Depressive Being Lonely Quotes & Sayings

A society that is not willing to demand a life of somebody who has taken somebody else's life is simply immoral. — Immanuel Kant

Your lifetime in form is to be honored and celebrated. Go beyond your enslavement, and live fully in the now, as this is the only time you have. — Wayne Dyer

I'm inspired to keep on when people like what I do. — Gustav Ejstes

My nickname is Dickie Jukebox. I own thousands and thousands and thousands of songs. — Richard Simmons

The man who votes for the saloon is pulling on the same rope with the devil, whether he knows it or not. — Billy Sunday

A culture of honor is celebrating who a person is without stumbling over who they're not. — Bill Johnson

I love even to see the domestic animals reassert their native rights - any evidence that they have not wholly lost their original wild habits and vigor; as when my neighbor's cow breaks out of her pasture early in the Spring and boldly swims the river, a cold grey tide, twenty-five or thirty rods wide, swollen by the melted snow. It is the Buffalo crossing the Mississippi. — Henry David Thoreau

2. I live in an apartment. I could never live anywhere but in an apartment. I love apartments because I lose everything. Apartments are horizontal, so it's much easier to find the things I lose
such as my glasses, gloves, wallet, lipstick, book, magazine, cell phone, and credit card. The other day I actually lost a piece of cheese in my apartment. — Nora Ephron

The purpose of whistleblowing is to expose secret and wrongful acts by those in power in order to enable reform. — Glenn Greenwald

A warm flow of pain was gradually replacing the ice and wood of the anaesthetic in his thawing, still half-dead, abominably martyred mouth. After that, during a few days he was in mourning for an intimate part of himself. It surprised him to realize how fond he had been of his teeth. His tongue, a fat sleek seal, used to flop and slide so happily among the familiar rocks, checking the contours of a battered but still secure kingdom, plunging from cave to cove, climbing this jag, nuzzling that notch, finding a shred of sweet seaweed in the same old cleft; but now not a landmark remained, and all there existed was a great dark wound, a terra incognita of gums which dread and disgust forbade one to investigate. And when the plates were thrust in, it was like a poor fossil skull being fitted with the grinning jaws of a perfect stranger. — Vladimir Nabokov