Lichi Quotes & Sayings

Alex touches her arm. "You look nice."
"Nice?" she repeats. "Try harder, Alex."
He flushes adorably. "Really nice," he says.
"Next time, try this," Harry says. He reaches for my hand. "Franny, I didn't know what beauty was until I saw you walking toward us a minute ago.
"I like this better," I say, pulling away. "At least he sounded like he meant it."
"I meant it," Harry says, almost irritably. — Claire LaZebnik

I grew up in the world of bad television, on my dad's sets and then as a young schmuck on dating shows and so on. — George Clooney

No, I haven't decided where to live yet. He thought, I haven't decided if I want to live yet. — David Anthony Durham

The scientist and engineers who are building the future need the poets to make sense of it. — Jason Silva

Maybe your life will work.
Most likely it won't at first
but that
will give you poetry. — Yrsa Daley-Ward

People can be miracles. — Ally Condie

I saw one movie in theatres in the first 18 years of my life. — David A.R. White

Sufficiently entranced, she will pass the day somewhere else, in a world that understands her unelaborate hopes and grants to the lonely soul of the loveless, graceful peace. — Steve Kilbey

What she wants is a partner, two people building a normal, mostly boring life. My father can be counted on for the big things - a diamond, a house, a car, maybe flowers on Valentine's Day. But my mother cares more for the details, the day-to-day considerations that will elude my father, not because he doesn't care, but because he — Amy Monticello

All slang is metaphor, and all metaphor is poetry. — Gilbert K. Chesterton

The end of all wisdom is love, love, love. — Ramana Maharshi

I wanted to talk to someone. But who? It's moments like this, when you need someone the most, that your world seems smallest. — Rachel Cohn

One of my first investments was $100,000 in a Web-based calendar startup - and I lost every dollar. — Peter Thiel

My songs are like bees; they follow through the air some fragrant trace - some memory - of you, to hum around your shyness, eager for its hidden store.
When the freshness of dawn droops in the sun, when in the noon the air hangs low with heaviness and the forest is silent, my songs return home, their languid wings dusted with gold. — Rabindranath Tagore