Kountable Quotes & Sayings

The lies we tell for love, — George R R Martin

The Ukraine is still under Russian influence, even if they did give us independence. Ethnic Russians number 22% of our population. The facts remain they will control us economically. We will continue to owe them monetarily for the natural gas, the petroleum and all other industrial tools we need. After they've exhausted our scant resources and we have run up large bills, they will just walk right back in and take us over again. Monitor it closely in the years to come, Nicholas, you will see I am right. It could be easy to disregard this movement of mine, if it weren't for the queer twists and turns history takes from time to time. — Nicholas Anderson

It's the absence of all the bodies, she thinks, that allows us to forget. It's that the sod seals them over. — Anthony Doerr

I'm an avid hockey fan and I've been playing for about 17 years, and somebody recently told me that the first organized hockey teams in Canada were all black. Telling those stories would be cool. — Cuba Gooding Jr.

When you are faced with an important decision, be sure that your choice will lead you nearer to Christ. — Paul V. Johnson

I'm not senile," I snapped. "If I burn the house down it will be on purpose. — Margaret Atwood

Respect for the faith of sincere believers cannot be allowed either to block or deflect the investigation of the historian. — Maxime Rodinson

. . . I am in my hermitage perhaps 70 to 80 percent of the time. I relish and enjoy time with others. I have been called "the sociable hermit." Ironically, lengthy solitude often invokes a verbal avalanche when I find myself with a dear and treasured friend, or at a rare social occasion. . . . Solitaries, I suppose, are not always introverts. — Barbara Erakko Taylor

I've been very lucky in everything, really - in my career and in finding someone to share my life with, and in not dying. — Alan Bennett

Why, if one wants to compare life to anything, one must liken it to being blown through the Tube at fifty miles an hour
landing at the other end without a single hairpin in one's hair! Shot out at the feet of God entirely naked! Tumbling head over heels in the asphodel meadows like brown paper parcels pitched down a shoot in the post office! With one's hair flying back like the tail of a race-horse. Yes, that seems to express the rapidity of life, the perpetual waste and repair; all so casual, all so haphazard ...
But after life. The slow pulling down of thick green stalks so that the cup of the flower, as it turns over, deluges one with purple and red light. Why, after all, should one not be born there as one is born here, helpless, speechless, unable to focus one's eyesight, groping at the roots of the grass, at the toes of the Giants? — Virginia Woolf