Haverdal Quotes & Sayings

Nature is where my heart is. — William Clay Ford Jr.

Soft, pretty things don't belong in a dead zone. — Susan Vaught

Truth is the mother of joy. Truth civilizes, ennobles and purifies. The grandest ambition that can enter the soul is to know the truth. — Robert Green Ingersoll

Uncle Bob answered, his tone brusque. "What have you got?"
"Besides great boobs?" I asked.
"On the case."
He was so testy. — Darynda Jones

A kind life ... is fundamentally a life of courage. — Wayne Muller

God will speak to you - not that you will hear audible words in your ears, but words that you will clearly understand in your heart. — Bert Ghezzi

The name of Khomeini will always remain in the new chapter of Iranian history. — Erich Honecker

I even got a letter from a young woman in British Columbia that began as follows: 'Today I am eighteen. I am sitting at the window, looking out at the rain, and thinking how much I love you.' — Isaac Asimov

All my life I have been a poor go-to-sleeper. People in trains, who lay their newspaper aside, fold their silly arms, and immediately, with an offensive familiarity of demeanour, start snoring, amaze me as much as the uninhibited chap who cozily defecates in the presence of a chatty tubber, or participates in huge demonstrations, or joins some union in order to dissolve in it. Sleep is the most moronic fraternity in the world, with the heaviest dues and the crudest rituals. It is a mental torture I find debasing. The strain and drain of composition often force me, alas, to swallow a strong pill that gives me an hour or two of frightful nightmares or even to accept the comic relief of a midday snooze, the way a senile rake might totter to the nearest euthanasium; but I simply cannot get used to the nightly betrayal of reason, humanity, genius. No matter how great my weariness, the wrench of parting with consciousness is unspeakably repulsive to me. — Vladimir Nabokov

In the distance, up the street, too far away for Sam to want to chase after, a couple of kids, maybe ten years old, maybe not even that. Barely visible in the false moonlight. Just outlines. The kids passing a bottle back and forth, taking swigs, staggering. — Michael Grant

My English teacher said that a writer is the worst judge of his own work. — Ilsa J. Bick