People lose fifty million skin cells every day. The cells get scraped off and turn into invisible dust, and disappear into the air. Maybe we are nothing but skin cells as far as the world is concerned.
Life is not all about only sex, just try once to control this disaster, you may turn out to be a religious worshiper or prophet, but everything fails when you see naked women in your bed.
I didn’t do a 180-degree turn on my thinking. I simply swiveled my chair around so I could dismiss the idea from the other side.
If you can learn to endure pain, you can survive anything. Some people learn to embrace it- to love it. Some endure it through drowning it in sorrow, or by making themselves forget. Others turn it into anger.
Songs remain. They last. The right song can turn an emperor into a laughing-stock, can bring down dynasties. A song can last long after the events and the people in it are dust and dreams are gone. That's the power of songs.
One does not find soulmates.. soulmates 'happen' unannounced in some turn of this deliciously unpredictable journey called life, often when we are not even 'groomed for the occasion
Our attitude will determine what we will strive for, whom we will be, and how our life will turn out.
You were a well-respected agent, Michael, a rags-to-riches fairytale ending. Until you became disgraced. Now it appears your own organization wishes to be rid of you. Why is this?” “My gun turned back into a pumpkin.
I need a kid like I need a bad heart. A pretty kid is a ticket to trouble... and I'm too old to ask for that. Shit, I haven't even booked Tommy the Face in two years. I'm turning into a jack-off idiot.
Hey," said Shadow. "Huginn or Muninn, or whoever you are." The bird turned, head tipped, suspiciously, on one side, and it stared at him with bright eyes. "Say 'Nevermore,'" said Shadow. "Fuck you," said the raven.
Most of my life has been spent keeping information close, turning it over and over in my mind. The impulse to share anything is a new one, the impulse to hide as natural as breathing.
Writting turns you into somebody who's always wrong. The illusion that you may get ir right someday is the perversity that draws you on. What else could? As pathological phenomena go, it doesn't completely wreck your life.
Don't tell me anymore. You should have your dream, as the old woman told you to. I understand how you feel, but if you put those feelings into words they will turn into lies. (from Thailand)
You couldn't just pick and choose at will when someone depended on you, or loved you. It wasn't like a light switch, easy to turn on or off. If you were in, you were in. Out, you were out.
Wise random strangers at bars are modern-day Oracles of Delphi, except drunk and sometimes leaving abruptly when it's their turn for karaoke.
Maybe, in the final analysis, they saw me as something I wasn't and I tried to turn them into something they could never be. I loved them all but maybe I never understood any of them. I don't think they understood me.
Her face may have been the most beautiful female face I have ever seen. Yet, it was a beauty that was intimidating and overwhelming. It was an exquisiteness that made you want to turn and run, instead of approach.
See that?" said Lemon. "The car tracks turn off there." "How do you know it's not the parks people on a golf cart thingie?" "You don't golf, do you, Kate?" "No, I'm too young to die of boredom.
Certainly seems it when she half-turns in his arms and he just leans right down into her and kisses and kisses. Oh, how syrupy-slow his kisses are. She could live in those warm, wet pulls.
He wanted to write someone and demand a refund on his dark side which clearly ought to have irresistible magical power but had turned out to be defective.
One thing I learned as a journalist is that there is at least one disgruntled person in every workplace in America -- and at least double that number with a conscience. Hard as they try, they simply can't turn their heads away from an injustice when ...
