Bassano Cheesecake Quotes & Sayings

I think when you know what you are going to wear, it fits and it's great material, then you feel confident in it. — Maria Sharapova

I think the novel form chose me. I was a writer before I became a criminal ... my first instinct was to write. — Gregory David Roberts

- Who dares, in front of Love, to mention Hell?
Curbed forever be that useless dreamer
Who first imagined, in his brutish mind,
Of sheer futility the fatuous schemer,
Honour with Love could ever be combined.
He who in mystic union would enmesh
Shadow with warmth, and daytime with the night,
Will never warm his paralytic flesh
At the red sun of amorous delight.
Go, if you wish, and seek some boorish lover:
Offer your virgin heart to his crude hold,
Full of remorse and horror you'll recover,
And bring me your scarred breast to be consoled ...
Down here, a soul can only serve one master.
(Damned Women) — Charles Baudelaire

Too many men slip early out of the habit of studious reading, and yet that is essential. — William Osler

And like a drowning woman who chooses the black sea instead of rescue, she did not take it. — Tess Gerritsen

Hurt. Enough to want to make someone else hurt too. — Ellen Hopkins

But when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but more enduring, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, remain poised a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unflinchingly, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection. — M.J. Rose

They saw that the perfect world is a journey, not a place. — Terry Pratchett

Yeah, it's pretty clear, I ain't no size two
But I can shake it, shake it
Like I'm supposed to do
'Cause I got that boom boom that all the boys chase
And all the right junk in all the right places — Meghan Trainor

Think about how backstory fits the tale you're trying to tell... p.195 — Jeff VanderMeer

I felt his voice. Fingers rubbing moss. Smoke curling. Wood worn and smoothed over time. His voice had darkness in it that hovered close to the ground, like a mist hanging over a lake deep in a forest at dusk. A bolt of sea-green velvet. A sensation as much as a series of sounds. It reverberated inside me. — M.J. Rose

With the passage of years, not all of Dicken's readers remained infatuated with his pathos. One generation's sublimity became another generation's kitsch. — Peter Gay