Meybeer Quotes & Sayings

Those old things were still painful to think about, still bright with the childish primary colors of fear and horror. — Stephen King

One can find traces of every life in each life. — Susan Griffin

My life is really a history of observing forms and taking in imagery. I don't mean in a photographic way, I mean in a way of feeling them structurally, — Jim Dine

There is no event greater in life than the appearance of new persons about our hearth, except it be the progress of the characterwhich draws them. — Ralph Waldo Emerson

You want to get married? I'll marry you right now. Is the gnome a preacher, because I'll do it."
"That's a hell of a proposal."
"What did he say?" Astamur asked.
"He wants me to marry him."
Astamur relayed it. Atsany waved his pipe and Astamur translated back. Ha!
"What?" Curran Snarled.
"Atsany says you're not ready for marriage. You don't have the right temperament for it."
Curran struggled with that for a second
"Let me know if your head's going to explode, so I can duck. — Ilona Andrews

It's never too soon to start the life you want. — Megyn Kelly

We are all more intelligent than we are capable, and awareness of the insanity of love has never saved anyone from the disease. — Alain De Botton

Smoke poured from every chimney, for the day was cold. The thought of all those coal-grates and wood-stoves made me wary of fire, for these buildings were little more than tinder and brown paper, putting on airs of architecture. — Robert Charles Wilson

Nature is visible Spirit; Spirit is invisible Nature. — Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph Schelling

Witnessing is the essence of being a documentary filmmaker. Capturing moments in time; never knowing how history will judge them. — Pamela Yates

Drones are a tool, not a policy. The policy is assassination. While every president since Gerald Ford has upheld an executive order banning assassinations by U.S. personnel, Congress has avoided legislating the issue or even defining the word assassination. — Jeremy Scahill

Young Bride had a scratch on her neck from the knife, but no other external injuries. It seemed she was killed by the shock the drunks gave her.

After sixty-odd years, reliving the trauma of that fateful night was too much to bear.

There was no funeral procession. She was buried on the unlucky hill on the outskirts of the village.

The crickets, however, remained around her shack and continued to sing until the first snow fell. — Susumu Katsumata

Better that your heart's your own. — Maggie Stiefvater