Bolwell Air Quotes & Sayings

They used to pour millet on graves or poppy seeds To feed the dead who would come disguised as birds. I put this book here for you, who once lived So that you should visit us no more. — Czeslaw Milosz

I could be a real jerk on the days I was pitching. — Bob Gibson

When I tell somebody to do something I'm not going to get a lobbyist calling me the next day to say please don't do that even though it's good for America. — Donald Trump

Chinasa continued to imagine the girl, a small, veil-wearing child with fear written all over her face, running for dear life. Soon she could see herself as the girl, running and running like the girl. But there was only so far her imagination could take her: She herself had never been a runner. And anyway, how fast did one have to run to outrun a bomb? — Chinelo Okparanta

I never said I wanted to be a singer for the rest of my life. — Beth Ditto

I can't go into a bar anywhere without someone starting to play 'the Entertainer'. — Robert Redford

Don't you mind being short?' she blurted. He spread his small hands and looked at them. 'I am a magician, not a princess. A pony costs less to keep than a horse, which means I can buy more books.' He paused. 'It is not always a bad thing, to be overlooked. — Robin McKinley

Ten times a day, every day, I wonder at having wandered so far, and then, alienated from myself, a stranger to myself, I go home — Bohumil Hrabal

Any representation of God produces accordingly. — Joseph Chilton Pearce

Name it ... and if you can dream it ... you can achieve it. — Wayne Dyer

The art is not one of forgetting but letting go. And when everything else is gone, you can be rich in loss. — Rebecca Solnit

I don't think I really realized what being an adult and being a real grownup was until I was at least twenty-eight. — Jodie Sweetin

When the human voice is reduced to being no longer a song, a word, or a cry, but the articulation of the unnamable itself, it is natural that there should be no other sound than the grinding of ice in the polar regions, the light, intermittent crackling of silk in the highest zones of the atmosphere, at the moment when the aurora borealis unfurls its strange, cold spangles. Majesty does not tolerate other eyes than these hard crystals — Michel Leiris