Masayang Mukha Quotes & Sayings

I have now a library of nearly nine hundred volumes, over seven hundred of which I wrote myself. — Henry David Thoreau

Had he learned - would he ever learn - to discard the thoughts he could not use? — Chad Harbach

America is destined to be peopled by one nation, speaking one language, professing one general system of religious and political principles, and accustomed to one general tenor of social usages and customs. — John Adams

He was like one who had half fainted, and could neither recover nor complete the swoon. — Thomas Hardy

It's impossible to speak what it is not noble to do. — Sophocles

If by years of patient suffering, God can manage to take the harshness out of my voice, then the time has been well-spent. — Eula Biss

Most stand-up comics relish performing 'in one' - solo. They like the autonomy. — Jason Alexander

I don't really have an issue with showing certain parts of my body. I'd rather not, but it's not a big deal. Growing up in Sweden, it's natural over there. — Malin Akerman

Extraordinary what the body remembers. The bones loded with love, grief silting the arteries, fear the bowels' recurring mould. Who would have thought mere flesh and blood could hold so much of psyche's ghostly script? — Glen Duncan

I was once a man. As not all men are good, not all vampires are evil. — Veronica Wolff

I believe an artist dies twice. The first time, it's just terrible - I've been there when the phone isn't ringing for years. — Sylvester Stallone

The New Testament rests itself for credulity and testimony on what are called prophecies in the Old Testament, of the person called Jesus Christ; and if there are no such things as prophecies of any such person in the Old Testament, the New Testament. — Thomas Paine

The life of a devotee is a crusade of which the heart is the Holy Land. — Alfred De Musset

Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantelpiece, and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle and rolled back his left shirtcuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist, all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally, he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined armchair with a long sigh of satisfaction. — Arthur Conan Doyle

I am a sociologist, God help me. — John O'Neill