Antiquarians Telescope Quotes & Sayings

My films are the celebration of reality, of life, of my friends, of actual daily life that passes and is gone tomorrow. We don't pay attention to it when it happens. — Jonas Mekas

But what gave rise to the swaggering self-righteousness I so often encountered among these students? How could one feel guilt and shame, and at the same time parade one's self-righteousness? — Bernhard Schlink

We are the stage and all the players. — Mark Nepo

Some younger drivers didn't grow up seeing racing as being dangerous. They break their little finger, and they are surprised. It's like, 'Be happy it's only that.' — Jacques Villeneuve

On the last page he'd written simply, She's so beautiful. — Lia Habel

Take away truth and people will lie. Scoff at virtue, and betrayal becomes a matter of course. — Frank E. Peretti

A true warrior," she said, "does not fight because he wishes to but because he has to. A man who yearns for war, a man who enjoys his killing, he is a brute and a monster. No matter how much glory he wins on the battlefield, that cannot erase the fact that he is no better than a rabid wolf who will turn on his friends and family as soon as his foes. — Christopher Paolini

What could possibly be more fantastic than reality? — Ashleigh Brilliant

There is salvation for lost and ruined men by faith in the blood and in the obedience of him who died upon the tree, and is now enthroned in the highest place in heaven. - James — Charles Haddon Spurgeon

Who is going to find out? These women are trash. Nobody's going to believe them. — Hillary Clinton

A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you. — Elbert Hubbard

I wear black because I'm comfortable in it. But then in the summertime when it's hot I'm comfortable in light blue. — Johnny Cash

There is a kind of gaping admiration that would fain roll Shakespeare and Bacon into one, to have a bigger thing to gape at; and a class of men who cannot edit one author without disparaging all others. — Robert Louis Stevenson

Quinnipeague in August was a lush green place where inchworms dangled from trees whose leaves were so full that the eaten parts were barely missed. Mornings meant 'thick o' fog' that caught on rooftops and dripped, blurring weathered gray shingles while barely muting the deep pink of rosa rugosa or the hydrangea's blue. Wood smoke filled the air on rainy days, pine sap on sunny ones, and wafting through it all was the briny smell of the sea. — Barbara Delinsky