Khole Quotes & Sayings

Your voice is your tool and represents you. It's very important to have a good voice where you can be understood. — Jacqueline Bisset

Love loves anarchy. It loves to wreak havoc. It loves to dance atop the ruins. — Paul Russell

If I have learned anything, it is to keep my wife happy by sending her lavish gifts. Other men can learn from my success and send their wives and girlfriends fresh flowers for birthdays, anniversaries, and of course, Valentine's Day. — Don Rickles

It might seem that being a genius is a golden ticket to a life of glamorous soirees with the intellectual elite, champagne flute in hand, arm candy at your side, surrounded by a throng of smiling sycophants. But you might be confusing this scene with the lifestyle of a diplomat — Andre De Guillaume

We seldom praise anyone in good earnest, except such as admire us. — Francois De La Rochefoucauld

My doom and my strength is to be solitary. — Ralph Waldo Emerson

Life by life and love by love
We passed through the cycles strange,
And breath by breath and death by death
We followed the chain of change.
Till there came a time in the law of life
When over the nursing sod
The shadows broke and the soul awoke
In a strange, dim dream of God. — Langdon Smith

Common sense is genius dressed in its working clothes. — Ralph Waldo Emerson

I've made upwards of a million bucks in the cops-and-robbers business. — Broderick Crawford

Early practice is vital so that performances became totally ingrained and flow from the subconscious. — Earl Woods

How I wish, how fervently I ache, to take my mother's hand, kiss her check,tell her I love her, and watch her smile. For me it was not, nor can ever be. But for you, reach out now. Reach out for your mother's hand-the hands of those you love. Say I love you.
Don't wait. — M.J. Burke Sr.

Hanging onto a bad buy will not redeem the purchase. — Terence Conran

If your voice could overwhelm those waters, what would it say?
What would it cry of the child swept under, the mother
on the beach then, in her black bathing suit, walking straight out
into the glazed lace as if she never noticed, what would it say of the father
facing inland in his shoes and socks at the edge of the tide,
what of the lost necklace glittering twisted in foam?
If your voice could crack in the wind hold its breath still as the rocks
what would it say to the daughter searching the tidelines for a bottled message
from the sunken slaveships? what of the huge sun slowly defaulting into the clouds
what of the picnic stored in the dunes at high tide, full of the moon, the basket
with sandwiches, eggs, paper napkins, can-opener, the meal
packed for a family feast, excavated now by scuttling
ants, sandcrabs, dune-rats, because no one understood
all picnics are eaten on the grave? — Adrienne Rich

Her old appearance had been genuine, and had gained her nothing. But her new appearance was worse, hollow and false, and anything that she gained by it would carry that falsity like a disease. — Erika Johansen