Hayatta Hersey Quotes & Sayings

The rich are different from you and me: they have more influence. — Paul Krugman

In an inn somewhere, a wealthy guest mistakes [Rebbe Zusia] for a beggar and treats him accordingly. Later he learns his identity and comes to cry his remorse: "Forgive me, Rebbe, you must - for I didn't know!"
"Why do you ask Zusia to forgive you?" Rebbe Zusia said, shaking his head and smiling. "You haven't done anything bad to him; it is not Zusia you insulted but a poor beggar, so go and ask the beggars, everywhere, to forgive you! — Elie Wiesel

I think I appear very innocent and soft, but I'm actually very dark and edgy. It's a weird dichotomy. — Rebel Wilson

God and the imagination are one. — Wallace Stevens

Andrew..,' I shake my head, tears rolling my cheeks, ' ... it was always you, I whisper harshly. 'Even with Ian, I felt something was missing. I told you, that night in the field; I told you that ... ,' My voice trails. I smile and say, 'you are my partner in crime. I've known that for a long time. — J.A. Redmerski

I'm sure favorite moments in movies are things that just happen accidentally when the camera is there. You have to do all the homework to get yourself into the period, the costumes, the style, the voice, the hairdo or whatever it is, but once you've done all that work, you have to kind of let it go and just be there. If you're always thinking about it, it just looks a bit over-thought. — Tom Hiddleston

But usually not. Usually she thinks of the path to his house, whether deer had eaten the tops of the fiddleheads, why they don't eat the peppermint saprophytes sprouting along the creek; or she visualizes the approach to the cabin, its large windows, the fuchsias in front of it where Anna's hummingbirds always hover with dirty green plumage and jeweled throats. Sometimes she thinks about her dream, the one in which her mother wakes up with no hands. The cabin smells of oil paint, but also of pine. The painter's touch is sexual and not sexual, as she herself is ... When the memory of that time came to her, it was touched by strangeness because it formed no pattern with the other events in her life. It lay in her memory like one piece of broken tile, salmon-coloured or the deep green of wet leaves, beautiful in itself but unusable in the design she was making — Robert Hass