Mahanthi Quotes & Sayings

Even in the centuries which appear to us to be the most monstrous and foolish, the immortal appetite for beauty has always found satisfaction. — Charles Baudelaire

Genuine contentment is found in performing tasks that take us out of ourselves, for a purpose greater than ourselves. Only when the personality is subordinated to a higher goal do we attain the serenity we are looking for. — Sydney J. Harris

There's confusional arousals, there are states in deeper sleep that can happen where people will go and they'll disappear and they'll take on some other persona. They'll commit some crime, but it's all when they are in a very deep stage of sleep. So you really need to have a very thorough evaluation. — Shelby Harris

Come hither, my dear. Come hither, that I mightest protectest thou! — Ted Dekker

I like intensity. If it's too mellow, I feel like, bleah. I like intensity, because it's way of reaching spaces inside of you, and it's my need of knowledge, of knowing about myself regardless. — Juliette Binoche

The trouble with me is that every match I play against five opponents: umpire, crowd, ball boys, court, and myself. — Goran Ivanisevic

Why, alone of all the more-than-five-hundred-million, should I have to bear the burden of history? — Salman Rushdie

I've always wanted to do things as fast as possible. — Mikaela Shiffrin

Most of all I remember that what begins with drums and fife, flags and bunting, becomes too swiftly a long and grey winter of the spirit. — Helen Simonson

Man boasts of his nobility, his ideals, and his progress. Man's goal is imitation, not redemption. — Billy Graham

As to the new pope, scarcely had he completed the formalities of etiquette which his exaltation imposed upon him, and paid to each man the price of his simony, when from the height of the Vatican he cast his eyes upon Europe, a vast political game of chess, which he cherished the hope of directing at the will of his own genius. — Alexandre Dumas

She was a large, boneless woman who draped herself like an old blanket over the chairs of the apartment, staring for hours with her gray eyes at ghosts, figments, recollections, and dust caught in oblique sunbeams, her arms streaked and pocked like relief maps of vast planets, her massive calves stuffed like forcemeat into lung-colored support hose. She was quixotically vain about her appearance and spent an hour each morning making up her face. — Michael Chabon

Leaving superiority out of the question, then, you might still agree to receive my orders now and then, without being piqued of hurt but the tone of command-will you?
I smiled. I thought to myself Mr. Rochester is peculiar. He seems to forget that he pays me £30 per annum for receiving his orders. — Charlotte Bronte