Enara Drive Quotes & Sayings

Look, man, I don't know who you are, but that crocodile has been terrorizing Long Island for weeks. I take that kind of personal, as this is my home turf. A few days ago, it ate one of our pegasi. — Rick Riordan

I think I see her chest rise as she catches her breath. Maybe she'll be the one to throw on the brakes. God knows I'm not going to. I might regret it later, but right now I'm not thinking about anything but what it would be like to see Olivia without that red dress. — M. Leighton

These thoughts only scare me because I'm not afraid of them. I don't want to die. I don't want to kill myself. But I'm not afraid of it. — Josh Nealis

Enforce the change we all believe in! Yes, you can so that we all can move forward and determine where we are going. — Anyaele Sam Chiyson

The shape the words end up taking are themselves the meaning of the words, they are retrospectively what we meant to say. There's no way of knowing this until you register it in visible form. But the other side of this is that you do have some idea of where you are going. — Teju Cole

No man is above the law, and no man is below it. — Theodore Roosevelt

No such thing as nothing. So it's gotta be a something, don't it? — Patrick Ness

People who turn pages with licked fingers are as bad as those who wipe their noses on the able linen — Alan Bradley

She could become a spinster, like Emily Dickinson, writing poems full of dashes and brilliance, and never gaining weight. — Jeffrey Eugenides

Rab: Like a wee chip, Burney son?
Burney: Stick your chips up your arse!
Mary: Heeey, hey, hey, hey - manners.
Burney: Please. — Ian Pattison

By all means play the game of life, create new visions and have fun but do not identify yourself with your vision. — Christopher Dines

She extends a fingertip. After a moment's hesitation, Manfred extends a fingertip of his own. They touch, exchanging vCards and instant-messaging handles. She stands and stalks from the breakfast room, and Manfred's breath catches at a flash of ankle through the slit in her skirt, which is long enough to comply with workplace sexual harassment codes back home. Her presence conjures up memories of her tethered passion, the red afterglow of a sound thrashing. She's trying to drag him into her orbit again, he thinks dizzily. She knows she can have this effect on him any time she wants: She's got the private keys to his hypothalamus, and sod the metacortex. Three billion years of reproductive determinism have given her twenty-first-century ideology teeth: If she's finally decided to conscript his gametes into the war against impending population crash, he'll find it hard to fight back. The only question: Is it business or pleasure? And does it make any difference, anyway? — Charles Stross