Pan Quotes

“The last thing he ever said to me was, 'Just always be waiting for me, and then some night you will hear me crowing.”
― J.M. Barrie

“You must carry on my spirit. It can no longer be carried by a god. It must be taken up by all of you. - Pan”
― Rick Riordan, The Battle of the Labyrinth

“Al fin y al cabo, ¿qué clase de ciencia es ésa, capaz de poner un hombre en la luna pero incapaz de poner un pedazo de pan en la mesa de cada ser humano?”
― Carlos Ruiz Zafón, Marina

“Remake the wild, a little at a time, each in your own corner of the world. You cannot wait for anyone else, even a god, to do that for you.”
― Rick Riordan, The Battle of the Labyrinth

“He was never more sinister than when he was most polite...”
― J. M. Barrie

“In her fantastic mood she stretched her soft, clasped hands upward toward the moon.

'Sweet moon,' she said in a kind of mock prayer, 'make your white light come down in music into my dancing-room here, and I will dance most deliciously for you to see". She flung her head backward and let her hands fall; her eyes were half closed, and her mouth was a kissing mouth. 'Ah! sweet moon,' she whispered, 'do this for me, and I will be your slave; I will be what you will.'

Quite suddenly the air was filled with the sound of a grand invisible orchestra. Viola did not stop to wonder. To the music of a slow saraband she swayed and postured. In the music there was the regular beat of small drums and a perpetual drone. The air seemed to be filled with the perfume of some bitter spice. Viola could fancy almost that she saw a smoldering campfire and heard far off the roar of some desolate wild beast. She let her long hair fall, raising the heavy strands of it in either hand as she moved slowly to the laden music. Slowly her body swayed with drowsy grace, slowly her satin shoes slid over the silver sand.

The music ceased with a clash of cymbals. Viola rubbed her eyes. She fastened her hair up carefully again. Suddenly she looked up, almost imperiously.

"Music! more music!" she cried.

Once more the music came. This time it was a dance of caprice, pelting along over the violin-strings, leaping, laughing, wanton. Again an illusion seemed to cross her eyes. An old king was watching her, a king with the sordid history of the exhaustion of pleasure written on his flaccid face. A hook-nosed courtier by his side settled the ruffles at his wrists and mumbled, 'Ravissant! Quel malheur que la vieillesse!' It was a strange illusion. Faster and faster she sped to the music, stepping, spinning, pirouetting; the dance was light as thistle-down, fierce as fire, smooth as a rapid stream.

The moment that the music ceased Viola became horribly afraid. She turned and fled away from the moonlit space, through the trees, down the dark alleys of the maze, not heeding in the least which turn she took, and yet she found herself soon at the outside iron gate. ("The Moon Slave")”
― Barry Pain, Ghostly By Gaslight

“The term “panic” derives from Pan, the god of the woods. People lost deep in the forest report a terror, as though trees might conspire against them. Nature has no special regard for humanity. Panic is our brain's way of reminding us we should be humble.”
― Thomm Quackenbush, Holidays with Bigfoot

“The fractured self is not something that needs to be rectified fixed and made whole; by freeing thought of the blinkers of representation, the space of fracture, of multiplicity (as opposed to unity) becomes a powerful place and one from which the most radical ideas can emerge.”
― Ria Banerjee

“Jeg har aldri i mitt liv skrevet "slibrig"; men jeg kunne gi anvisning på dristigere ting i mine bøker enn hva som stod i den tyske fortelling. De er å finne f.eks. både i "Sult" og "Pan". Men når Jacob Sverdrup leser over igjen disse steder og forarges, så vil jeg også be ham lese f.eks. Ibsens "Lille Eyolf" påny. Den lille nydelige, senile råhet, champagnen som ei ble rørt, bør han virkelig nippe til. Og huske. Og bruke.”
― Knut Hamsun, Selected Letters 1879-1898

“Your bread assumes the shape of the pan you use to bake your flour. Therefore stand still and know that you can’t use a rounded pan and ever get squared bread. Change the pan and change the shape of the bread!”
― Israelmore Ayivor, Shaping the dream

“A strange breeze rustled through the clearing, temporarily overpowering the stink of trash and murk. It brought the smell of berries and wildflowers and clean rainwater, things that might've once been in these woods. Suddenly I was nostalgic for something I'd never knew.”
― Rick Riordan, The Lightning Thief

“When man has finally fulfilled his death wish by wiping out anything that breathes, including himself, Pan will return to a world made innocent again.”
― Nina Antonia, The Greenwood Faun

“Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!
Piercing sweet by the river!
Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!
The sun on the hill forgot to die,
And the lilies reviv’d, and the dragon-fly
Came back to dream on the river.”
― Browning Elizabeth Barrett

“they were straining so desperately for admission to paradise that they had forgotten that paradise had always been their address.”
― Tom Robbins

“All in a moment Hurlow forgot the beauty of the sounds and smelt fear. He smelt it as an animal smells it, the breath cold in his nostrils. He had read about Pan, a dead god who might safely be patronized while poring over a book in a London lodging, but here and at this hour a god not to be scorned. ("Furze Hollow")”
― A.M. Burrage

“Nakon što sam jednog prosinačkog dana 2001. u zagrebačkoj Nacionalnoj knjižnici prisustvovaoraspečaćenju pisane ostavštine Miroslava Krleže te sudjelovao u dugoj stručnoj raspravi o njemu, krenuo sam, zajedno s dijelom publike i sudionika, u piščev stan, gdje se upravo imao otvoriti Memorijalni prostor Miroslava i Bele Krleže. U dvorištu kuće na Gvozdu, dok sam zajedno s drugima cupkao na temperaturi od oko minus 10C po ledenu betonskom tlu i čekao gradonačelnika, iznenadilo me je mnoštvo meni nepoznatih ljudi o kojima sam od prisutnih kolega čuo da su iz kulturne administracije, državne i gradske, pa sam se u sljedećih pedesetak minuta - koliko nas je gradonačelnik pustio čekati - zapitkivao je li otvorenje moralo biti organizirano baš tako da među okupljenima bude barem dvije trećine kulturno neproduktivnih, a da se profesori, pisci i urednici osjećaju kao stranci.
Kad se gradonačelnik napokon dovezao do nas, nakon prigodne besjede (kojom nas je još desetak minuta zadržao u dvorištu), uveo u stan, uzvanici su ispunili primaću sobu u tolikoj masi da sam se pobojao kako će se deka između Krležina i donjega kata prosjesti, pa sam se instinktivno povukao u kut (gdje bi deka zacijelo bila izdržala i da su oni u sredini sobe propali kat niže). Tu sam se pak suočio s predmetom koji mi je privukao znatiželju te mi olakšao boravak u ambijentu koji je više od svega pobuđivao želju da se iz njega kriomice pobjegne.
Malo je reći da je neobični predmet bio radioaparat. Bila je to RIZ-ova glazbena kutija (kombinacija radioprijamnika, gramofona i magnetofona) u obliku oveće drvene komode s platnenim pokrovom preko ugrađenih zvučnika, s furniranim plohama i oštrim bridovima, tipičnima za ukus i dizajn ranih šezdesetih godina, kad su oble forme omiljene sredinom 20. stoljeća počele ustupati mjesto uglatima. Promrzao, umoran, pa i pomalo prestrašen okolnim žagorom, osamio sam se u kutu te se posvetio RIZ-ovu elektronskom čudovištu, privučen, istina, i Krležinim glasom koji je dopirao iz zvučnika i izgovarao tekst izvorno pročitan 29. ožujka 1966. na skupu o ilirskom pokretu. Očekujući da govornik dođe do znamenite rečenice kako su ilirci "bacili kroz prozor" jezik stare hrvatske književnosti (ona me je potresla već 1966., kad sam je kao gimnazijalac čuo u televizijskom prijenosu proslave), obilazio sam oko aparata i promatrao ga s radoznalošću s kakvom se i inače promatraju zastarjele tehničke naprave. Zapamtio sam ga toliko podrobno da i danas, zatvorivši oči, mogu dočarati njegove površine i bridove.
Zadržao sam se kraj aparata sve dok nije došlo vrijeme za odlazak, a vani se počeo spuštati rani zimski sumrak. Kući sam se vratio već po mraku, umoran, bezvoljan, u jednom od onih raspoloženja kad svijest o protraćenu vremenu preraste u osjećaj obuhvatnijega besmisla, kad nelagodne pojedinosti što ih čovjek pamti u vezi sa sobom i drugima budu prisutnije nego inače, kad se poslovi što ih valja obaviti u skoroj budućnosti učine jalovima ili nesavladavima.
Ali, kakav bio, taj je dan bio ispunjen Krležom, pa sam se odlučio da ga na odgovarajući način i zaključim. Možda u pokušaju da se nadovežem na štogod o čemu se govorilo za okruglim stolom, a možda i nasumice, uzeo sam s police svezak Simfonija te se, nakon nekoliko minuta nesabrana listanja i začitavanja na raznim mjestima, posvetio Panu. I gle, malo-pomalo zvuk stihova uljuljao me i raspoložio, rast pjesničkih slika reanimirao je umrtvljenu svijest, oživjele su i uspomene na nekadašnja čitanja, a ugođaj spjeva nametnuo se kao poetična protuvrijednost prozaičnim zbivanjima koja su me taj dan bila ozlovoljila. Još se, eto, može naletjeti na fine teme, u kojima ima objektivne težine i tragova osobne čitateljske biografije, a u krležijanskom kompleksu - kojem pripadaju i spjev iz 1917. i proslava s kraja 2001. - još se uvijek otkrivaju zanimljivi odnosi i suprotnosti. O svemu tome moglo bi se štogod napisati. Kad-tad.”
― Zoran Kravar, Uljanice i duhovi

“Your bread assumes the shape of the pan in which you bake your flour. Therefore stand still and know that you can't use a rounded pan and ever get squared bread. Change the pan and get your desired shape of the bread!”
― Israelmore Ayivor, The Great Hand Book of Quotes

“For meg hører skogen og ensomheten til.”
― Knut Hamsun

“I’m still in bed writing this, lying on my back like an omelette in a pan.”
― Alain Bremond-Torrent, running is flying intermittently

“But he was a human being, or part of one, and he felt just as Lyra did: unhappy, and guilty, and wretchedly lonely.”
― Philip Pullman, The Secret Commonwealth

“No hay olor que calme mejor el miedo que el del pan recién horneado.”
― Cristina Loza, El oso de karantania

“I loved the zebras, the cheetahs, the fruit flies, the octopi and the rest. But The Nature of Sex “climaxed” with a species I’d never heard of before, “bonobos,” which the narrator also called by their Latin/scientific name Pan paniscus. I knew “Pan” as classical Greek mythology’s horned and horny god of the wild, so maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. But when the bonobos started swinging onto my screen, well… what can I say? Today, I’ve got a whole book’s worth of stuff to say, but back then, I couldn’t utter a word. Imagine looking into an evolutionary funhouse mirror and seeing a side of yourself you’ve never seen before, shocking yet deeply familiar.

“Who are these vibrant, joyful creatures that look so much like me, only hairier?” I wondered. “And what’s with all the sex?” They weren’t just going at it for procreation. They were engaging in sex for recreation and interpersonal communication, very much like humans, but without the pretense, hypocrisy and shame. I got very excited, but no, I still didn’t want to have sex with them. I wanted to have sex like them (at least occasionally), in that playful yet deeply meaningful way of theirs I started calling the Bonobo Way.

But would it keep our sex life out of the dreaded sinkhole? Only time would tell.”
― Susan Block, The Bonobo Way

“I flow like a butter in the nailed pan I stole. I also kept the nail, to polish and use as a means of teleportation.”
― Will Advise, Nothing is here...

“Pan took the joke good-naturedly, probably deciding it wasn't a good idea to argue with a fifteen-year-old who had just pulled two people up ten feet.”
― Grace Anthony, Timeless

“Are the legends true?” asked Cadmus. “Of course they are,” replied Pan. “We live in an age of legends.”
― Sulari Gentill, Chasing Odysseus

“Pan again!" said Dr. Bull irritably. "You seem to think Pan is everything."
"So he is," said the Professor, "in Greek. He means everything."
"Don't forget," said the Secretary, looking down, "that he also means Panic.”
― G.K. Chesterton, The Man Who Was Thursday: A Nightmare

“Uneori poate să-ți facă plăcere să fii tras de păr. Ca să vezi cât de ciudată e firea omului. Nu-i cu neputință să te lași târât peste munți și văi - și dacă cineva te întreabă ce ți se întâmplă, tu să răspunzi încântat: Sunt tras de păr! Iar dacă te întreabă: Să nu-ți ajut să scapi? Atunci tu să răspunzi: nu. Și dacă, în sfârșit, te întreabă: Dar cum poți să rabzi să fii tratat așa? Tu să răspunzi: Da, pot, fiindcă ador mâna care mă trage de păr.... Știi tu, Eva, ce înseamnă să speri?”
― Knut-Hamsun

“a hand, a look and a nice pan. (coup de main, coup d'oeil et belle casserole.)”
― Charles de Leusse, Les Contes de la nuit

“Ser bendecido es recibir pan para el camino de la vida. Jesús se refería a la liberación de los espíritus malignos como pan de los hijos. A menudo no conocemos el valor de lo que hemos recibido hasta que lo regalamos, como el muchacho de Jn 6:9.”
― Neal Lozano, Unbound: A Practical Guide to Deliverance

“He choked back a laugh. "How can you make me smile when I feel like I've been struck by a meteor?”
― Amanda Bouchet, A Curse of Queens