Induit Meuleuse Quotes & Sayings

There is one gratification an old author can afford a certain class of critics; that namely, of comparing him as he is with what he was. It is a pleasure to mediocrity to have its superiors brought within range. — Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr.

Mostly, it was just me walking them. My own private Iditarod. And it wasn't a picnic. Just so you know, if you ever see a person walking four dogs, there are two things you can cross off your list of what to exclaim: (1) "Who's walking who?" and (2) "Looks like you got your hands full." Both lines are stupid and someone else has already said them. You might consider saying, "Hey, pretty girl!" or "Wow, four dogs sure make you look thin! — Julie Klam

Every one of us has secret dreams and desires along with seeds of greatness implanted within us. You too have gifts to share with this world. There is buried treasure within you, waiting to be discovered. Your full potential has not been released yet. Your God-given divine destiny awaits you. — Joel Osteen

History can bring luck: this is what we can call optimism. — Stephane Hessel

In the light of absolute values (religious or ethical) man himself is judged to be limited or imperfect, while he can occasionally accomplish acts which partake of perfection, he, himself can never be perfect. — T. E. Hulme

LONDON. TRINITY TERM one week old. Implacable June weather. Fiona Maye, a High Court judge, at home on Sunday evening, supine on a chaise longue, staring past her stockinged feet toward the end of the room, toward a partial view of recessed bookshelves by the fireplace and, to one side, by a tall window, a tiny Renoir lithograph of a bather, bought by her thirty years ago for fifty pounds. Probably a fake. Below it, centered on a round walnut table, a blue vase. No memory of how she came by it. Nor when she last put flowers in it. The fireplace not lit in a year. Blackened raindrops falling irregularly into the grate with a ticking sound against balled-up yellowing newsprint. A Bokhara rug spread on wide polished floorboards. Looming at the edge of vision, a baby grand piano bearing silver-framed family photos on its deep black shine. On the floor by the chaise longue, within her reach, the draft of a judgment. — Ian McEwan