Henry Iv Hotspur Quotes & Sayings

Man's First Mistake: The Wheel — Laurence J. Peter

Knowing is NOT the most important thing. To be able to FIND OUT is more important than knowing. — Sugata Mitra

We're all complicit in the things we may be trying to oppose. I'm complicit in the things that I'm trying to oppose. — Wendell Berry

Reuben nails my fantasies everytime, with iron rods of reality. He asserts that I am going to die, but probably not for a while, and that maybe I should try getting married and having a life first. He is 70 and knows things, which is why I go to him. But it's sad to leave my romantic illusions at the door of this passage. Although false and destructive and useless, they've been tremendous company. — Suzanne Finnamore

Holy crap, my heart was arrogant to believe her spotless track record could stay that way. — Jennifer Harrison

All you god damn dirty Catholics can cath-o-lick my balls. — Bo Burnham

A wise traveler never despises his own country. — William Hazlitt

Jeannie is Bill Clinton, and I am Al Gore. She "feels their pain," and I'm the dork reminding them to turn off the lights. I'm always Joe Biden saying the wrong thing. — Jim Gaffigan

You are going to love the sports here. Snow skiing and water-skiing and rock climbing and all kinds of extreme sports. I give you full permission to hurl yourself off stuff. — Cynthia Hand

No individual has done more to help me pursue a career in science than my wife of forty-five years. I met Enid Cassandra Morgan during the election campaign of 1948 when she was a Sunday school teacher, a leader of the youth organizations of St. Phillips Episcopal Church, and the head of Harlem Youth for the election of Henry Wallace. — Robert Fogel

At eighteen, she already looks like a woman of sorrows and as her breaths start becoming shorter, tired of looking over her shoulder, she only wants to get away from this city where no one can fathom her love- boundless and profane and real, like her skin and her lips and the insides of her thighs. She knows she can smile, smell like the others. Her skin would bleed too if pricked and yet this reality does not belong to the ones sleeping on the platform floor; this reality is hers and her alone. Thus when she puts the mirror back, she rummages in her handbag, searching for that thing called identity: some of it lost somewhere in the railway colony she had just left behind, some in Sudhanshu's left jacket pocket, the rest of it scattered here around broken teacups on railings, totally aberrant and arbitrary. — Kunal Sen