Kanten Crossword Quotes & Sayings

I wake up and play a different person every day. Playing all these different characters and trying to figure out who your true authentic self is at the core of that as you're playing all these different roles, and man, that self-awareness starts to come into effect. And you start to see who you really are. — Eliza Dushku

I have the death sentence in seven genres. — Jasper Fforde

On my first bowhunt on the property a few years back, I was on my own for twenty-two days and killed an amazing thirty-three head of big game. I'm surprised I even came home. I was in heaven. — Ted Nugent

God is like a lover. Sometimes he gives you so much pain that staying alive seems like a punishment but in the next moment he shows you so much love, affection and care that you forget all your pains. Yes, the wounds can't be healed completely but god compensates it with other happiness. — Mayank Kashyap

I have shed pewter tears! It is too melancholy! Rather let me go to the wars and lose arms and legs! It would at least be a change. I cannot bear it longer! Now, I know what it is to have a visit from one's old thoughts, with what they may bring with them! I have had a visit from mine, and you may be sure it is no pleasant thing in the end; I was at last about to jump down from the drawers. — Hans Christian Andersen

Love is a song, written in your heart.
The moon is a poem in a starry night. — Debasish Mridha

Well, I hate it when authors come into a school and they say to kids, 'Write from your heart, only write what you know, and write from your heart.' I hate that because it's useless. I've written over 300 books - not one was written from my heart. Not one. They were all written for an audience, they were all written to entertain a certain audience. — R.L. Stine

No brain at all, some of them [people], only grey fluff that's blown into their heads by mistake, and they don't Think. — A.A. Milne

That sinister Stonehenge of economic man, Rockefeller Center. — Cyril Connolly

A dozen great fires raged under the city walls, where casks of burning pitch had exploded, but the wildfire reduced them to no more than candles in a burning house, their orange and scarlet pennons fluttering insignificantly against the jade holocaust. — George R R Martin