Albastreala Quotes & Sayings

I overhear the soldiers whispering. That terrorist looks a bit butch. They laugh. I turn to glare right into their mindless sheep eyes and they stiffen, pretend they don't see me. Miserable fools. What do they know about women? They probably call me butch because of my short hair. They don't know the feminine is the origin of everything. It's ferment, magma, purification, creation. The dawn that will rise when the revolution is complete. — Claudia Salazar Jimenez

I might not say much but I'm a watcher
and a thinker. — Tina J. Richardson

When I awake dramatically I start off my day by reciting aloud a fan letter. — Austin Mahone

He'd pushed her. He'd scared her. He'd besieged her. He'd vowed he wouldn't, and he did. — Ann Brashares

The women's movement in England was totally against Margaret Thatcher. — Gloria Steinem

Growing up in the country, you're left to the wilds of your imagination. — Cindy Williams

She'd stared at the darkened ceiling half the night wondering about what Murphy had said. Turning the comment every which way. And every way she turned it, she ended up with the same view: Murphy had feelings for her. She couldn't believe he might love her - though his answer to Dad's question suggested otherwise. And she definitely wasn't about to address the subject with him. Last night had been awkward enough. — Denise Hunter

I desire to live in peace and to continue the life I have begun under the motto 'to live well you must live unseen — Rene Descartes

she'd put her idea to the group, they'd needed another sherry to steady their nerves. This was getting edgy. They were considering being untruthful. — John Wiltshire

Every writer is going to end up drawing from their own experiences in one way or another. — Greg Rucka

As a first baseman, hitting home runs is what's expected of me. But I don't really try to hit home runs. — Derrek Lee

The utmost the American novelist can hope for, if he hopes at all to see his work included in the literature of his time, is that it may eventually be found to be along in the direction of the growing tip of collective consciousness. Preeminently the novelist's gift is that of access to the collective mind. — Mary Hunter Austin