Quotes & Sayings About Brotherhood In The Outsiders

I have my 'Whole New You' cookbook I'm currently working on. — Tia Mowry

There is a world which I alone rule, but it ends at my fingertips. — Ashleigh Brilliant

Opening a book in the middle of a chapter always made me feel like I was interrupting a group of strangers, wandering unannounced into their villages and apartments and taxis and slums. — Julie Schumacher

This is historically what happens whenever revolutionaries begin to take the oppression and suffering of their fellow beings seriously, whether human or nonhuman. It's regrettable that certain scientists are willing to put their families at risk by choosing to do wasteful animal experiments in this day and age. — Jerry Vlasak

Now, is it possible not to be hurt at all? Because the consequences of being hurt are the building of a wall around oneself, withdrawing in one's relationship with others in order not to be hurt more. In that there is fear and a gradual isolation. Now, we are asking: Is it possible not only to be free of past hurts but also never to be hurt again? — Jiddu Krishnamurti

I sing all the time. But maybe nobody's hearing it, because I'm singing in my car or in my house or whatever. I don't need the roar of the crowd, and I don't need to hear cheers to feel validated. — Natalie Maines

I think about dying a lot, every time I fall asleep on a train or a plane I expect to wake up to a crash! — Lee Ryan

The sensitive artist knows that a bitter wind is blowing. — Herbert Read

I don't know why, but audiences are often sympathetic to thieves. Sometimes they are more sympathetic to thieves then they are to earnest people. What does that say about society? — Matt Dillon

Merle Weaver stroked the little girl's hair and thought of the two corpses in the rear of the truck. — Michael McDowell

The Christian Mind has succumbed to the secular drift with a degree of weakness unmatched in Christian History. — Harry Blamires

Afternoons, when the fossil sea was warm and motionless, and the wine trees stood stiff in the yard, and the little distant Martian bone town was all enclosed, and no one drifted out their doors, you could see Mr. K himself in his room, reading from a metal book with raised hieroglyphs over which he brushed his hand, as one might play a harp. And from the book, as his fingers stroked, a voice sang, a soft ancient voice, which told tales of when the sea was red steam on the shore and ancient men had carried clouds of metal insects and electric spiders into battle. — Ray Bradbury