Fyodor Dostoevsky Quotes
And so I ask myself: 'Where are your dreams?' And I shake my head and mutter: 'How the years go by!' And I ask myself again: 'What have you done with those years? Where have you buried your best moments? Have you really lived? Look,' I say to myself, 'how cold it is becoming all over the world!' And more years will pass and behind them will creep grim isolation. Tottering senility will come hobbling, leaning on a crutch, and behind these will come unrelieved boredom and despair. The world of fancies will fade, dreams will wilt and die and fall like autumn leaves from the trees. . . .
Fyodor Dostoevsky
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What in heaven's name is strange about a grandmother dancing nude? I'll bet lots of grandmothers do it.
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My favorite books are psychology, self-help, and I'm fascinated by Jung, by dream work.
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Renouncement: the heroism of mediocrity.
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I've played every instrument you could possibly think of for 10 minutes. So I'm mediocre at everything. I can play drums, guitar, piano, violin, saxophone, clarinet, flute... Just not well.
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When friends ask for a second cup they are open to conversation.
Gail Parent
When you love somebody, and they have a child, you love their child. You just accept it as a part of who they are, and you care about them and theirs.
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I guess just a lively imagination is the best effort an actor can have.
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People ask me, 'Isn't it scary living on your own?' but in this industry, being at events, doing interviews, and doing promotion and constantly chatting about yourself, sometimes it's really nice to just sit in silence or take a day where you can sleep in until 3 P.M. and then stay up as late as you like.
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I'm an Indian-origin painter. I will remain so to my last breath.
M. F. Husain
Fashion anticipates.
Oleg Cassini
The two World Wars came in part, like much modern literature and art, because men, whose nature is to tire of everything in turn... tired of common sense and civilization.
F. L. Lucas
If you want to make change, 'Show me how' can be a stronger, more effective approach than 'Just say no.' That's what I think.
Carl Safina
Sexual dreams aren't usually about sex.
Pamela Stephenson
I am extremely suspicious of dreams, apparitions and visions, both in literature and in films and plays. Perhaps it's because mental excesses of this sort smack too much of being 'arranged.'
Ingmar Bergman
Ask me to define my love for you and I’ll say it’s captured in every beautiful memory of our past, detailed out in vivid visions of our dreams and future plans, but most of all it’s right now, in the moment where everything I’ve ever wanted in my life is standing right in front of me.
Leo Christopher
I would see anything by Antony Gormley.
Kate Fleetwood
If my twelve-year-old self, of whom I had grown rather fond, thinking about him, were to reproach me: 'Why have you grown up such a dull dog, when I gave you such a good start? Why have you spent your time in dusty libraries, catologuing other people's books instead of writing your own? What had become of the Ram, the Bull and the Lion, the example I gave you to emulate? Where above all is the Virgin, with her shining face and curling tresses, whom I entrusted to you'- what should I say?
I should have an answer ready. 'Well, it was you who let me down, and I will tell you how. You flew too near to the sun, and you were scorched. This cindery creature is what you made me.'
To which he might reply: 'But you have had half a century to get over it! Half a century, half the twentieth century, that glorious epoch, that golden age that I bequeathed to you!'
'Has the twentieth century,' I should ask, 'done so much better than I have? When you leave this room, which I admit is dull and cheerless, and take the last bus to your home in the past, if you haven't missed it - ask yourself whether you found everything so radiant as you imagined it. Ask yourself whether it has fulfilled your hopes. You were vanquished, Colston, you were vanquished, and so was your century, your precious century that you hoped so much of.
Leslie Poles Hartley
And so I ask myself: 'Where are your dreams?' And I shake my head and mutter: 'How the years go by!' And I ask myself again: 'What have you done with those years? Where have you buried your best moments? Have you really lived? Look,' I say to myself, 'how cold it is becoming all over the world!' And more years will pass and behind them will creep grim isolation. Tottering senility will come hobbling, leaning on a crutch, and behind these will come unrelieved boredom and despair. The world of fancies will fade, dreams will wilt and die and fall like autumn leaves from the trees. . . .
Fyodor Dostoevsky
