Boccaccio 70 Quotes & Sayings

Try more strategy and less force. Passion never wins any game, never mind what they say." He said something similar now: "Excuses don't win a game. You should try strategy. — Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Love is the desire to give, not to receive, something. Love is the art of producing something with the other's talents. — Bertolt Brecht

Why should I keep myself so safe?" he asked her, but he was almost asking himself. What is there in my life worth preserving? With a good wife back there in the mountains, serviceable as an old spoon, dry in the heart from having been scared of marriage since she was six? With three children so shy of their father, the Prince of the Arjikis, that they will hardly come near him? With a careworn clan moving here, moving there, going through th same disputes, herding the same herds, as thy have done for five hundred years? And me, with a shallow and undirected mind, no artfulness in word or habit, no especial kindness toward the world? What is there that makes my life worth preserving?
"I love you," said Elphaba.
"So that's that then, and that's it," he answered her and himself. "And I love you. So I promise to be careful. — Gregory Maguire

I don't care what people come at me with. People have come at me with everything you could imagine. I could care less about that. — James Frey

People make mistakes, it's just part of life. But, it's what we do with those mistakes that matters. What matters is what we learn from the mistakes, not what the mistake is. — Chris Hankin

I once again fought against the desire to bitch-slap a faerie — Maggie Stiefvater

You want to hear that, right? ? I mean that's what they told you. That's why Jamie is so worried about his crazy kid sister. Because-news flash-she really is crazy.
The last part I say softly. They're the words I have been carrying for so long that they have a weight of their own. Physical. I should feel lighter now that I've released them, but there is no relief from the truth. — Ally Carter

The terrors that had assailed me whenever Mrs. Joe had gone near the pantry, or out of the room, were only to be equalled by the remorse with which my mind dwelt on what my hands had done. — Charles Dickens