Carnival Love Quotes & Sayings

I never wanted to be that fad type of artist. When I looked up to artists, watching TV, I wanted to see somebody. I wanted to touch that person. I wanted to sound like them. I wanted to move like them. That' s what I want my fans to do. So that's why, everything that I do, the music I make, how I dress, it's all based off my lifestyle. — Tyga

The season of love is the carnival of egoism and it brings a touchstone to our natures. — George Meredith

Beauties are always curious about beauties, and wits about wits. — Maria Edgeworth

Dan Lynch was chuckling, his hand around his small glass. 'I remember Billy saying that AA was a Protestant thing when you came right down to it. Started by a bunch of Protestants. He said he didn't like the chummy way some of them were always calling Our Lord by his first name. I drove him to the first meeting and waited to take him home, 'cause Maeve didn't want him driving, and when he came out he said you could tell who the Catholics were because they'd all been bowing their heads every ten seconds while the Protestants bantered on about Jesus, Jesus Jesus.'
(And sure enough, up and down our stretch of table, heads bobbed at the name.) — Alice McDermott

If you're going to kill someone there isn't much reason to get all worked up about it and angry - you just pull the trigger. Angry discussions beforehand are a waste of time. We need to smile at Novell while we pull the trigger. — Jim Allchin

He smiles.
It's a blinding, white-toothed smile.
A push-me-over-the-edge-of-the-love-cliff smile.
And before I can say a word in protest, he's got my hand and is dragging me through the carnival.
Note to self: Do not stare directly at his smile. It holds special powers.
Also: Do not kiss him. His mouth is definitely the source of his power. — Jillian Dodd

About the time we get old enough to be as wicked as we want to be, we don't want to be so very wicked after all. — Don Herold

We owned a garden on a hill,
We planted rose and daffodil,
Flowers that English poets sing,
And hoped for glory in the Spring.
We planted yellow hollyhocks,
And humble sweetly-smelling stocks,
And columbine for carnival,
And dreamt of Summer's festival.
And Autumn not to be outdone
As heiress of the summer sun,
Should doubly wreathe her tawny head
With poppies and with creepers red.
We waited then for all to grow,
We planted wallflowers in a row.
And lavender and borage blue, -
Alas! we waited, I and you,
But love was all that ever grew. — Vita Sackville-West

Just for tonight, let's pretend I'm not a priest and you're not crazy. We're just two normal human beings having a good time. Just a man and a woman at a rip-off carnival, living in the moment. — Nancee Cain

Love is art, not truth. It's like painting a scenery.' These are the things one takes from mothers. Once they die, of course, you get the strand of pearls, the blue quilt, some of the original wedding gifts - a tray shellacked with the invitation, an old rusted toaster - but the touches and the words and the moaning the night she dies, these are what you seize, save, carry around in little invisible envelopes, opening them up quickly, like a carnival huckster, giving the world a peek. They will not stay quiet. No matter how you try. — Lorrie Moore

A lover was affectionate and a husband was authoritative. His work was always way more important than his family. His work and his needs were to be accepted as uppermost in every way. She could take leave from her work for one day to take her child to the carnival but he could not. — Anuradha Bhattacharyya

His words slow my pulse. His fingers, square and even, feel nonpareil entwined with mine. He is symmetry. He is color.
"Never," I tell him. "I will never go away."
"You're sure about that?"
"I'm sure I can't live with a Ram-sized hole in my chest."
"That would be a pretty big hole, I think," Ram says.
"Don't be so sure. You're short."
"Hey," Ram protests.
"I worry for you on carnival rides."
"I get on carnival rides just fine, thanks."
"The operator doesn't stop you?"
"Tim," He pauses. "Sometimes. — Rose Christo

Aaaand we have a winnerrrrr!" a man shouts into the mic in a singsong carnival voice as I lick the last of Patrick's ice cream from my fingers. "Pick out a prize for the beautiful girl."
"For you," Patrick says, kneeling in front of me with a moose in his outstretched hands.
I pull the stuffed animal to my chest. "Thank you. I shall love him always. I shall call him Holden Caulfield."
"From the book?"
"Yes, from the book. You were reading it when I saw you my first day here."
"You remember that?"
"It's one of my favorite books," I say.
"You were totally checking me out."
"Patrick! Not in front of Holden Caulfield!" I cover the moose's floppy ears with my hands, hoping neither he nor Patrick sees the red flooding my cheeks. — Sarah Ockler

I photograph people as I find them. But people have issues about how they look. — Martin Parr

He leaned in and kissed her softly. "If you're finally going to let yourself love me, we're going to date."
"We sort of have been."
"No." He caught her hands and pulled her into his embrace. "We've been trying very hard not to date. Let me show you our world. Let me take you to dinner and whisper temptations. Let me take you to ridiculous carnival rides and symphonies and dances in the rain. I want you to laugh and smile and trust me first. i want it to be real love if you are in my bed. — Melissa Marr