A Quote by Thomas Hardy

She was but a transient impression, half forgotten. — © Thomas Hardy
She was but a transient impression, half forgotten.
She looked around herself, disoriented, like she’d forgotten we were at lunch. Like she’d forgotten we were even at school-surprised that we were not alone in some private place. I understood that feeling exactly. It was hard to remember the rest of the world when I was with her.
Dena had always been a loner. She did not feel connected to anything. Or anybody. She felt as if everybody else had come into the world with a set of instructions about how to live and someone had forgotten to give them to her. She had no clue what she was supposed to feel, so she had spent her life faking at being a human being, with no idea how other people felt. What was it like to really love someone? To really fit in or belong somewhere? She was quick, and a good mimic, so she learned at an early age to give the impression of a normal, happy girl, but inside she had always been lonely.
From my foster parents, the Deans, I received the love that was ultimately to strengthen me, even when I had forgotten its source. It was my foster mother, a half-Indian, half-German woman, who taught me to read, though she herself was barely literate. I remember her reading to me every day from 'True Romance' magazine.
I inherited my weight problem from my mum. She was always on diets. If there was a box of chocolates in the house, she'd eat half a chocolate, then put the other half back. She loved me, but she did encourage me to diet in my teens.
My mom, well, she's half Greek, half German-Italian; born in England. She's just a nomad. She loves Middle Eastern style, Indian style, so much so that she ended up having Indian babies.
Modernity is the transient, the fleeting, the contingent; it is one half of art, the other being the eternal and the immovable.
The certainty that she would find what it was she sought just slipped away, until one night she knew there was nothing, no one waiting for her. That no matter how far she walked, how carefully she searched, how much she wanted to find the person she was looking for, she was alone" - The Forgotten Garden
Harry Potter to me is a bore. His talent arrives as a gift; he's chosen. Who can identify with that? But Hermione - she's working harder than anyone, she's half outsider, right? Half Muggle. She shouldn't be there at all. It's so unfair that Harry's the star of the books, given how hard she worked to get her powers.
She existed in her friends; there she was. All the parts of herself she'd forgotten. She knew herself best when she was with them.
Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten, Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold, Let it be forgotten forever and ever, Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.
History proves that all dictatorships, all authoritarian forms of government are transient. Only democratic systems are not transient. Whatever the shortcomings, mankind has not devised anything superior.
When Nandita expressed a desire to write about me, I couldn't stop her because she's my wife, but she has forgotten who she is.
She had forgotten them all; forgotten Richard down in the mud, and the marquis and his foolish crossbow, and the world. She was delighted and transported, in a perfect place, the world she lived for. Her world contained two things: Hunter, and the Beast. The Beast knew that too. It was the perfect match, the hunter and the hunted. And who was who, and which was which, only time would reveal; time and the dance.
Patti [ Scialfa] was an artist and a musician and she was a songwriter. And she was a lot like me in that she was transient also. She worked busking on the streets in New York. She waitressed. She had - she just lived a life - she lived a musician's life. She lived an artist's life. So we were both people who were very uncomfortable in a domestic setting, getting together and trying to build one and seeing if our particularly strange jigsaw puzzle pieces were going to fit together in a way that was going to create something different for the two of us. And it did.
She'll soon forget." "Caddy," said Saffron impatiently, "she is headmistress of the private school! She's probably never forgotten anything in her whole life!
I have a friend who actually told me that she'd rather be dead than be fat. This is a woman who, if I order a sandwich at lunch, she'll order a salad. If I order a salad, she'll order half a cantaloupe. If I order half a cantaloupe, she'll order a cup of coffee. This bizarre contest continues until she's down to sucking on a mint-flavored toothpick. At this rate, her preference for dying over being fat could be a reality sooner than she thinks.
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