Here you leave today and enter the world of yesterday, tomorrow, and fantasy.
Take him away. Prepare a feast. Forget nothing. My crown: the golden cutlery. The poison bottles; and the fumes; the wreaths of ivy and the bloody joints; the chains; the bowl of nettles; the spices; the baskets of fresh grass; the skulls and spines; the ribs and shoulder-blades. Forget nothing or, by the blindness of my sockets, I will have your hearts out. Take him away...
I love hearts. They are symbols for life, love and humanity.
If so many men, so many minds, certainly so many hearts, so many kinds of love.
Lady Croom: It is a defect of God's humour that he directs our hearts everywhere but to those who have a right to them. Act Two, Scene Six, Arcadia
There could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison
He fished in his pocket for his keys and instead pulled out the last geode, gray and smooth, earth-shaped. He held it, warming in his palm, thinking of all mysteries the world contained: layers of stone, concealed beneath the flesh of earth and grass; these dull rocks, with their glimmering hidden hearts.
If there are as many minds as there are men, then there are as many kinds of love as there are hearts.
Of two hearts one is always warm and one is always cold: the cold heart is more precious than diamonds: the warm heart has no value and is thrown away.
[She wasn't] a logically reasoning woman, but God is good, and hearts may count in heaven as high as heads.
soulsThat we might break these molds And free our restless souls Start to believe That we can rise above Our pettiness and love Like we ain't loved before Free on this earth As the surf that rolls And crashes on the shore And hey now don't run and hide Your little heart away If it's gone We'll sure never find it Pining for lost innocence Tantalisingly I saw Our shadows moving through the door Traces from a different time When I was yours and you were truly mine All mine
Certain voices hold this odd pull on our heartstrings. They are like sad oboes or something, something that makes you want to throw all your money at the radio while yelling,
Read sometimes for the story, Bobby. Don't be like the book snobs who won't do that. Read sometimes for the words - the language. Don't be like the play-it-safers that won't do that. But when you find a book that has both a good story and good words, treasure that book.
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