They gossip. Can you believe it? I overheard Finn and Doug in the backyard talking about some girl named Dawn who blew off some guy named Simon for some other guy named Rick for like twenty minutes! They sounded like those old mole-hair ladies at Sal's Milshakes.
Kate Brian (Megan Meade's Guide to the McGowan Boys)
—¿Sabes por qué se llama síndrome premenstrual? —No te atreverás —amenazó ella—. Sólo las mujeres pueden hacer chistes de eso. —Porque la expresión «enfermedad de las vacas locas» ya estaba cogida. Al diablo la sartén. Miró a su alrededor buscando un cuchillo. —Sal de esta casa.
Linda Howard
You can never hurt me, And you will never cause me pain Cause you're made of fire, And I'm the heavy rain.
Ghaith Yaseen (Burning Innocence)
Esti singur in vartejul suferintei tale si daca vrei sa iesi trebuie sa tragi aer in piept si sa te scufunzi pana se sfarseste. Mai degraba iubeste-o pana cand iubirea ti se face apa si se scurge prin toti porii. Iubeste-o in absenta. Va fi ca si cum te-ai arunca de nebun intr-un zid. De sute, de mii de ori. Neclintit, zidul iti va rupe oasele, pielea ti-o vei zdreli, iti vei sfasia hainele pana cand te vei fi prelins in praful de la baza lui. Un somn lung te va cuprinde, apoi te vei trezi ca dupa un cosmar pe care vei incerca sa-l rememorezi. Soarele diminetii nu-ti va da timp si vei uita. Cu fiecare zi care va trece vei mai fi uitat putin cate putin...Vindeca-te singur. E tot ce poti face pentru tine.
Tudor Chirilă (Exerciţii de echilibru)
I sometimes wish I could “reboot”,’ said Sal. ‘Empty my head and start over.
Alex Scarrow (The Pirate Kings (TimeRiders, #7))
El pánico se asomó en sus palabras, como pizcas de sal en medio de agua dulce. No encajaba.
Lissa D'Angelo fijación
[The Quran is] a Revelation sent down by al-'Azeez, ar-Raheem." [Yaseen: 5] The Quran is 'azeez (authoritative) and it's from al-'Azeez. And the Prophet is the most merciful human to ever live and was sent as a mercy to mankind from ar-Raheem. It's the perfect message delivered on the tongue of a perfect Messenger (salAllahu alayhi wa sallam).
Nouman Ali Khan
La inceput ai sa-l urasti, ai sa-l scoti din randul oamenilor; pe urma, are sa-ti devina indiferent si n-ai sa mai cheltuiesti niciun sentiment pe el, si mai pe urma, ai sa te uiti la el cum de fapt trebuie sa ne uitam la fiecare semen al nostru cand incepem sa-l consideram prin prisma unui singur sentiment: intelegerea.
Ileana Vulpescu (Arta conversației)
Start each day in such a way that satan screams, OH NOOOOO...He's getting up!
Jay Miller (Sal and Sally)
A música vivia, mas o mundo estava morto. E a canção morreria um dia, pensou, mas como voltaria o mundo à vida? Como voltaria o seu sal?
Patricia Highsmith (The Price of Salt)
Yes, because it’s obviously better if you beat each other to death with rocks instead of stabbing each other like civilized human beings,” Sal muttered, looking away.
Christina Henry (Lost Boy: The True Story of Captain Hook)
Sal loves Dale like midnight loves stars. So far, he hasn't noticed.
Sheila Turnage (The Ghosts of Tupelo Landing (Mo & Dale Mysteries, #2))
And I realize I've been betrayed by the two vices that fiction promised me I'd adore. Sal Paradise held up bottles of booze like a housewife in a detergent commercial. Holden Caulfield reached for his cigarettes like an act of faith. Even Huckleberry Finn tapped on his pipe with relief and satisfaction. If sex turns out to be this bad, I'm never reading again.
Craig Silvey (Jasper Jones)
I didn’t believe him at first, about the island, though.” “I didn’t either,”I said. “I don’t know that anyone does. It sounds like a fantastic lie.” “It is a fantastic lie,” Sal said, and her face was very earnest. “This isn’t a wonderful place for boys to play and have adventures and stay young for always. It’s a killing place, and we’re all just soldiers in Peter’s war.
Christina Henry (Lost Boy: The True Story of Captain Hook)
At night in this part of the West the stars, as I had seen them in Wyoming, were as big as Roman Candles and as lonely as the Prince who's lost his ancestral home and journeys across the spaces trying to find it again, and knows he never will.
Jack Kerouac (On the Road)
Hey"--I shrugged--"If Aru Shah can have adventures in her pajamas, why can't I?
Carlos Hernandez (Sal and Gabi Fix the Universe (Sal and Gabi, #2))
Não há múmias, pedaços de tecido colados ao osso, medas de sal ou cadáveres que jamais estivessem nem metade dos mortos que estamos hoje.
Lawrence Durrell
Ó mar salgado, quanto do teu sal são lágrimas de Portugal. (…) Valeu a pena? Tudo vale a pena se a alma não é pequena. Quem quer passar além do Bojador tem que passar além da dor.
Fernando Pessoa (Mensagem - Poemas Esotéricos)
... Was a combo of Sal Dali and Ronald McDonald. A fringe celeb wheeled out for Tv appearances.
Saira Viola (Jukebox: A thrilling crime satire)
Não te amo como se fosse rosa de sal,topázio ou flecha de cravos que propagam o fogo: te amo como se amam certas coisas obscuras, secretamente,entre a sombra e a alma. Te amo como a planta que não floresce e leva dentro de si,oculta, a luz daquelas flores, e graças a teu amor vive escuro em meu corpo o apertado aroma que ascendeu da terra. Te amo sem saber como,nem quando,nem onde, te amo diretamente sem problemas nem orgulho: assim te amo porque não sei amar de outra maneira, senão assim deste modo em que eu não sou nem és tão perto que tua mão sobre meu peito é minha tão perto que se fecham meus olhos com meu sonho.
Pablo Neruda
Pero, alto. ¿Qué luz alumbra esa ventana? Es el oriente, y Julieta, el sol. Sal, bello sol, y mata a la luna envidiosa, que está enferma y pálida de pena porque tú, que la sirves, eres más hermoso.
William Shakespeare (Romeo and Juliet)
Am sa viermuiesc singur, am sa umblu razna prin lume, ca un sicriu, purtînd în mine imaginea ei aproape lesinata pe care o iubesc neînchipuit de mult, am sa-i vorbesc, în gînd, prin paduri si prin gari, am sa-i fac patul în mine, s-o culc, în fiecare seara, s-o învelesc în cîrpe, voi stiti foarte bine cîte cârpe poarta în sine fiecare dintre noi, si ea n-o sa-mi raspunda niciodata pentru ca n-o sa ma auda cînd o sa-i spun nani-nani, pentru ca acolo, în mine, în cîrpele din ea, are sa-l înveleasca pe iubitul ei care o va purta învelita în cîrpele din el si o va legana si îi va spune nani-nani si asa mai departe;
Gellu Naum (Zenobia)
The white cat Sal-al was lying on the straw matting in the empty conservatory. She looked at us with a wicked, conceited expression as if all her appetites had just been satisfied. She was beautiful. Vesta and I both said, "I wish I were a cat!" Before we got to the last word we smiled at each other in annoyance, not liking the idea that most human beings think very much alike.
Denton Welch (Maiden Voyage)
Set forth no limits, keep in mind that your potential is boundless.
Sal Martinez
This was a manuscript of the night we couldn't read" - Sal Paradise, On The Road
Jack Kerouac (On the Road)
Una inquietante soledad se filtró en mi vida, pero no me produjo ningún deseo de buscar a mis amigos más antiguos, que ahora me parecían una dieta sin sal ni azúcar.
Truman Capote (Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Three Stories)
What is this?” “It’s the Bone-Burning Fire Oil Magic Bomb,” Ramsa said. “New model.” “Cool.” Suni leaned toward the bag. “What’s in it?” “Tung oil, sal ammoniac, scallion juice, and feces.” Ramsa rattled off the ingredients with relish. Altan looked faintly alarmed. “Whose feces?” “That’s not important,” Ramsa said hastily.
R.F. Kuang (The Poppy War (The Poppy War, #1))
I remember him standing under a streetlamp. 'Just as we passed that other lamp I was going to tell you a further thing, Sal, but now I am parenthetically continuing with a new thought and by the time we reach the next I'll return to the original subject, agreed?' I certainly agreed.
Jack Kerouac (On the Road: The Original Scroll)
And though this story does have its monsters, I've found that it is not one that can be so easily divided into the good and the bad. In the end this was a story about people and their different shades of desperation, crashing up against each other. But there was one person who was good until the very end. And his name was Sal Singh.
Holly Jackson (A Good Girl's Guide to Murder (A Good Girl's Guide to Murder, #1))
Sal, straight, no matter where I live, my trunk's always sticking out from under the bed, I'm ready to leave or get thrown out. I've decided to leave everything out of my hands. You've seen me try and break my ass to make it and you know that it doesn't matter and we know time — how to slow it up and walk and dig and just old-fashioned spade kicks, what other kicks are there? We know.
Jack Kerouac (On the Road)
Limbajul e zborul gindului creator asupra oglindirii sale create: duh plutind peste ape sau coborind, sub chipul columbei, asupra celui dispus sa-l primeasca. Cuvintele stau asupra lumii ca un popor de pasari care isi misca ritmic, fara odihna, aripile." (p. 48)
Andrei Pleșu (Limba păsărilor)
But hey, I had the best times during each sprint,” I added. His laugh was soft and possibly a little disappointed. “That’s my girl. Running every morning?” “Every morning and I’ve been swimming more.” I stopped talking when I heard a voice in the background. All I heard was my dad mumbling, “It’s Sal… you wanna talk to her?... Okay… Sal, your mom says hi.” “Tell her I said hi back.” “My daughter says hi… no, she’s mine. The other one is yours… Ha! No!... Sal are you mine or your mom’s?” he asked me. “I’m the milkman’s.” “I knew it!” He finally laughed with a deep pleased sigh. I was smiling like a total fool. “I love you too, old man.
Mariana Zapata (Kulti)
The Roman army required salt for its soldiers and for its horses and livestock. At times soldiers were even paid in salt, which was the origin of the word salary and the expression “worth his salt” or “earning his salt.” In fact, the Latin word sal became the French word solde, meaning pay, which is the origin of the word, soldier.
Mark Kurlansky (Salt: A World History)
Thomas,” the boss said. “How’s your father doing?” “He’s good, Sal.” Always the family questions first. That was Sal Demenci’s style. He could be about to whack someone and he’d ask how the guy’s sister was doing in school.
Gary Ponzo (A Touch of Deceit (Nick Bracco Thriller, #1))
Dear Mr. Kulti, You are my favorite player. I play soccer 2 butt I'm not good like you are. Not yet. I practice all the time so 1 day I can be just like you or beter. I watch all of ur games so don't mess up. Ur #1 fan, Sal <3<3<3 P.S. Do u have a girl friend? P.P.S. Why don't u cut ur hair? "I was nineteen when that showed up to the club's offices. It was my third fan letter ever and the other two were topless pictures. That letter stayed in every locker I used for the nest ten years. It was the first thing I looked at before my games, and the first thing I saw after I played. I framed it and put it in my house in Meissen once it started to wear out. It's still there on the wall of my bedroom.
Mariana Zapata (Kulti)
Am I dying and I don’t know it?” I asked his chest. He sighed. “You better not be.” I pulled back and looked up at his face, completely unsure about what the hell had just happened. “Are you dying?” I blurted out. “No.” Kulti held that same serious expression that was so innate for him; I wasn’t sure what emotion he was feeling. “I’m sorry that I hurt your feelings. I only stepped away because Alejandro is… competitive. He wants what he can’t have. It was my mistake inviting him.” He glanced up quickly before looking back down and adding in a lowered voice, “I’m sorry for all the problems my presence has caused in your life. Soccer has given me everything, but it’s also taken away just as many things.” He gave me a sad determined look. “I don’t want it to take you away as well. You are the least shameful thing in my life, Sal. Understand?
Mariana Zapata (Kulti)
Because life is a game and we’re all just trading cards. We play the right hand to get ahead.” I studied the smiling, ignorant face of Sal as he stared at his bride. “Death stops the game. It’s too final, too inflexible. Death is viciously stubborn.
Karina Halle (Dirty Angels (Dirty Angels, #1))
Tall and still in fantastic shape, my poor, stupid, stupid heart gave a little thump in recognition of an attractive man. Then I stomped it to death and reminded myself he was just a guy.
Mariana Zapata (Kulti)
And as horrific and unspeakable as that was, it was even worse than that. Max’s actions were the catalyst for Andie Bell’s death. You might even say a direct cause. Everything came back to Max Hastings, when you really thought about it: Becca traumatized, letting Andie die in front of her and covering it up. Sal Singh dead, believed to be Andie’s killer.
Holly Jackson (As Good As Dead (A Good Girl's Guide to Murder, #3))
Well.’ Maud handed me a bandage. 'That was the most foolish thing you’ve ever done.’ 'Don’t joke. We both know it isn’t.
Linsey Miller (Ruin of Stars (Mask of Shadows, #2))
His gaze was unflinching and solid. If someone could have light sabers in their eyes, it would be him.
Mariana Zapata (Kulti)
You don’t know how much it means to me to have you see it all,” I whispered in his ear, my fingers stroking through his damp hair. “All the skeletons I’ve buried and you’re still here. I…I never thought I’d have that. Thank you, Sal,” I whispered hoarsely. He pulled away briefly, his dark eyes appraising me in the dim light. “Your skeletons are more beautiful than most angels, baby,” he whispered gruffly.
Megan O'Brien (Sal (The Ride, #2))
Te joden bien, tu padre y tu madre. Quizá no sea su intención, pero lo hacen. Te han colmado con los fallos que ellos tenían Y han añadido algo extra, sólo para ti. Pero ellos fueron jodidos a su vez Por cretinos vestidos con abrigos y sombreros anticuados, Que la mitad del tiempo se comportaban entre ñoños y severos Y la otra mitad se la pasaban peleando. La miseria se transmite de persona en persona. Se va haciendo tan honda como una fosa marina. Sal de aquí tan pronto como puedas, Y no tengas hijos.
Rosa Montero (La ridícula idea de no volver a verte)
E un om care are mult timp de pierdut, Diana. Iata secretul. Nu alearga dupa femei. Le asteapta. Are timp sa astepte. E trist si nu stie de ce. Dar femeile vor sa stie de ce e trist. Fiecare crede ca din cauza ei e nefericit si fiecare vrea sa-l mangaie.
Cella Serghi
I would remember them forever–their names, my reasons, the way their bodies slumped in death and their eyes stared through me. If I stopped, if I let their deaths weigh me down and keep me from being Opal, it was all for nothing. There was no going back. I was what I was, and they were a part of me now.
Linsey Miller (Mask of Shadows (Mask of Shadows, #1))
There is a tree. At the downhill edge of a long, narrow field in the western foothills of the La Sal Mountains -- southeastern Utah. A particular tree. A juniper. Large for its species -- maybe twenty feet tall and two feet in diameter. For perhaps three hundred years this tree has stood its ground. Flourishing in good seasons, and holding on in bad times. "Beautiful" is not a word that comes to mind when one first sees it. No naturalist would photograph it as exemplary of its kind. Twisted by wind, split and charred by lightning, scarred by brushfires, chewed on by insects, and pecked by birds. Human beings have stripped long strings of bark from its trunk, stapled barbed wire to it in using it as a corner post for a fence line, and nailed signs on it on three sides: NO HUNTING; NO TRESPASSING; PLEASE CLOSE THE GATE. In commandeering this tree as a corner stake for claims of rights and property, miners and ranchers have hacked signs and symbols in its bark, and left Day-Glo orange survey tape tied to its branches. Now it serves as one side of a gate between an alfalfa field and open range. No matter what, in drought, flood heat and cold, it has continued. There is rot and death in it near the ground. But at the greening tips of its upper branches and in its berrylike seed cones, there is yet the outreach of life. I respect this old juniper tree. For its age, yes. And for its steadfastness in taking whatever is thrown at it. That it has been useful in a practical way beyond itself counts for much, as well. Most of all, I admire its capacity for self-healing beyond all accidents and assaults. There is a will in it -- toward continuing to be, come what may.
Robert Fulghum (Uh-oh: Some Observations from Both Sides of the Refrigerator Door)
Escribe la frase, sólo te pido eso. Y el se anima a vaciar su pena en un archipiélago atiborrado de cristales de sal. Por un instante pienso que te amo, pero es una sensación efímera como una ola. Una masa de agua que crece con fuerza, pero luego se recoge, estalla y ya no existe. Una barca expulsada a los orígenes. La muda miseria existente bajo el sol.
Andrea Jeftanovic
Pe cine sa acuzi, vai, daca nu „pe noi doi" si ce amaraciune e mai mare decât sa-l ucizi pe cel pe care-l adori prin simplul fapt de a fi împreuna?
Pascal Bruckner (Bitter Moon)
WHEN I’M GOOD, I’M VERY GOOD, BUT WHEN I’M BAD, I’M BETTER.”—MAE WEST.
Carlos Hernandez (Sal and Gabi Break the Universe (Sal and Gabi, #1))
Si trebuie sa spun ca negativitatea mortii imi inspira admiratie. Dar este singurul lucru pe care-l pot admira fara sa-l iubesc.
Emil M. Cioran (On the Heights of Despair)
Paradise!' he screamed. 'The one and only indispensable Paradise.
Jack Kerouac (On the Road)
Seek happiness now within you. Don’t look anywhere else or for anyone to help bring that happiness to your life. Happiness comes as a reward of battles we win. Happiness will come from the will to be strong minded and the readiness to face the next challenge with a smile.
Sal Martinez
And not one of you is to use the N-word that horrid woman said tonight to Sal. I swear I wish people were forced to make a list of names and recite them every time they use that word. "A list of the names of every black man, woman, and child hated,beaten, killed for the color of their flesh. It should be law—by God, it should be law—that if you say that word, you must then say their names. “No one wants to say one word and then realize it means so many more.
Tiffany McDaniel (The Summer that Melted Everything)
Goddamn Lassiter. Dinner invite. Sal’s. WTF. The last thing he wanted to do was sit across from that angel and listen to a Reservoir Dogs opener about dick symbolism in Deadpool. The problem? His brother, iAm, did make the best Bolognese anywhere, and besides, if Trez didn’t show? Lassiter was just the flavor of asshole to turn up here in a clown costume and honk his nose until Trez lost his mind.
J.R. Ward (The Chosen (Black Dagger Brotherhood, #15))
Come lo que te haga feliz, habla de lo que te haga feliz, quiere a quien te haga feliz, corre si te hace feliz, no te muevas si eso te hace feliz, fuma si te da tranquilidad, no fumes si fumar te disgusta. No te quites la sal, ni el azúcar, ni el amor, ni la poesía, ni el mar, ni el colesterol, ni los sueños, y quiere a tus amigos y déjalos quererte, y no te opongas a tu destino, porque esa enfermedad no la sé curar. Teodoro Césarman.
Ángeles Mastretta (El Mundo Iluminado)
You alarm me!' said the King. 'I feel faint—Give me a ham sandwich!' On which the Messenger, to Alice's great amusement, opened a bag that hung round his neck, and handed a sandwich to the King, who devoured it greedily. 'Another sandwich!' said the King. 'There's nothing but hay left now,' the Messenger said, peeping into the bag. 'Hay, then,' the King murmured in a faint whisper. Alice was glad to see that it revived him a good deal. 'There's nothing like eating hay when you're faint,' he remarked to her, as he munched away. 'I should think throwing cold water over you would be better,' Alice suggested: 'or some sal-volatile.' 'I didn't say there was nothing better,' the King replied. 'I said there was nothing like it.' Which Alice did not venture to deny.
Lewis Carroll (Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, #2))
Siddhartha wants liberation, Dante wants Beatrice, Frodo wants to get to Mount Doom—we all want something. Quest is elemental to the human experience. All road narratives are to some extent built on quest. If you’re a woman, though, this fundamental possibility of quest is denied. You can’t go anywhere if you can’t step out onto a road… …(T)here is no female counterpart in our culture to Ishmael or Huck Finn. There is no Dean Moriarty, Sal, or even a Fuckhead. It sounds like a doctoral crisis, but it’s not. As a fifteen-year-old hitchhiker, my survival depended upon other people’s ability to envision a possible future for me. Without a Melvillean or Kerouacian framework, or at least some kind of narrative to spell out a potential beyond death, none of my resourcefulness or curiosity was recognizable, and therefore I was unrecognizable.
Vanessa Veselka
O que eu sei é que somos trágicos. Os deuses escolheram assim. Somos todos uma brincadeira deles, marionetes que envelhecem rápido demais, uma experienciazinha carnal - de modo que não lhes interessa a parcimônia: criam uns num caldo de fúria e outros na doçura total.
Leticia Wierzchowski (Sal)
El amor es el sentimiento mas puro y todo lo que necesitas es sentirlo inmensamente dentro de ti. Amar, amar es la clave de todo. Amar a todos tus semejantes, aun a quienes consideras tus enemigos. Solo así se transformarán, aunque ahora no amen a e ni se amen a si mismos. Amar es la única solución. Recuérdalo." "...Están buscando aliados. Nos temen. A ti y a mi?...Al amor que sentimos uno por el otro. El amor es el mayor enemigo del miedo. Son sentimientos contrarios.
Alejandra Torres (Azufre y Sal)
Someone could tell you that they loved you every day, but still lie and cheat. Or they could never say those three words, but be there for you every day and be more than you ever wanted or dreamed. He wasn’t warm or cuddly, quiet or particularly nice to others, but he was nice to me, and in my heart I knew he would stand by me every time I needed him.
Mariana Zapata
Incerc sa le explic parintilor mei ca viata e un dar buclucas. La inceput ai tendinta sa-l supraestimezi crezand ca viata pe care ai primit-o este vesnica. Apoi, dimpotriva, il subestimezi, gasind ca-i o porcarie, scurta de nu-ntelegi nimic din ea si pe care uneori ti-ar veni s-o arunci de sa nu se vada. Abia catre sfarsit pricepi ca nu-i vorba de niciun dar, ci de un simplu imprumut. Pe care trebuie sa incerci sa-l meriti.
Éric-Emmanuel Schmitt
In the shade of the house, in the sunshine of the riverbank near the boats, in the shade of the Sal-wood forest, in the shade of the fig tree is where Siddhartha grew up, the handsome son of the Brahman, the young falcon, together with his friend Govinda, son of a Brahman. The sun tanned his light shoulders by the banks of the river when bathing, performing the sacred ablutions, the sacred offerings. In the mango grove, shade poured into his black eyes, when playing as a boy, when his mother sang, when the sacred offerings were made, when his father, the scholar, taught him, when the wise men talked. For a long time, Siddhartha had been partaking in the discussions of the wise men, practising debate with Govinda, practising with Govinda the art of reflection, the service of meditation. He already knew how to speak the Om silently, the word of words, to speak it silently into himself while inhaling, to speak it silently out of himself while exhaling, with all the concentration of his soul, the forehead surrounded by the glow of the clear-thinking spirit. He already knew to feel Atman in the depths of his being, indestructible, one with the universe.
Hermann Hesse (Siddhartha)
Já gastámos as palavras pela rua, meu amor, e o que nos ficou não chega para afastar o frio de quatro paredes. Gastámos tudo menos o silêncio. Gastámos os olhos com o sal das lágrimas, gastámos as mãos à força de as apertarmos, gastámos o relógio e as pedras das esquinas em esperas inúteis. Meto as mãos nas algibeiras e não encontro nada. Antigamente tínhamos tanto para dar um ao outro; era como se todas as coisas fossem minhas: quanto mais te dava mais tinha para te dar. Às vezes tu dizias: os teus olhos são peixes verdes. E eu acreditava. Acreditava, porque ao teu lado todas as coisas eram possíveis. Mas isso era no tempo dos segredos, era no tempo em que o teu corpo era um aquário, era no tempo em que os meus olhos eram realmente peixes verdes. Hoje são apenas os meus olhos. É pouco, mas é verdade, uns olhos como todos os outros. Já gastámos as palavras. Quando agora digo: meu amor, já se não passa absolutamente nada. E no entanto, antes das palavras gastas, tenho a certeza que todas as coisas estremeciam só de murmurar o teu nome no silêncio do meu coração. Não temos já nada para dar. Dentro de ti não há nada que me peça água. O passado é inútil como um trapo. E já te disse: as palavras estão gastas. Adeus.
Eugénio de Andrade
Now you're going East with Sal," Galatea said, "and what do you think you're going to accomplish by that? Camille has to stay home and mind the baby now you're gone--how can she keep her job? and she never wants to see you again and I don't blame her. If you see Ed along the road you tell him to come back to me or I'll kill him." Just as flat as that. It was the saddest night. I felt as if I was with strange brothers and sisters in a pitiful dream. Then a complete silence fell over everybody; where once Dean would have talked his way out, he now fell silent himself, but standing in front of everybody, ragged and broken and idiotic, right under the lightbulbs, his bony mad face covered with sweat and throbbing veins, saying, "Yes, yes, yes," as though tremendous revelations were pouring into him all the time now, and I am convinced they were, and the others suspected as much and were frightened. He was BEAT--the root, the soul of Beatific.
Jack Kerouac (On the Road)
E não sou muito boa nessa história de consolar, especialmente quando tenho as mãos frias e a cama é quente. Carreguei-o com delicadeza pela rua destroçada, com sal nos olhos e o coração mortalmente pesado. Observei por um instante o conteúdo de sua alma, e vi um menino pintado de preto, gritando o nome de Jesse Owens ao cruzar uma fita de chegada imaginária. Vi-o afundado até os quadris em água gelada, perseguindo um livro, e vi um garoto deitado na cama, imaginando que gosto teria um beijo de sua gloriosa vizinha do lado. Ele mexe comigo, esse garoto. Sempre. É sua única desvantagem. Ele pisoteia meu coração. Ele me faz chorar.
Markus Zusak (The Book Thief)
Incerc sa le explic parintilor mei ca viata e un dar buclucas. La început ai tendinta sa-l supraestimezi crezand ca viata pe care ai primit-o este vesnica. Apoi, dimpotriva, il subestimezi, gasind ca-i o porcarie, scurta de nu-ntelegi nimic din ea si pe care uneori ti-ar veni s-o arunci de sa nu se vada. Abia catre sfarsit pricepi ca nu-i vorba de nici un dar, ci de un simplu imprumut. Pe care trebuie sa incerci sa-l meriti.
Éric-Emmanuel Schmitt
Si estás leyendo esto, el aviso va dirigido a ti. Cada palabra que leas de esta letra pequeña inútil, es un segundo menos de vida para ti. ¿No tienes otras cosas que hacer? ¿Tu vida esta tan vacia que no se te ocurre otra forma de pasar estos momentos? ¿o te impresiona tanto la autoridad que concedes credito y respeto a todos los que dicen ostentarla? ¿lees todo lo que te dicen que leas? ¿Piensas todo lo que te dicen que pienses? ¿Compras todo lo que te dicen que necesistas? Sal de tu casa, Busca a alguien del sexo opuesto. Basta ya de tantas compras y masturbaciones. Deja tu trabajo. Empieza a luchar. Demuestra que estás vivo. Si no reivindicas tu humanidad te convertirás en una estadística. Estás avisado...
Chuck Palahniuk (Fight Club)
El chico del avión, pensé. El del oso de peluche. ¿Dónde estaba el último consuelo de Rudy? ¿Dónde estaba esa persona que consolarle de que le robaran la vida? ¿Quién estaba allí para tranquilizarlo cuando le arrancaron la alfombra de la vida bajo los pies dormidos? Nadie. Allí sólo estaba yo. Y lo de consolar a la gente no es que se me dé muy bien que digamos, sobre todo con las manos frías y estando la cama tan caliente. Cargué con él, con suavidad, por la calle destrozada, con sabor a sal en un ojo y el sepulcral corazón en un puño. Con él me esmeré un poco más. Miré un momento lo que contenía su alma y vi un niño tiznado de negro gritando el nombre de Tesse Owens mientras se llevaba por delante la cinta de llegada. Lo vi hundido hasta la cintura en el agua gélida, intentado atrapar un libro, y vi un niño tumbado en la cama imaginando el sabor que tendría un beso de su extraordinaria vecina. Este chico puede conmigo. Siempre. Es lo único malo que tiene. Me rompe el corazón. Me hace llorar.
Markus Zusak (The Book Thief)
Mercur stapineste al zecelea an. Cu planeta aceasta omul se misca repede si usor intr-o orbita restrinsa; orice fleac este cauza perturbatoare, dar invata mult si usor sub mina Domnului, sireteniei si elocintei. Cu al douazecilea an incepe stapinirea planetei Venus; dragostea si femeile il stapinesc. In al treizecilea an stapineste Marte; la virsta aceasta omul este violent, indraznet, orgolios si razboinic. La patruzeci de ani barbatul e stapinit de patru planete mici: cimpul vietii sale creste. Este frugi, adica practic, prin influenta lui Ceres; are un camin datorita Vestei; a devenit intelept si invatat datorita lui Palas si, asemenea Junonei, sotia sa domneste stapina in casa. In al cinzecilea an stapineste Jupiter: omul a supravietuit celei mai mari parti a contemporanilor sai, se simte superior generatiei actuale. Are multa forta, experienta si cunostinte. Este, in functie de personalitatea sa, autoritar cu cei ce-l inconjoara. Nu suporta sa i se porunceasca si vrea sa comande. Acum este mai apt sa devina conducator. In al saizecilea an vine Saturn si cu el greutatea, incetineala, tenacitatea plumbului. Multi batrini par ca si morti: sint palizi, greoi si inerti ca plumbul. Cu Uranus, ciclul se incheie. Este momentul, se zice, de a merge in cer. Nu pot sa-l prind in calcul pe Neptun, pentru ca nu-l pot numi cu adevaratul sau nume – Eros. Prin Eros inceputul se leaga de sfirsit. Eros este in conexiune misterioasa cu Moartea. Poate de aceea Horus sau Amentes al Egiptenilor este in acelasi timp “cel care ia” si “cel care da”.
Arthur Schopenhauer
justice, n. I tell you about Sal Kinsey, the boy who spit on me every morning for a month in seventh grade, to the point that I could no longer ride the bus. It’s just a story, nothing more than that. In fact, it comes up because I’m telling you how I don’t really hate many people in this world, and you say that’s hard to believe, and I say, “Well, there’s always Sal Kinsey,” and then have to explain. The next day, you bring home a photo of him now, downloaded from the Internet. He is morbidly obese — one of my favorite phrases, so goth, so judgmental. He looks miserable, and the profile you've found says he’s single and actively looking. I think that will be it. But then, the next night, you tell me that you tracked down his office address. And not only that, you sent him a dozen roses, signing the card, It is so refreshing to see that you've grown up to be fat, desperate, and lonely. Anonymous, of course. You even ordered the bouquet online, so no florist could divulge your personal information. I can’t help but admire your capacity for creative vengeance. And at the same time, I am afraid of it.
David Levithan (The Lover's Dictionary)
Querido Lector, Soy una escritora y las letras son mi arma. Quiero lastimarte. Quiero que mis letras sean sal y quiero tirarlas en tu herida abierta. Quiero que mis palabras sean piezas irregulares de espejos en el que te puedas ver reflejado. Soy una sadica también conocida como una artista. Mis libros son un llamado para las mujeres que se han doblado por angustia, obligadas por el fastidio, cautivas de un pasado que nos las deja ir, vencedoras de un pasado que trató de matarlas. Verás, tengo una enfermedad, se llama naturaleza humana y estoy fascinada por ella. Así que, si decides leer Mud Vein, recuerda eso sobre mí. No estoy escribiendo para entretenerte, o para ganar dinero, o para tener mi libro apoyado cuidadosamente en un estante en Target. Escribo para explorar las oscuras esquinas de mí ser, y quiero que vengas conmigo. Soy un poco como tú. Creo que te verás en las páginas de Mud Vein. No te he dicho mucho sobre él a propósito. Quiero que vayas a ciegas. Quiero que te tropieces con un pensamiento, un sonido, una herida que creías especial para ti. Y darte cuenta de que yo también las he sentido, alguien que nunca has conocido. Si decides leer Mud Vein, por favor no te preguntes qué dice, pregúntate que significa. Y una vez que leas mis negras letras sobre una página blanca, envíame un email y dime tu interpretación. No puedo esperar para saber tus pensamientos.
Tarryn Fisher (Mud Vein)
Nu pot sa sufar, suflet miscator, femeie care-mi izvoraste din coasta si-n pietre de melancolie, arzator, cu timpla dai, ca-n inima mea proasta Pasul tau zvelt din glezna mea sa-l rupi nu pot sa sufar, nu, fara durere Mi-e sufletul culcat pe colti de lupi. Devine loc dunga subtire de tacere si de sub palma lata-a mea, umarul tau cu suierat de tren se smulge-asurzitor spre-un tunel, spre vid, spre hau, spre-un chip neinventat, traind in viitor Nu pot sa sufar, nu, sa treaca intre noi reci dorurile ce le misti doar tu nici intimplarile ca niste bivoli stinsi, greoi, si nici distantele sa treaca. Nu.
Nichita Stănescu
O cuprinse in brate; parca nu auzise. - Eva, o sa-ti simt lipsa! - Atunci de ce pleci? Îl simti ca se duce departe, de unde poate venise adineauri. - Nu stiu; mi-e teama sa nu ma transform in copac. (Nu glumea, nici nu parea nebun.) Mi-e teama de limitarile spatiului. Trebuie sa plec repede, si mereu, sa ma apar! Nu-l intelegea si nici nu credea ca trebuie sa-l inteleaga. Isi pregatise si ultima miza: - Ia-ma cu tine! Nu-i raspunse; din departarile intunecate unde se chinuise ajungea iar la lumina, in mijlocul camerei. O privea si o adulmeca, mirat de ceea ce gasea iarasi nou in pielea curata, aurita de soare, care tremura sub degetele lui, arzându-l, cum ar fi fost incarcata de electricitate. Tacerea o facu sa spere; in inima incepeau sa i se lipeasca la loc firele rupte si nu indraznea sa spuna nimic, inainte de a simti ca sudura e trainica. Trebuie sa umble incet cu speranta ei, sa n-o destrame.
Radu Tudoran (Fiul risipitor)
Ajung sa-l parafrazez pe Ambrose Bierce si sa-l cred. Casa devine un edificiu gol, impersonal, ridicat pentru a fi locuit de om, sobolan, gandac... cand tu traiesti inafara acelui edificiu totul devine fad, ca o camera de hotel. Eu capat insusirile sobolanului ce se retrage in galeriile lui subterane, iese doar pentru o gura de aer proaspat, purificator, cauta printre resturi o bucatica de cascaval din care sa se hraneasca. Arhitectura de care ma ocup nu-i decat un aranjament din beton si sticla astfel dispus incat sa capteze inauntru tot mai multa lumina. Tu esti fereastra casei mele prin care patrund razele de soare. In edificiile proiectate de mine incerc sa trasez traiectorii, sa descifrez calea inafara. Esti totodata ploaia de primavara ce imi bate la uşa, imi potoleste dogoarea...
Sorina Popescu (Descântecul ploii)
Timpul poate curge inegal. In sine, el e constant, dar poate sa isi piarda fluditatea si sa se distorsioneze cumplit. Uneori e teribil de greoi si de lent, alteori usor si rapid. Cateodata evenimentele isi schimba cronologia sau chiar dispar cu desavarsire. Alteori apar unele care nici n-ar trebui sa existe. Manevrand astfel timpul dupa bunul lor plac, oamenii ajusteaza semnificatia pe care o atribuie propriei lor existente. Cu alte cuvinte, ei reusesc sa-si apere cumva sanatatea mintala. Daca ar fi nevoiti sa-l perceapa in mod uniform si in ordinea corecta in care acesta se scurge, mai mult ca sigur ca ar ceda nervos. O astfel de viata ar fi tortura curata.
Haruki Murakami (1Q84 Book 1 (1Q84, #1))
FOOD Adobo (uh-doh-boh)---Considered the Philippines's national dish, it's any food cooked with soy sauce, vinegar, garlic, and black peppercorns (though there are many regional and personal variations) Almondigas (ahl-mohn-dee-gahs)---Filipino soup with meatballs and thin rice noodles Baon (bah-ohn)---Food, snacks and other provisions brought on to work, school, or on a trip; food brought from home; money or allowance brought to school or work; lunch money (definition from Tagalog.com) Embutido (ehm-puh-tee-doh)---Filipino meatloaf Ginataang (gih-nih-tahng)---Any dish cooked with coconut milk, sweet or savory Kakanin (kah-kah-nin)---Sweet sticky cakes made from glutinous rice or root crops like cassava (There's a huge variety, many of them regional) Kesong puti (keh-sohng poo-tih)---A kind of salty cheese Lengua de gato (lehng-gwah deh gah-toh)---Filipino butter cookies Lumpia (loom-pyah)---Filipino spring rolls (many variations) Lumpiang sariwa (loom-pyahng sah-ree-wah)---Fresh Filipino spring rolls (not fried) Mamón (mah-MOHN)---Filipino sponge/chiffon cake Matamis na bao (mah-tah-mees nah bah-oh)---Coconut jam Meryenda (mehr-yehn-dah)---Snack/snack time Pandesal (pahn deh sahl)---Lightly sweetened Filipino rolls topped with breadcrumbs (also written pan de sal) Patis (pah-tees)---Fish sauce Salabat (sah-lah-baht)---Filipino ginger tea Suman (soo-mahn)---Glutinous rice cooked in coconut milk, wrapped in banana leaves, and steamed (though there are regional variations) Ube (oo-beh)---Purple yam
Mia P. Manansala (Arsenic and Adobo (Tita Rosie's Kitchen Mystery, #1))
Îl cuprinse in brate si îl stranse tare. Ar fi vrut sa-l zgaltaie putin, poate asa si-ar fi regasit mai usor datele ei din trecut. - Suntem cam straini, zise. E frig, nu? Fă ceva, da-mi putin din sangele tau, sa ma incalzesc. Ajuta-mi sa fiu fericita ca sunt aici. I se parea excesivă, ca de atatea ori. Ce putea face la o ora cand cel mai bine este sa dormi? O aseză cu capul pe pieptul lui, apoi o inveli. Era concesiv. Ea isi spunea: "Nu trebuie sa dorm! Nu trebuie sa raman cu mine singura. Trebuie sa ma tin asa, inlantuita de el, pana la sfarsitul ultimului sfarsit!" - Eva, ce vrei sa-mi spui? - Ce nu stii? - Nimic de la plecarea mea. Se gandea: "Nimic de la plecarea lui! Si acum vine, si daca vine, il urmez, fara sa stiu pana unde ma va duce si pentru cat timp!
Radu Tudoran (Fiul risipitor)
All the same,” I said, “when you read the prints in the snow and the evidence of the branches, you did not yet know Brunellus. In a certain sense those prints spoke of all horses, or at least all horses of that breed. Mustn’t we say, then, that the book of nature speaks to us only of essences, as many distinguished theologians teach?” “Not entirely, dear Adso,” my master replied. “True, that kind of print expressed to me, if you like, the idea of ‘horse,’ the verbum mentis, and would have expressed the same to me wherever I might have found it. But the print in that place and at that hour of the day told me that at least one of all possible horses had passed that way. So I found myself halfway between the perception of the concept ‘horse’ and the knowledge of an individu?al horse. And in any case, what I knew of the universal horse had been given me by those traces, which were singular. I could say I was caught at that moment between the singularity of the traces and my ignorance, which assumed the quite diaphanous form of a univer?sal idea. If you see something from a distance, and you do not understand what it is, you will be content with defining it as a body of some dimension. When you come closer, you will then define it as an animal, even if you do not yet know whether it is a horse or an ass. And finally, when it is still closer, you will be able to say it is a horse even if you do not yet know whether it is Brunellus or Niger. And only when you are at the proper distance will you see that it is Brunellus (or, rather, that horse and not another, however you decide to call it). And that will be full knowledge, the learning of the singular. So an hour ago I could expect all horses, but not because of the vastness of my intellect, but because of the paucity of my deduction. And my intellect’s hunger was sated only when I saw the single horse that the monks were leading by the halter. Only then did I truly know that my previous reasoning, had brought me close to the truth. And so the ideas, which I was using earlier to imagine a horse I had not yet seen, were pure signs, as the hoofprints in the snow were signs of the idea of ‘horse’; and sins and the signs of signs are used only when we are lacing things.
Umberto Eco (The Name of the Rose)
Astarte has come again, more powerful than before. She possesses me. She lies in wait for me. December 97 My cruelty has also returned: the cruelty which frightens me. It lies dormant for months, for years, and then all at once awakens, bursts forth and - once the crisis is over - leaves me in mortal terror of myself. Just now in the avenue of the Bois, I whipped my dog till he bled, and for nothing - for not coming immediately when I called! The poor animal was there before me, his spine arched, cowering close to the ground, with his great, almost human, eyes fixed on me... and his lamentable howling! It was as though he were waiting for the butcher! But it was as if a kind of drunkenness had possessed me. The more I struck out the more I wanted to strike; every shudder of that quivering flesh filled me with some incomprehensible ardour. A circle of onlookers formed around me, and I only stopped myself for the sake of my self-respect. Afterwards, I was ashamed. I am always ashamed of myself nowadays. The pulse of life has always filled me with a peculiar rage to destroy. When I think of two beings in love, I experience an agonising sensation; by virtue of some bizarre backlash, there is something which smothers and oppresses me, and I suffocate, to the point of anguish. Whenever I wake up in the middle of the night to the muted hubbub of bumps and voices which suddenly become perceptible in the dormant city - all the cries of sexual excitement and sensuality which are the nocturnal respiration of cities - I feel weak. They rise up around me, submerging me in a sluggish flux of embraces and a tide of spasms. A crushing weight presses down on my chest; a cold sweat breaks out on my brow and my heart is heavy - so heavy that I have to get up, run bare-foot and breathless, to my window, and open both shutters, trying desperately to breathe. What an atrocious sensation it is! It is as if two arms of steel bear down upon my shoulders and a kind of hunger hollows out my stomach, tearing apart my whole being! A hunger to exterminate love. Oh, those nights! The long hours I have spent at my window, bent over the immobile trees of the square and the paving-stones of the deserted street, on watch in the silence of the city, starting at the least noise! The nights I have passed, my heart hammering in anguish, wretchedly and impatiently waiting for my torment to consent to leave me, and for my desire to fold up the heavy wings which beat inside the walls of my being like the wings of some great fluttering bird! Oh, my cruel and interminable nights of impotent rebellion against the rutting of Paris abed: those nights when I would have liked to embrace all the bodies, to suck in all the breaths and sup all the mouths... those nights which would find me, in the morning, prostrate on the carpet, scratching it still with inert and ineffectual fingers... fingers which never know anything but emptiness, whose nails are still taut with the passion of murder twenty-four hours after the crises... nails which I will one day end up plunging into the satined flesh of a neck, and... It is quite clear, you see, that I am possessed by a demon... a demon which doctors would treat with some bromide or with all-healing sal ammoniac! As if medicines could ever be imagined to be effective against such evil!
Jean Lorrain (Monsieur De Phocas)