Quotes & Sayings About Friendships Worth Fighting For

How narrow is the gate and strait is the way that leadeth to life, and few there are that find it!6 are words of our Lord. 8. The narrow gate — San Juan De La Cruz

He whispered her name, her true name, and she screamed as he - Celaena awoke with a gasp, clutching the Eye of Elena. — Sarah J. Maas

Books are for nothing but to inspire — Ralph Waldo Emerson

Lee, I'm not good enough for him."
"Now, what do you mean by that?"
"I'm not being funny. He doesn't think about me. He's made someone up, and it's like he put my skin on her. I'm not like that - not like the made-up one."
"What's she like?"
"Pure!" said Abra. "Just absolutely pure. Nothing but pure - never a bad thing. I'm not like that."
"Nobody is," said Lee.
"He doesn't know me. He doesn't even want to know me. He wants that - white - ghost. — John Steinbeck

Perhaps the most insidious and least understood form of segregation is that of the word. — Claudia Rankine

Because of reality television and all these celebrities thinking they can be designers, everyone imagines that they can just become a designer, photographer, or model, but that's not the way things work. People have to go to school, learn their craft, and build a brand - that's the right, healthy way to do things. — Anna Wintour

Back in the '60s and '70s, data were scarce, and while analysts knew that companies with fat gross margins lagged those with thin gross margins early in bull markets - and overachieved in the later phases - they couldn't do much about it. — Kenneth Fisher

Nobility most fully resides not in success but in trying to do the right thing ... and that when we fail to do that, or willfully turn away from the challenge, hell follows. — Stephen King

One thing she realized soon was that the rain here was eternal. The weather must have changed since the Emperor's time, because now the tower loomed constantly in its cloud of drizzle; all the long afternoons rain trickled in runnels and gutters and spouts, spattering through gargoyles of hideous beasts and goblins that spat far down on the heads of hurrying clerks. Always the roofs ran with water; it dripped and plopped and splashed through culverts and drains, or sheeted down, a relentless liquid gurgle that never stopped, until she started to imagine that this was the song the tower sang, through all the throats and mouths and pipes of its endless body. — Catherine Fisher

Authors are sometimes like tomcats: They distrust all the other toms but they are kind to kittens. — Malcolm Cowley