Rose Macaulay Quotes

Dying is only one thing to be sad over... Living unhappily is something else.

I was happier before, when I lead a normal life.

From this experience, I understood the danger of focusing only on what isn't there. What if I came to the end of my life and realized that I'd spent every day watching for a man who would never come to me? What an unbearable sorrow it would be, to realize I'd never really tasted the things I'd eaten, or seen the places I'd been, because I'd thought of nothing but the Chairman even while my life was drifting away from me. And yet if I drew my thoughts back from him, what life would I have? I would be like a dancer who had practiced since childhood for a performance she would never give.

First, I emptied the closets of your clothes, threw out the bowl of fruit, bruised from your touch, left empty the jars you bought for preserves. The next morning, birds rustled the fruit trees, and later when I twisted a ripe fig loose from its stem, I found it half eaten, the other side already rotting, or-like another I plucked and split open-being taken from the inside: a swarm of insects hollowing it. I'm too late, again, another space emptied by loss. Tomorrow, the bowl I have yet to fill.

I have taken so many wrong turns and been so careless with precious things and managed to lose, or break, or leave out in the rain so much that I loved.

I bought a house on a one-way dead-end road. I don’t know how I got there.

Houses turn to corpses overnight when we cease to live and love in them.

Our house is like an empty cigarette packet, lying around reminding you what's not in it.

The world ... is full of people who never knew what hit 'em, their lives are over before they wake up.

Every moment spent in negativity is paid for with something truly priceless. That something is life.

Black is like the silence of the body after death, the close of life.

The house was as empty as a beer closet in premises where painters have been at work.

When everything is finished, the mornings are sad.

I had risked everything, and I had nothing to show for it but my open hand, lying empty and palm up toward the ceiling.

I felt the death loneliness that comes at the end of every day that is wasted in your life.

Perhaps nothing ud be a lesson to us if it didn't come too late. It's well we should feel as life's a reckoning we can't make twice over; there's no real making amends in this world, any more nor you can mend a wrong subtraction by doing your addition right.

A careless shoe string, in whose tie I see a wilde civility.

The wind, one brilliant day, called to my soul with an odor of jasmine. "In return for the odor of my jasmine, I'd like all the odor of your roses." "I have no roses; all the flowers in my garden are dead." "Well then, I'll take the withered petals and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain." the wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself: "What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?

I knew it in my bones. That this time was it. I had finally made my choice, and so had he. He let me go. I was relieved, which I expected. What I didn't expect was to feel so much grief.

It's hard for me to talk to her. All I can do when I look at her is think about the day when I won't be able to. So I spend all my time at school thinking about her, wishing I could see her right then, but when I get to her house, I don't know what to say.

I just think it’s amazing that a person could lose everything, chasing nothing.

Whole sight; or all the rest is desolation.

I had wanted life not to bother me too much, and had succeeded - and how pitiful that was.

I haven't had a very good day. I think I might still be hung over and everyone's dead and my root beer's gone.

Long ago, when Harry had been left alone while the Dursley's went out to enjoy themselves, the hours of solitude had been a rare treat: Pausing only to sneak something tasty from the fridge, he had rushed upstairs to play on Dudley's computer, or put on the television and flicked through the channels to his heart's content. It gave him an odd empty feeling to remember those times; it was like remembering a younger brother whom he had lost.