Marick Press Quotes & Sayings

You're such an asshole," I mumbled, staring at her perfect tits. "Why the fuck do I even like you?"
"Aw, you like me? Tomorrow can we make daisy chains to wear in our hair and paint each other's toenails?"
"For some reason, your mouth is moving but I can't hear anything past the sight of your nipples. — Nicole Jacquelyn

Oh, you've got a sweet voice, baby, such a sad sad sweet voice, I'd like to fuck you, I thought. — Charles Bukowski

You better ... buckle uh down and then tighten up to stop this passing game — Phil Simms

In hindsight I can see that my love for the arts began by watching my father and his colleagues perform on stage in Jamaica, and running a muck among the exhibits of fabulous Jamaican art at the National Gallery while mum was upstairs curating. — Michael Hyatt

It is the goodly outside that sin puts on which tempteth to destruction. It has been said that sin is like the bee, with honey in its mouth, but a sting in its tail. — Hosea Ballou

We will continue to deepen our engagement using every element of American power - diplomacy, military, economic development, the power of our values and our ideals. — Barack Obama

When I turned fifteen, I remember my father gave me a credit card which I was allowed to use for two things: emergencies and books. — Ann Brashares

If you can't toot your own horn, toot another woman's! It's the best way to elevate women to be leaders. — Geraldine Laybourne

There are all these people here I don't know by sight or by name. And we pass alongside each other and don't have any connection. And they don't know me and I don't know them. And now I'm leaving town and there are all these people I will never know. — Carson McCullers

There is no true and abiding morality that is not founded in religion. — Henry Ward Beecher

All the general propositions favouring freedom I had .. imbibed at my father's knee or acquired by candle-end reading of Burke and Hayek ... — Margaret Thatcher

The music surged down the stairs like a flashing stream - it gathered in the corridor and burst like a waterfall through the wide entry doors. It splashed over a small, lonely figure crouching on the lowest step, dark and colorless like an un-moving lump of black, a little hillock with mad, unresting eyes. It was the old man who had freed himself with such difficulty from the unrelenting window. He crouched in the corner, lost and done for, with bowed shoulders and knees drawn high, as though he would never rise again - and over him, and away in gay and flashing cascades, the music splashed and danced, strong, pitiless, unceasing as life itself. — Erich Maria Remarque