Michaeline Singer Quotes & Sayings

To make a rock'n'roll record, technology is the least important thing. — Keith Richards

For some of us, books are intrinsic to our sense of personal identity. — John Updike

The way to get things done is to stimulate competition. I do not mean in a sordid, money-getting way, but in the desire to excel. — Charles R. Schwab

Whoever coined the term "Buyer Beware" was probably bleeding from the asshole. — George Carlin

All roads lead to Rome; which is one reason why many people never get there. — G.K. Chesterton

I get so fed up with the making of an album taking over my life - it's all I can think about or talk about. You find yourself in a rut and lacking inspiration and it's hard to get out of that because I'm working alone in the studio. — Imogen Heap

I was born to rock the boat. Some may sink, but we may float. — Warren Zevon

Berries are the healthiest fruit, offering potential protection against cancer and heart disease, boosting the immune system and acting as a guard for the liver and brain. — Michael Greger

I would rather love with all my heart and soul and mind for one hour than to suffer all my life with the lack. — Barbara Samuel

I'll distract them," Carter said. "You search. The Trophy room is through there."
"Carter!"
But the fool ran off to protect me. I hate when he does that. — Rick Riordan

If opportunity doesn't knock your door,then build a new one. — Glenda Radores

Who am I really? Am I still the same person if I'm not even technically a person anymore? Does being stronger make me different? Will it? — Carrie Jones

At eighteen, she already looks like a woman of sorrows and as her breaths start becoming shorter, tired of looking over her shoulder, she only wants to get away from this city where no one can fathom her love- boundless and profane and real, like her skin and her lips and the insides of her thighs. She knows she can smile, smell like the others. Her skin would bleed too if pricked and yet this reality does not belong to the ones sleeping on the platform floor; this reality is hers and her alone. Thus when she puts the mirror back, she rummages in her handbag, searching for that thing called identity: some of it lost somewhere in the railway colony she had just left behind, some in Sudhanshu's left jacket pocket, the rest of it scattered here around broken teacups on railings, totally aberrant and arbitrary. — Kunal Sen