Diffrense Quotes & Sayings

See, that's a coffee drinker's problem,' Marina said. 'Meanwhile, I'm perfectly fine with tea bags.'
'I love that there's such a rivalry,' said Charlie. 'It's like, leaf watt versus bean water, you know? — Robyn Schneider

But no life was without it's strain & strife, not if it was fully lived. Opening up to experience, even the good ones like trust & love, was to open yourself up to the pain. I suppose the key was to not compound matters by making the rest of it unnecessarily hard. My need for control had certainly done that in the past. So I made a promise to myself in that moment.
I would make a concerted effort to reach for what was soft & good in this world. I'd find a place to settle into, and hold still so that this world's good and soft could reach back & touch me as well. — Vicki Pettersson

Maybe to my own detriment, but I watched all of 'Fargo' probably more than once. And I tend to be a little critical of myself. But I can also let things go. So I can think, 'Well, that moment didn't read as well as I thought it would,' but it doesn't keep me up at night. — Allison Tolman

... there was no more safety to be found in love than there was to be found in a virus. — John Irving

You remain with the person you've just been yelling at until the resentments fizzle. That's how wounds heal. — Jon Ronson

Thucydides had grasped that vital historical insight that groups of people behave differently and have different motivations from individual human beings, and that they often behave far more discreditably than individuals. He — Diarmaid MacCulloch

If there's one thing you can say about my apartment it's that it's constantly evolving, constantly changing. I think that is the mark of a good apartment; you can never really be done - It's like a proper wardrobe. — Lauren Santo Domingo

The diffrense from a person and an angel is easy. Most of an angel is in the inside and most of a person is on the outside. — Fynn

[Time was] an accordion, all the air squeezed out of it as you grew old. — Helen Hooven Santmyer

As the sun shines low and red across the water, I wade into the ocean. The water is still high and brown and murky with the memory of the storm, so if there's something below it, I won't know it. But that's part of this, the not knowing. The surrender to the possibilities beneath the surface. It wasn't the ocean that killed my father, in the end. The water is so cold that my feet go numb almost at once. I stretch my arms out to either side of me and close my eyes. I listen to the sound of water hitting water. The raucous cries of the terns and the guillemots in the rocks of the shore, the piercing, hoarse questions of the gulls above me. I smell seaweed and fish and the dusky scent of the nesting birds onshore. Salt coats my lips, crusts my eyelashes. I feel the cold press against my body. The sand shifts and sucks out from under my feet in the tide. I'm perfectly still. The sun is red behind my eyelids. The ocean will not shift me and the cold will not take me. — Maggie Stiefvater