Camille Marcotte Quotes & Sayings

Tis what i love determines how i love — George Eliot

Most parents are so convinced of their little darling's innocence that, by proxy, in rallying for junior's purity they come to believe in their own innocence - as if duplicating oneself will make a right! — Anthony Marais

I'm at your house?" Kody asked.
"You don't have to sound so offended. I do have people clean it, you know?"
"Sorry." She sighed wearily. "You have no idea how confusing it is to wake up in a strange place with no idea how you got there."
Caleb laughed. "Sure I do. Happens to me frequently."
She rolled her eyes at his frightening lifestyle. "Yes, but I woke up in this bed alone. — Sherrilyn Kenyon

One of those nasty hushes had descended on the place, a sort of missile crisis sort of hush. Even — Douglas Adams

If you miss Christ you miss everything, and if you have Christ you have everything. — Steven J. Lawson

Rumor is not always wrong — Tacitus

I have begun to wonder what actually happens in our brains when we return to half-remembered places. What is memory's perspective? Does the man revise the boy's view or is the imprint relatively static, a vestige of what was once intimately known? — Siri Hustvedt

Marie was one of those unfortunately constituted mortals, in whose eyes whatever is lost and gone assumes a value which it never had in possession. — Harriet Beecher Stowe

Arminian notion of Liberty of the Will, consisting in the will's Self-determination, is repugnant to itself, and shuts itself wholly out of the world. — Jonathan Edwards

Irrefragability, thy name is mathematics. — Willard Van Orman Quine

I never wanted to do away with my intensity because I felt it was a gift that helped put fuel in my engine, giving me exceptional drive and energy. — Paul J. Meyer

The bite of conscience is indecent. — Friedrich Nietzsche

Out of the clouds I hear a faint bark, as of a faraway dog. It is strange how the world cocks its ear to that sound, wondering. Soon it is louder: the honk of geese, invisible, but coming on.
The flock emerges from the low clouds, a tattered banner of birds, dipping and rising, blown up and blown down, blown together and blown apart, but advancing, the wind wrestling lovingly with each winnowing wing. When the flock is a blur in the far sky I hear the last honk, sounding taps for summer.
It is warm behind the driftwood now, for the wind has gone with the geese. So would I
if I were the wind. — Aldo Leopold