Bungertwies Quotes & Sayings

This is the first letter I have ever written. That a few marks on this piece of paper can bring you my heart in my absence is a great magic. Life is a constant source of wonder. — Clay Griffith

She smiled innocuously - at variance with her words. At this point he could not discern her degree of seriousness. A topic of world-shaking importance, yet dealt with facetiously; an android trait, possibly, he thought. No emotional awareness, no feeling-sense of the actual meaning of what she said. Only the hollow, formal, intellectual definitions of the separate terms.
And, more, Rachael had begun to tease him. Imperceptibly she had passed from lamenting her condition to taunting him about his. — Philip K. Dick

I look at ordinary people in their suits, them with no scars, and I'm different. I don't fit with them. I'm where everybody's got scar tissue on their eyes and got noses like saddles. I go to conventions of old fighters like me and I see the scar tissue and all them flat noses and it's beautiful ... They talk like me, like they got rocks in their throats. Beautiful! — Willie Pastrano

Our ancestors have travelled the iron age; the golden is before us. — Jacques-Henri Bernardin De Saint-Pierre

When you can hear a violinist, that is better than you, then you learn from him, because if you play with somebody who is worse than you, then you go down. — Ruggiero Ricci

But,instead of what our imagination makes us suppose and which we worthless try to discover,life gives us something that we could hardly imagine. — Marcel Proust

As incredible as it sounds, an unhappy man does not realize that happiness is better than unhappiness. Knowing only his own concealed anguish, he worships it, which is the same as self-worship. — Vernon Howard

We do not have to improve ourselves; we just have to let go of what blocks our heart. — Jack Kornfield

The Memory Of You Is Like A Drug To Me — Jeremy Aldana

Anywhere I'm wanted, I'll go. I've got to be wanted, though. — Brownie McGhee

A writer's brain is like a magician's hat. If you're going to get anything out of it, you have to put something in it first — Louis L'Amour

Women can go mad with insomnia.
The sleep-deprived roam houses that have lost their familiarity. With tea mugs in hand, we wander rooms, looking on shelves for something we will recognize: a book title, a photograph, the teak-carved bird
a souvenir from what place? A memory almost rises when our eyes rest on a painting's grey sweep of cloud, or the curve of a wooden leg in a corner. Fingertips faintly recall the raised pattern on a chair cushion, but we wonder how these things have come to be here, in this stranger's home.
Lost women drift in places where time has collapsed. We look into our thoughts and hearts for what has been forgotten, for what has gone missing. What did we once care about? Whom did we love? We are emptied. We are remote. Like night lilies, we open in the dark, breathe in the shadowy world. Our soliloquies are heard by no one. — Cathy Ostlere