Berroco Vintage Quotes & Sayings

If you hate somebody, it's like a boomerang that misses its target and comes back and hits you in the head. The one who hates is the one who hurts. — Louis Zamperini

It is best to work, at whatever you have a talent for doing, without turning your greedy thought toward what some other man possesses, but take care of your own livelihood, as I advise you. — Hesiod

I could never be like Hitchcock and do only one kind of movie. Anything that's good is worthwhile. — Robert Zemeckis

Can't fight the moment of truth in your lies. — Goo Goo Dolls

But in another world, another life, probably growing up in another country, I might have been more of a dancer. — Hugh Jackman

It is interesting ... how weapons reflect the soul of the maker. — Don DeLillo

Reality should follow through on what I think it is going to do. — Allie Brosh

The best approach to religious codes that have become rigid and absolute is to acknowledge their arbitrariness and use them, if we use them at all, as a private discipline for ordering our own chaos. When they are proclaimed as the bearer of absolute and unchanging truth, defended in the traditional way, they enslave the human spirit rather than protect it from its own excesses. Jesus' vision burned through the external systems to the anxious human heart that lay beneath them and called for its transformation into a perfection of love. — Richard Holloway

My heart's in stage. Making 'Quadrophenia' was exciting because we were riding around on scooters with no crash helmets. But 'hurry up and wait' is the anthem of films. Everybody wants you ready, and then you sit doing nothing. — Phil Daniels

I learned a lot doing 'Wolverine,' and I was also very fortunate, in the sense that I got to do a huge number of visual effects shots. — Gavin Hood

You felt she'd done a thousand secret things to her eyes. They needed no haze of cigarette smoke to look at you out of sexy and fathomless, but carried their own along with them. New York must have been for her a city of smoke, its streets the courtyards of limbo, its bodies like wraiths. Smoke seemed to be in her voice, in her movements; making her all the more substantial, more there, as if words, glances, small lewdnesses could only become baffled and brought to rest like smoke in her long hair; remain there useless till she released them, accidentally and unknowingly, with a toss of her head. — Thomas Pynchon