Bellocq Photographer Quotes & Sayings

But the dreadful thing about wicked ideas is that bit by bit wicked minds can become accustomed to them. — Alexandre Dumas

Promise you won't forget me, ever. Not even when I'm a hundred. — A.A. Milne

The difference between eccentricity and originality in historical studies is often difficult to detect at first encounter. When a radically new interpretation of a large segment of history makes its appearance, time is needed to sift the evidence. — Edmund Morgan

If you can't stand solitude, perhaps others find you boring as well. — Mark Twain

She was a stubborn English lass, but he was a clever Scot. — Victoria Roberts

The things closest to the heart of God are often the most offensive to the Pharisees. — Craig Groeschel

People are always ready to admit a man's ability after he gets there. — Bob Edwards

Even when you can't see yourself, my mother said in my ear, you are still yourself, and even when you can't see your father, he is still your father, just because you can't see someone, it doesn't mean that they aren't someone, and what a relief! my mother had cried, taking the hands away from my eyes, what a relief. — Alison Espach

Oaks live for six hundred years. Two hundred to grow, two hundred to live, two hundred to die. — David Mitchell

What arguments, what persuasions can I make use of, with any prospect of success, to such a woman as Madame Duval? ... She is too ignorant for instruction, too obstinate for entreaty, and too weak for reason. — Fanny Burney

Snap. Lady with dog. Lady on sofa half-naked. Snap. Naked lady. Lady next to dresser. Lady at window. Snap. Lady on balcony sunlight. (On New Orleans photographer E. J. Bellocq) — Michael Ondaatje

It was not the sorrow of the world that broke the heart of Christ, but its wickedness. He was equal to its sorrow ... He began by being the world's healer. But what broke him was its sin. — P.T. Forsyth

He had visited his family the evening before, eaten dinner with Renee and Chris, his grandson, in the pretence that everything was ordinary, but in fact to service his end-game ruse. He was going over the mountains, he'd said, to hunt for quail in willow canyons, he had no particular canyons in mind, he intended to return on Thursday evening, though possibly, if the hunting was good, he would return on Friday or Saturday. The lie was open-ended so that his family wouldn't start worrying until he'd been dead for as long as a week - so none would miss or seek him where he rotted silently in the sage. Ben imagined how it might be otherwise, his cancer a pestilent force in their lives, or a pall descending over them like ice, just as they'd begun to emerge from the pall of Rachel's death. The last thing they needed was for Ben to tell hem of his terminal colon cancer. — David Guterson

I must be like the princess who felt the pea through seven mattresses; each book is a pea. — C.S. Forester