Hitabet Ne Quotes & Sayings

From riding nearly fifty miles in one day on a horse, I learned that the fifteen feet of silk tied tightly around the midriff actually kept the organs in place and prevented nausea. — Jack Weatherford

Between a stupid fascist and an intelligent fascist, prefer the intelligent one, because there is always a chance to persuade the clever one about the mistakes of his actions! There is no such a chance for stupid and ignorant fascist! — Mehmet Murat Ildan

You want your fans to like what you do, because it's coming from your heart and soul. You write it, you produce this thing. It's like your baby. — Gloria Estefan

War, war never changes. — Ron Perlman

Plus, I've always felt that, if the worst came to the worst in my career, I could always fall back to doing voices on the radio. — Rob Brydon

The job has its grandeurs, yes. There is the exultation of arriving safely after a storm, the joy of gliding down out of the darkness of night or tempest toward a sun-drenched Alicante or Santiago; there is the swelling sense of returning to repossess one's place in life, in the miraculous garden of earth, where are trees and women and, down by the harbor, friendly little bars. When he has throttled his engine and is banking into the airport, leaving the somber cloud masses behind, what pilot does not break into song? — Antoine De Saint-Exupery

Well, let's just hope it doesn't come to that." I started back down the alley. "Truthfully, it's not you I'm so much worried about as your ass. It's like the Eighth Wonder of the World or something. Be a shame to deprive future generations of Dreamers, don't you think?" My stomach rumbled. "Come on, I'm starving." A snort escaped him. "Nice to know you care." I patted my belly and shrugged. "Yeah, well. A girl's gotta have priorities. — Allison Pang

Forget it. Never explain; never apologize. You can either write posthumously or you can't. — Christopher Hitchens

After slipping on a negligee and making herself comfortable on the lounge, she became conscious that she was miserable and that the tears were rolling down her cheeks. She wondered if they were the tears of self-pity, and tried resolutely not to cry, but this existence without hope, without happiness, oppressed her, and she kept shaking her head from side to side, her mouth drawn down tremulously in the corners, as though she were denying the assertion made by some one, somewhere. She did not know that this gesture of hers was years older than history, that, for a hundred generations of men, intolerable and persistent grief has offered that gesture, of denial, of protest, of bewilderment, to something more profound, more powerful than the God made in the image of man, and before which that God, did he exist, would be equally impotent. It is a truth set at the heart of tragedy that this force never explains, never answers - this force intangible as air, more definite than death. — F Scott Fitzgerald