Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Alluded. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Alluded Quotes And Sayings by 88 Authors including Dalia Sofer,David Mitchell,Victor Hugo,William Shakespeare,Ludwig Wittgenstein for you to enjoy and share.
If something must be said, it will say itself. The writer's task is to listen.
Assent was indignant & universal
The reader will pardon us another little digression; foreign to the object of this book but characteristic and useful ...
PAROLLES Just, you say well; so would I have said.
There are remarks that sow and remarks that reap.
In ambition, as in love, the successful can afford to be indulgent toward their rivals. The prize our own, it is graceful to recognize the merit that vainly aspired to it.
It is indeed certain, that whoever attempts any common topick, will find unexpected coincidences of his thoughts with those of other writers; nor can the nicest judgment always distinguish accidental similitude from artful imitation.
The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!
I like to quote things.
[B]ut in literature, it should be remembered, a thing always becomes his at last who says it best, and thus makes it his own.
All gave some, Some gave all.
And therefore, Reader, I myself am the subject of my book: it is not reasonable that you should employ your leisure on a topic so frivolous and so vain. Therefore, Farewell:
One may speak about anything on earth with fire, with enthusiasm, with ecstasy, but one only speaks about oneself with avidity.
I seek to bring forth what you almost already know.
When all is summed up, a man never speaks of himself without loss; his accusations of himself are always believed; his praises never.
had come face to face with some one whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself. I did not want any external influence in my life. You
No writer can be fully convicted of imitation except there is a concurrence of more resemblance than can be imagined to have happened by chance; as where the same ideas are conjoined without any natural series or necessary coherence, or where not only the thought but the words are copied.
Truth is the first thing that present-day literature lacks. The writer has drowned himself in lies, he is too accustomed to speak prudently, with a careful look over his shoulder.
For the prose artist the world is full of other people's words, among which he must orient himself and whose speech characteristics he must be able to perceive with a very keen ear. He must introduce them into the plane of his own discourse, but in such a way that this plane is not destroyed.
As one knows the poet by his fine music, so one can recognize the liar by his rich rhythmic utterance, and in neither case will the casual inspiration of the moment suffice. Here, as elsewhere, practice must precede perfection.
A writer who wishes to be read by posterity must not be averse to putting hints which might give rise to whole books, or ideas for learned discussions, in some corner of a chapter so that one should think he can afford to throw them away by the thousand.
It was true that I had traveled great distances for one so young, but my spirit had remained landlocked, unacquainted with love and all but a stranger to death ... I had absented myself in my smug and airless self-deprivation.
I said, "Some people do know more than others. That contributes to the impression that someone, somewhere,knows the whole thing." [p. 38]
Blessed is the satirist; and blessed the ironist; blessed the witty scoffer, and blessed the sentimentalist; for each, having seen one spoke of the wheel, thinks to have seen all, and is content.
I have had my say, as he wished. Now the book belongs, as he points out, to the world he claims to speak for.
There is no flattery so adroit or effectual as that of implicit assent.
It is happy for you that you possess the talent of flattering with delicacy. May I ask whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are they the result of previous study?
Epithets, like pepper, Give zest to what you write; And if you strew them sparely, They whet the appetite: But if you lay them on too thick, You spoil the matter quite!
I so mixed and matched the planet that you sometimes worried I had no commitments to anything or anywhere, though you were wrong; my commitments were simply far-flung and extremely specific.
One must never miss an opportunity of quoting things by others which are always more interesting than those one thinks up oneself.
All of us encounter, at least once in our life, some individual who utters words that make us think forever. There are men whose phrases are oracles; who condense in one sentence the secrets of life; who blurt out an aphorism that forms a character or illustrates an existence.
George Moore unexpectedly pinched my behind. I felt rather honored that my behind should have drawn the attention of the great master of English prose.
articulate and define what has previously remained implicit or unsaid;
Language is properly the servant of thought, but not unfrequently becomes its master. The conceptions of a feeble writer are greatly modified by his style; a man of vigorous powers makes his style bend to his conceptions.
But I lie. I embellish. My words are not deep enough. They disguise, they conceal. I will not rest until I have told of my descent into a sensuality which was as dark, as magnificent, as wild, as my moments of mystic creation have been dazzling, ecstatic, exalted.
An author who enjoys writing may sometimes please other people by accident, but he can never pass on to any one else the zestful thrill he feels himself.
I am reminded of the professor who, in his declining hours, was asked by his devoted pupils for his final counsel. He replied, 'Verify your quotations.
I had toward the poetic art a peculiar relation which was only practical after I had cherished in my mind for a long time a subject which possessed me, a model which inspired me, a predecessor who attracted me, until at length, after I had molded it
You deserve to be cherished, Sid, your body worshipped with tenderness ... "
"We have all night for that," she said in a sultry whisper she didn't recognize. The red-hot desire thrumming through her wasn't like anything she'd experienced before.
'I'm excellent at all night.
Besides which, all that I could have said of the Story to any purpose, I had endeavoured to say in it.
Merely because you have got something to say that may be of interest to others does not free you from making all due effort to express that something in the best possible medium and form.
[Letter to Max E. Feckler, Oct. 26, 1914]
I have supported my deviations with reasons; I did not stop at mere doubt; I have vanquished, I have uprooted, I have destroyed everything in my heart that might have interfered with my pleasure.
The merit of poetry, in its wildest forms, still consists in its truth-truth conveyed to the understanding, not directly by the words, but circuitously by means of imaginative associations, which serve as its conductors.
There can be such a sky, and such
A play of rays, that our heart feels
An insult to a doll is more
Piteous than an insult to oneself.
("It Happened at Vallen-Koski")
I rejoice to concur with the common reader; for by the common sense of readers, uncorrupted by literary prejudices, after all the refinements of subtilty and the dogmatism of learning, must be finally decided all claim to poetical honours.
All have been, or at least all have believed themselves to be, in danger from the pursuit of someone whom they wished to avoid; and all have been anxious for the attentions of someone whom they wished to please.
I had nothing to say to these words: they were not new to me: my very first recollections of existence included hints of the same kind. This reproach of my dependence had become a vague sing-song in my ear: very painful and crushing, but only half intelligible.
And how I flattered myself
From time to time with proving to myself
Nothing in you could be unknown to me.
You don't belong to the mind's calculations,
And you disproved each of my demonstrations,
Since to be unexpected is your truth.
In discourse more sweet; For eloquence the soul, song charms the sense. Others apart sat on a hill retir'd, In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate, Fix'd fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute; And found no end, in wand'ring mazes lost.
Said ye ever Yea to one joy? O my friends, then said ye Yea also unto ALL woe. All things are enlinked, enlaced and enamoured.
I resolv'd to faign, that all those things which ever entred into my Minde, were no more true, then the illusions of my dreams.
In literature, as in Life, one is often astonished by what is chosen by others.
I have omitted to give a detail of his words, from a notion that they would not interest the reader as they did me, and not because I have forgotten them.
There were
things, he said mournfully, that perhaps could never be told, only he
had lived so much alone that sometimes he forgot
he forgot. The light
had destroyed the assurance which had inspired him in the distant
shadows.
At the outset of my mature life, before everything suddenly became so difficult, I had a great talent for being satisfied. I'd
Shakespeare shook his head and sunk his chin into his ruff, making him look more owl-like than ever. I have written about other worlds often enough. I have said what I can say. There are many kinds of reality. This is but one kind.
In literary composition a well-chosen quotation lights up the page like a fine engraving ...
"Fair, kind, and true" is all my argument,
"Fair, kind, and true" varying to other words;
And in this change is my invention spent,
Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords.
When we are convinced of some great truths, and feel our convictions keenly, we must not fear to express it, although others have said it before us. Every thought is new when an author expresses it in a manner peculiar to himself.
A whisper is more interesting than shouts, the hidden more appealing than the advertized, & the insinuated more convincing than the proclaimed.
Men whose sense of taste is destroyed by sickness, sometimes think honey sour. A diseased eye does not see many things which do exist, and notes many things which do not exist. The same thing frequently takes place with regard to the force of words, when the critic is inferior to the writer.
If you are any kind of writer at all, you are in all of your writings.
Before familiarity can turn into awareness the familiar must be stripped of its inconspicuousness; we must give up assuming that the object in question needs no explanation. However frequently recurrent, modest, vulgar it may be it will now be be labeled as something unusual.
I hope you were right," he whispered. "I hope there's beauty in my asymmetry."
"You weren't a nuisance," he continued, his words growing louder in the cold, snowy silence. "You were the Northern Dancer, sire of the century, the superest of all racehorses.
Implied Subjection, but requir'd with gentle sway, And by her yielded, by him best receiv'd,- Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay.
An author values a compliment even when it comes from a source of doubtful competency.
Alliteration is alarmingly addictive.
Was so proud that night, so self-possessed, standing tall, fully inhabited. I owned myself, felt fully mine to give.
Allegories are, in the realm of thought, what ruins are in the realm of things.
Death to all modifiers, he declared one day, and out of every letter that passed through his hands went every adverb and every adjective.
We are all the subjects of impressions, and some of use seek to convey the impressions to others. In the art of communicating impressions lies the power of generalizing without losing that logical connection of parts to the whole which satisfies the mind.
Quotation is the highest compliment you can pay an author.
I told him, "The writing instinct has always lain dormant in me. Now it is in the process of metamorphosis. The era of transition has passed. I am on the threshold of expression."
He said, "Balls.
I reflected how easy it is for a man to reduce women of a certain age to imbecility. All he has to do is give an impersonation of desire, or better still, of secret knowledge, for a woman to feel herself a source of power.
The writer proposes, the readers dispose.
In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts; they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty.
That an article of mine was well argued but dull, and advised me briskly to write more like the way you talk.
The most vigorous expression of a resolution does not always coincide with the greatest vigour of the resolution itself. It is often flung out as a sort of prop to support a decaying conviction which, whilst strong, required no enunciation to prove it so.
With a certain frustration I knew I spoke too soon, too urgently. I wanted to get out of the way the things I knew to say, wanted to say, the things I'd been thinking, all in the hope of moving into the unforeseen.
It was not that the woman boasted. Quite the opposite. She was modest to a fault, the fault being she insinuated her modesty, deftly, into almost any conversation, proclaiming her insignificance and ignorance, thereby assuring a correction.
Authors frequently say things they are unaware of; only after they have gotten the reactions of their readers do they discover what they have said
Fiction writing is very seldom a matter of saying things; it is a matter of showing things. However,
The right honorable gentleman is indebted to his memory for his jests, and to his imagination for his facts.
Nothing is poorer than a truth expressed as it was thought. Committed to writing in such cases, it is not even a bad photograph. Truth wants to be startled abruptly, at one stroke, from her self-immersion, whether by uproar, music or cries for help ...
Truth often finds its way to the mind close muffled in robes of sleep, and then speaks with uncompromising directness of matters in regard to which we practise an unconscious self-deception during our waking moments.
What I have written, I have written.
The thoughts of my emotionally so disturbed days must be found again, shifted and developed further. Here and there something of the loose remarks I make must be used, but only when it finds my attention again.
Some Critics on the Hearth are not only good-natured, but have rather too high, or, if that is impossible, let us say too pronounced, an opinion of the abilities of their literary friends.
Through their kisses and caresses they experienced a joy and wonder the equal of which has never been known or heard of. But I shall be silent ... ; for the rarest and most delectable pleasures are those which are hinted at, but never told.
My thoughts by night are often filled With visions false as fair: For in the past alone, I build My castles in the air.
My sword," I told him, "says I tell the truth, and that you are a stinking bag of wind, a liar from hell, a cheat and a perjurer who deserves death."
"Up to our arses again," Leofric said.
In future days you will call John Mandeville a liar, and my shade will laugh at you and say: true, true, I was, but not always, not so. When the world was good enough in my sight, when it behaved as wildly and gorgeously as I always knew it could, I told the truth of it.
When we seem to have won or lost in terms of certainties, we must, as literature teachers in the classroom, remember such warnings
let literature teach us that there are no certainties, that the process is open, and that it may be altogether salutary that it is so.
Other men are known to posterity only through the medium of history, which is continually growing faint and obscure; but the intercourse between the author and his fellow-men is ever new,
active, and immediate.
Misquotation is, in fact, the pride and privilege of the learned. A widely- read man never quotes accurately, for the rather obvious reason that he has read too widely.
When an Englishman has professed his belief in the supremacy of Shakespeare amongst all poets, he feels himself excused from the general study of literature. He also feels himself excused from the particular study of Shakespeare.
We are like travellers using the cinders of a volcano to roast their eggs. Whilst we see that it always stands ready to clothe what we would say, we cannot avoid the question whether the characters are not significant of themselves.
Didn't I seize the fire of ideas and make them leap, tear, fly, sing
I have now attained the true art of letter-writing, which we are always told, is to express on paper exactly what one would say to the same person by word of mouth.
I have sometimes sat alone here of an evening, listening, until I have made the echoes out to be the echoes of all the footsteps that are coming by and by into our lives.
Jerry, say that my answer was, 'RECALLED TO LIFE.