Hobnob Atlanta Quotes & Sayings

Nobody understands anyone 18, including those who are 18. — Jim Bishop

and who compound that error by conflating their sense of truth — Bradley Shavit Artson

Within our culture, every school has a swimming pool. We lived on the coast. People swam in the surf. It's a very sporty nation and at that particular time anyone who had an artistic bent was very much an outsider. So if you liked reading or ideas or playing the piano then your dad viewed you as a sissy, basically. — Geoffrey Rush

For, what is the purpose of true love, other than to rescue another from one's self? Why is that not the first thing we look for? — Shannon L. Alder

God, I loved him. I could insist I was okay with just being friends, that I'd find someone else and get over him, but I was fooling myself. There was no getting past this. I loved him, and fifty years from now we could be married to other people, never exchanged so much as a kiss, and I'd still looking into his eyes and know he was the one. He'd always be the one. — Kelley Armstrong

Bucky," Lester said. "The other night I started to explain to someone your philosophy on Southern accents, but all I could remember was that it defied logic." "Southern accents are hillbilly," Bucky said with petulance. "Anyone with a proper education, I don't care if he's never stepped foot out of the South, doesn't go around sounding like Jubilation T. Cornpone. If he does, it's a put-on. And please, I'm in no mood to rehash the obvious. — Maria Semple

Justice must not only be seen to be done but has to be seen to be believed. — J.B. Morton

The company accountant is shy and retiring. He's shy a quarter of a million dollars. That's why he's retiring. — Milton Berle

For if it is rash to walk into a lion's den unarmed, rash to navigate the Atlantic in a rowing boat, rash to stand on one foot on top of St. Paul's, it is still more rash to go home alone with a poet. A poet is Atlantic and lion in one. While one drowns us the other gnaws us. If we survive the teeth, we succumb to the waves. A man who can destroy illusions is both beast and flood. Illusions are to the soul what atmosphere is to the earth. Roll up that tender air and the plant dies, the colour fades. The earth we walk on is a parched cinder. It is marl we tread and fiery cobbles scorch our feet. By the truth we are undone. Life is a dream. 'Tis waking that kills us. He who robs us of our dreams robs us of our life - (and so on for six pages if you will, but the style is tedious and may well be dropped). — Virginia Woolf

The greatest escape I ever made was when I left Appleton, Wisconsin. — Harry Houdini