Don Sweat The Small Stuff Funny Quotes & Sayings

And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb. — James Beattie

If you wanna be a hero, well Just Follow ME. — John Lennon

It's been like that all spring. It's just that balls decided to hang up there. It's hard to catch it when you can't see it. But that's how it's going to be in Oakland in the afternoon anyway. — Nick Swisher

Every artist gets asked the question, "Where do you get your ideas?" The honest artist answers, "I steal them. — Austin Kleon

I liked the fact that I could be who I wanted to be without my sister's voice reminding me of who I had been. — Jojo Moyes

For one year I did go to Performing Arts School, and I had very weird friends. — Christina Milian

Mom was a flower of the south — Mark Childress

Yes, I remember the bombings. Yes, I remember, because - yes, I remember being in air raid shelters. Even though I was evacuated because I was very young, I remember being in air raid shelters and the tremendous feeling of compatibility with everybody. — Joan Collins

A novel is not a rant. — Rachel Kushner

My mom sang in high school choir and so did my father. — Kevin Richardson

There was nothing left. Nothing of him, and nothing of me. — Jennifer Lynn Barnes

Michelle has had to grapple with Hilary Clinton's legacy as First Lady ... Michelle Obama never wants to be seen as the kind of First Lady who is overly involved in the West Wing. — Jodi Kantor

Against the monster, I've always wanted meaning. Not for its own sake, because in the usual course of things, who needs the self-consciousness of it? Let meaning be immanent, noted in passing, if at all. But that won't do when the monster has its funnel driven into the back of your head and is sucking the light coming through your eyes straight out of you into the mouth of oblivion. So like a cripple I long for what others don't notice they have: ordinary meaning. Instead, I have words. The monster doesn't take words. It may take speech, but not words in the head, which are its minions. The army of the tiny, invisible dead wielding their tiny, spinning scythes, cutting at the flesh of the mind. Unlike ordinary blades, they sharpen with use. They're keenest in repetition. Self-accusation being nothing if not repetitive. There is nothing deep about this. It is merely endless. — Adam Haslett