Carol Shields Quotes

I got cribs all over the place and offices all over the place, and sometimes I lose track of my stuff.

He who is conceived in a cage yearns for the cage.

A pedestal is as much a prison as any small, confined space.

Think of the wonderful circles in which our whole being moves and from which we cannot escape no matter how we try. The circler circles in these circles.

There is something sad about clothes laid in a tomb of trunks.

I like to show subjects inside a sealed veneer. There's a sense that you can't get in.

The world forgetting, by the world forgot.

My worst habit is probably that I'm extremely messy. I'm a big scatter-brain - I'm always losing my car keys, or worse, forgetting where I parked my car in the car park.

I really like cages.

When you put a top on something and try to bottle it, that's when it dies.

I like boxes because of the secrets they hide.

Everything has to come to an end, sometime.

If you would be unloved and forgotten, be reasonable.

He is dead, she thought bitterly, because we have forgotten him.

There can be many bars, wires that keep a person trapped. All of them don't have to have been created for the purpose of harming or caging the bird, but they still serve that function.

There is nothing like death to say what is always such an artificial thing to say: The End.

He never forgot anything but he never bothered to arrange his memories. -Hazel, Cannery Row

You will die and it will all be over. You will die and find out everything or cease asking.

Quit the world, and the world forgets you.

All roads end at the grave, which is the gate to nothingness.

That out of sight is out of mind is true of most we leave behind.

The rest, with very little exaggeration, was books. Meant-to-be-picked-up books. Permanently-left-behind books. Uncertain-what-to-do-with books. But books, books. Tall cases lined three walls of the room, filled to and beyond capacity. The overflow had been piled in stacks on the floor. There was little space left for walking, and none whatever for pacing.

All the promises we made in the beginning, did we forget because we were busy? Or are we already too busy forgetting?

Can we wonder that men perish and are forgotten when their noblest and most enduring works decay?

The low green tent Whose curtain never outward swings.