Baissar Quotes & Sayings

When the moon sails out
with a hundred faces all the same,
the coins made of silver
break out in sobs in the pocket. — Federico Garcia Lorca

I write every day. Writing is a necessity - like eating. — Mary MacLane

When a leader is at their limit the last thing they want to hear is that they need to change even more. Maintaining good rhythms of rest, exercise and fun create more energy for a leader to be willing and open for change. — Gary Rohrmayer

I've always written by hand. Mostly with a fountain pen, but sometimes with a pencil - especially for corrections. — Paul Auster

How hard I was going to hit Jack for abandoning me.
That last one warmed me up a bit. — Kiersten White

What a lot we lost when we stopped writing letters. You can't reread a phone call. — Liz Carpenter

The world needed more fireworks- especially now that there was going to be a shortage of beautiful, useless things. — Scott Westerfeld

I wanted intimacy in caps lock but I got it in parentheses. We curled into each other, upside down, my empty spaces filled by another. "Give me the three minute version of your life story," he said. I nailed it it one then refused to throw the question back as etiquette governs. He wanted to know where I'd been. I wanted to know who he was. — Eleni Zoe

I found the human heart empty and insipid everywhere except in books. — Jean-Paul Sartre

Republicans believe every day is the Fourth of July, but the democrats believe every day is April 15. — Ronald Reagan

A start up messed up at the foundation cannot be fixed. — Peter Thiel

We go to several farms and look at foraging, and throw backyard parties with friends. We want to let people know they can enjoy a sense of Tuscany anywhere. — Debi Mazar

I dream of a small room and a man with one eye. Blood seeps like scarlet tears from his empty socket. I turn away and the room becomes a hallway that becomes a stairway that becomes a roof. The wind tugs at my body; the sky tries to wrap me in stars. Below me, a gazebo glows with red light. A line of black cars crawls like cockroaches through the streets.
An air conditioner exhaust fan chitters angrily near the roof's edge, one of its blades bent just enough to scrape against the side of the casing. For a second I let the wind push me close enough to the fan's razor- sharp blades that a lock of my hair gets snipped and sent out into the night. As it twists and flutters toward the gazebo, I think about just letting go, letting the breeze carry my body into the whirling blades, the wind scattering pieces of me throughout the city. Blood and flesh seeping into the cracked pavement. Flowers blooming wherever I land. — Paula Stokes

You like every one; that is to say, you are indifferent to every one. — Oscar Wilde