On quoting literary giants

I collect quotes like one collects stamps or stones. I do it in a compulsive manner, and they’re everyone: rewritten in margins, four notebooks, in my phone as texts to myself. I feel that as if I were to write down every inspirational quote that I find in my paper-strewn path, that they might lend me some of their own prowess. And perhaps, as a result of dutifully compiling quotes, I could feel what it might be like to write something so profound, so powerful in a single paragraph, a single phrase (or less) myself – to feel the words as they fall from the fingertips and imagine what that must feel like. Like little vignettes in themselves, these quotes are the cruxes, the essence of contexts vast and mysterious, and before the authors of these quotes utter them into existence, one would not be able to believe they could be articulated. They are observations of the truth captured in a beautifully concise, linguistic format. And they are readily available to be admired by you and I. Personally, I believe that writing tiny kernels of wisdom requires a sort of genius – a genius to distill the convoluted down to a manageable essence while not compromising the initial intricacies, the serpentine coils and twists of life… they say so much without being overstated and gaudy.

Here are some of my favorite quotes that I’ve written down in dire haste within a wide array of note pages and such. I hope that they instill in you some feeling of grandeur as they have done for me.

With me, the present is forever, and forever is always shifting, flowing, melting. This second is life. And when it is gone it is dead. But you can’t start over with each new second. You have to judge by what is dead. It’s like quicksand … hopeless from the start. A story, a picture, can renew sensation a little, but not enough, not enough. Nothing is real except the present, and already, I feel the weight of centuries smothering me. Some girl a hundred years ago once lived as I do. And she is dead. I am the present, but I know I, too, will pass. The high moment, the burning flash, come and are gone, continuous quicksand. And I don’t want to die.
— Sylvia Plath

Emerson, for instance, left his sick wife, Lidian, and their young children in Thoreau’s care to go to Europe in 1847, writing coldly to Lidian, ‘I foresee plainly that the trick of solitariness never can leave me.’
— from the preface to The Journal of Henry David Thoreau 1837-1861

A living entity that regarded its means of survival as evil, would not survive. A plant that struggled to mangle its roots, a bird that fought to break its wings would not remain for long in the existence they affronted. But the history of man has been a struggle to deny and to destroy his mind.
— John Galt

Actual happiness looks pretty squalid in comparison with the overcompensations for misery. And, of course, stability isn’t nearly so spectacular as instability. And being contented has none of the glamor of a good fight against misfortune, none of the picturesqueness of a struggle with temptation, or a fatal overthrow by passion or doubt. Happiness is never grand.
— Brave New World, Aldous Huxley

Chaos was the law of nature; order was the dream of man.
— Henry Brooks Adams

You’ll find that you’re not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You’re by no means alone on that score, you’ll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You’ll learn from them — if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It’s a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn’t education. It’s history. It’s poetry.
— The Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger

Algebra is applied to the clouds; the radiation of the star profits the rose; no thinker would venture to affirm that the perfume of the hawthorn is useless to the constellations. Who, then, can calculate the course of a molecule? How do we know that the creation of worlds is not determined by the fall of grains of sand? Who knows the reciprocal ebb and flow of the infinitely great and the infinitely little, the reverberations of causes in the precipices of being, and the avalanches of creation?
— Les Miserables, Victor Hugo

What are some of your favorite quotes?

Sue majors in Neuroscience & English and tends to lurk in bookstores.