Hypoglycemia Symptoms Quotes & Sayings

Ja-nee, there had been some good times at the academy over Scrabble boards. Of course, the long evenings had always ended in recriminations when one or other recruit insisted that 'pzxtrri' was a word, and the others had told him to prove it, and he'd said Fine, give me a dictionary, and they'd said You know we don't have a dictionary, and he'd said Then shut your face, and they'd said Make me, and he'd gone for his service pistol. But before the inevitable arrival of the dog unit with the pepper spray, there had been some real friendships made. — Tom Eaton

That may be. But to decide that I was never going to live as a proper woman was not your choice to make.' 'What do you mean a proper woman?' 'A proper woman marries - she has children -' 'Then what does that make me? Am I not a proper woman? Last time I looked I certainly was. — Jessie Burton

If it were physically possible for her jaw to drop, her chin would have kissed the floor. "You brought me here to ask if I'd have sex with you?"
"I brought you here to tell you that if you'll let me, I'll remove any traces of the past. When I get started
you won't be able to think about anything but me. When we're done you'll realize how lucky you could make some bastard if you'd spend your Friday nights out with the girls instead of a support group. — Aline Hunter

If you look closely at a tree you'll notice it's knots and dead branches, just like our bodies. What we learn is that beauty and imperfection go together wonderfully. — Matthew Fox

I think seeing happens partly through the eyes, but not entirely. — Wim Wenders

The Marvel cinematic universe and the Marvel animation universe are things that are very true, in terms of the DNA of what it is. But if, at the end of the day, all we're doing is telling stories that have appeared in the comic books already, then we're not really challenging anybody. — Jeph Loeb

Because a garden is the heart of a house, where love is the seed and the dark earth like a mother who nurtures her saplings until they bloom, and then waits for them with furrowed arms to return. It is the story told again and again from my garden: from dust we begin, and to dust we will return again. — Karen White