Joinsonic Quotes & Sayings

To help yourself, you must be yourself. Be the best that you can be. When you make a mistake, learn from it, pick yourself up and move on. — Dave Pelzer

I'm sorry, Imi." His apology whispered in my ears as I left the room. But it was the words that followed that burrowed deep.
"I'm sorry I couldn't be who you deserved."
I stopped just before opening the door.
"I'm sorry I believed that you already were," I responded softly. — A Meredith Walters

Man is more sensitive to the contempt of others than to self-contempt. — Friedrich Nietzsche

I asked the first guy, "So what was it that made you want to become a Navy SEAL - chance for adventure? Family tradition? Physical challenge? Desire to see the world?" "Oh no, ma'am. Chicks dig it," he said. — Dana Perino

Time and Nemesis will do that which I would not, were it in my power remote or immediate. You will smile at this piece of prophecy - do so, but recollect it: it is justified by all human experience. No one was ever even the involuntary cause of great evils to others, without a requital: I have paid and am paying for mine - so will you. — George Gordon Byron

Texts, books, and discourses really began to have authors (other than mythical, "sacralized" and "sacralizing" figures) to the extent that authors became subject to punishment, that is, to the extent that discourses could be transgressive. In our culture (and doubtless in many others), discourse was not originally a product, a thing, a kind of goods; it was essentially an act _ an act placed in the bipolar field of the sacred and the profane, the licit and the illicit, the religious and the blasphemous. Historically, it was a gesture fraught with risks before becoming goods caught up in a circuit of ownership. — Michel Foucault

We are never done with thinking about our parents, I suppose, and come to know them better long after they are dead than we ever did when they were alive. — May Sarton

A long hallway, hung profusely with dark, water-stained sporting prints, served as a lobby, in which centuries of sacrificed kippers had left the smell of their smoky souls clinging to the wallpaper. Only the patch of sunshine visible through the open front door relieved the gloom — Alan Bradley

That tingle in the brain is called a word.
It bats itself against its fleshy bounds. — Kate Kearns