Blair Waldorf Bulimia Quotes & Sayings

There's something very authentic about humor, when you think about it. Anybody can pretend to be serious. But you can't pretend to be funny. — Billy Collins

When we put gratitude first, what happens is we kind of shift the chemistry of the mind. We move from being acidic or egotistic to alkaline or divine. — MC Yogi

Jonathan sighed. The price of being misunderstood, he thought. They call you devil or they call you god. — Richard Bach

Women communicate differently and process information differently, which leads them to resolve conflicts differently. — Dee Dee Myers

Anyway," Alaska said to me. "I thought the way he treated you was just awful. I wanted to cry. I just wanted to kiss you and make it better. — John Green

God tries you in certain, certain ways. Some people are rich, and they believe in God. They lose the money, things get hard, they get weak and quit going to church. Quit serving God like they did. — Muhammad Ali

I do not recall a Jewish home without a book on the table. — Elie Wiesel

Everybody wants to be famous. You have to be ready to deal with consequences. — Fat Joe

It was really hard to find people to come over and play guitar and sing and write songs together. So that turned me into a songwriter that way, just so I could be able to play with other people. — Jack White

People don't like to have somebody knowing more than they do. It aggravates them. — Harper Lee

Depression on my left, Loneliness on my right. They don't need to show me thier badges. I know these guys very well. — Elizabeth Gilbert

I like to blur the line between fact and fiction, but not to condescend to the reader by enmeshing her/him into some sort of a postmodern coop. — Aleksandar Hemon

Long ago, there was only One. One knew everything, but had experienced nothing. And so, One became many - us, people. The One, who is both male and female, did so to experience all things. — Brandon Sanderson

The grass was tall and parched, the limbs of the trees barren or else dotted with a few remaining leaves, the stragglers, bleached to the color of bone. They lifted in the breeze like waving hands, rustling like old paper. — Justin Cronin