Karmdata Quotes & Sayings

Intolerance is itself a form of violence and an obstacle to the growth of a true democratic spirit. — Mahatma Gandhi

Put up the dream. Put in the knowledge. Put out the effort. — Denis Waitley

Most people are afraid of knives. If you show yourself willing to carve someone up, they tend to be afraid of you. — Laurell K. Hamilton

Pretty girls make graves — Jack Kerouac

Death reminds us that we are nothing. — Stephen J. Rivele

I am sure now that life is not what it is purported to be and that nature, in the canny words of the Scotch theologue, 'is not as natural as it looks. — Loren Eiseley

On Facebook, the definition of great content is not the content that makes the most sales, but the content that people most want to share with others. — Gary Vaynerchuk

Edmund would miss him, if no one else. And there hadn't been a single brown-haired little girl to play peekaboo with during church or an emerald-eyed beauty to watch from a distance. And he lived for the brief glimpses he had of Clara. Sweet, beautiful, loving Clara. — Sarah M. Eden

If this book accomplishes anything it will be to have exposed a number of myths about the American dream, to have disabused readers of the notion that upward mobility is a function of the founders' ingenious plan, or that Jacksonian democracy was liberating, or that the Confederacy was about states' rights rather than preserving class and racial distinctions. — Nancy Isenberg

For a number of people, church attendance seems to be primarily a social affair, the act of meeting other people outside of the pressures of work. For others it is pure business/politics. I get it. It's important to have access to a community like the one a church provides. — Gudjon Bergmann

To hear the voice of the silence is to understand that from within comes the only true guidance — Mabel Collins

Let me tell you something about dying: it's not as bad as they says.
it's the coming-back-to-life part that hurts. — Lauren Oliver

There she stands before me, and old woman with an anxious, care-worn face. Her hands are clasped - weary, toil-worn hands with a soft, wrinkled skin, where the veins stand out bluish; hands become so for my sake. - I never thought of that before. There is a lot I did not think of before; I was too young. But now I understand how it is that to this withered, little woman I am something different from any other soldier in the world: I am her child. To her I have always remained so, even as a soldier. In the war she has seen only a pack of wild beasts threatening the life of her child. It has never occurred to her that this same threatened child has been just such another wild beast to the children of yet other mothers. My — Erich Maria Remarque

How would you like it if I said to you, 'It kills me to say this, but you're actually a tiny bit beautiful?" he had asked, pissed off.
She hadn't said anything then, which was rare for her.
"Would you have been lying?" She said after a long silence.
"Lying about what?"
More quiet.
"About me being a tiny bit beautiful."
"Shit, yeah."
-
But later that night, he had sent her a message on MSN.
Of course I was lying. The "tiny" bit part, anyway. — Melina Marchetta