Kardkrazy Quotes & Sayings

I kept picturing all these little kids in this big field of rye ... If they're running and they don't look where they're going, I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. — J.D. Salinger

Many times I asked myself, 'Who is a painter in your own eyes?' — Peter Malkin

I never really have been, and I'm certain now that I never will be, and you know why? Because it's impossible for me to love anyone like I love you - and I really tried with Orion. — Josephine Angelini

People don't have a constitutional right to leave loaded guns lying around. And if they choose to do so - and a kid gets shot and killed because of it - it's not an accident. It's negligent homicide. — Kurt Eichenwald

Being alive is being aware, being able to be touched and moved and changed, being able to respond rather than to react, being able to see and hear. — Rachel Naomi Remen

Living in a bookshop is like living in a warehouse of explosives. Those shelves are ranked with the most furious combustibles in the world
the brains of men. — Christopher Morley

The day that robs a child of his parents severs him from his own kind; his head is bowed, his cheeks are wet with tears, and he will go about destitute among the friends of his father, plucking one by the cloak and another by the shirt. Some one or other of these may so far pity him as to hold the cup for a moment towards him and let him moisten his lips, but he must not drink enough to wet the roof of his mouth; then one whose parents are alive will drive him from the table with blows and angry words. — Homer

And suddenly everything, absolutely everything, was there. — Ray Bradbury

Never shall my sad eyes again behold Those pleasures which my thoughts did then unfold. — Emilia Lanier

All one could do was to glimpse, amid the haze and the chimeras, something real ahead, just as persons endowed with an unusual persistence of diurnal cerebration are able to perceive in their deepest sleep, somewhere beyond the throes of an entangled and inept nightmare, the ordered reality of the waking hour. — Vladimir Nabokov