Ibang Iba Quotes & Sayings

I've never understood why people said 'in your own words.' Who else's words would I use? — Richard Paul Evans

I'm eighty-three and I've been smoking since I was eleven. I'm suing the cigarette company because it promised to kill me and it hasn't. — Kurt Vonnegut

Fancy 'avin' to say you work for the Murder Squad, eh, Miss? Don't exactly warm folk to you, does it? — Jacqueline Winspear

When I first thought of being a writer I had visions of stacks of books in stores with my name on them, that sort of thing. But I never imagined this would be the reaction. — Augusten Burroughs

Freedom and independence form my character. — Mustafa Kemal Ataturk

I am simply competent ... Not a leader except when leadership is lacking. — Brent Weeks

Do you ride?" That sounded sort of dirty, and the way he looked at me felt sort of dirty, too. No one ever looked at me like that.
"Why 'Ghost'?" I asked.
Grasping the top of the car door, he leaned over it and spoke in a dramatic, foreboding voice. "Because she's so fast she disappears down the streets at night."
"That sounds dangerous."
His dimple appeared. "The best things in life are. — Jenn Bennett

Still the strange ships glittered and shone, and this led to some discussion as to what they might be made of. The Admiral thought perhaps iron or steel. (Metal ships indeed! The French are, as I have often supposed, a very whimsical nation.) — Susanna Clarke

I never took singing lessons. I guess, I feel comfortable with it, but I do not feel like a singer. I never want to sing without a guitar in my hand. I consider myself more of a songwriter, rather than a singer. I could never be in a wedding band and just sing Marvin Gaye songs. — Jack Johnson

The world should be full of Josh Bennetts. But it's not. I had the only one. And I threw him away. — Katja Millay

You cannot have Jesus' rescue without accepting His rule. — Timothy Keller

And besides, can't I do it the way I always used to as a child in matters that were dangerous? I don't even need to go to the country myself, it isn't necessary. I'll send my clothed body. If it staggers out of the door of my room, the staggering will indicate not fear but its nothingness. Nor is it excitement if it stumbles on the stairs, if it travels in the country, sobbing as it goes, and there eats its supper in tears. For I myself am meanwhile lying in my bed, smoothly covered over with the yellow-brown blanket, exposed to the breeze that is wafted through the seldom-aired room. The carriages and people in the street move and walk hesitantly on shining ground, for I am still dreaming. — Franz Kafka