Bartelby Quotes & Sayings

Maybe it's me. Maybe I don't know how to have fun. — Louise Rozett

It is the body, subject to the harmony of the steps it is executing, which speaks. And it speaks to the heart in as direct a language as does music. — Natalia Makarova

Death is always, under all circumstances, a tragedy, for if it is not then it means that life has become one. — Theodore Roosevelt

You can't dodge them all. I got hammered plenty of times through the years. But you just get up and keep playing. I can tell you from experience, though. Sometimes it hurts like hell. — Terry Bradshaw

It's true that private enterprise is extremely flexible, But its only good within very narrow limits. If private enterprise isn't held in an iron grip it gives birth to people who are no better than beasts, those stock-exchange people with greedy appetites beyond restraint. — Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

Harmonics are vibrations a fraction of the length of the vibrating string, which add higher-pitched and more complex content to the notes. With a dull instrument, the harmonics die out, but with a sustaining instrument, the harmonics continue to sound along with the fundamental note. — Steve Albini

Due to Jade's fortresslike manner, which, like any well-built castle, made access challenging, girls found her existence not only threatening but flat-out wrong. Although Bartelby Athletic Center featured the latest advertising campaign of Ms. Sturd's three member Benevolent Body-Image Club (laminated Vogue and Maxim covers above captions, "You Can't Have Thighs Like This and Still Walk" and "All Airbrushing"), Jade would only have to swan by, munching on a Snickers to reveal a disturbing truth: You could have thighs like that and still walk. She emphasized what few wanted to accept, that some people did win Trivial Pursuit: The Deity Looks Edition, and there wasn't a thing you could do about it, except come to terms with the fact that you'd only played Trivial Pursuit: John Doe Genes and come away with three pie pieces. — Marisha Pessl

What Would Michael Do? — Deborah C. Foulkes