Mikata Columbus Quotes & Sayings

The older women were Sunbeams and I guess we were Cherubs or Lambs, but our mothers were Nightingales. — Janet Flanner

There is no big mystery to Tantra. It is in the allowance and grace of the breath. Breathe easy and naturally and you will open the door to a sacred intent. With this sacred intent, love making becomes spiritual and holy. You open the gateway to total joy and you embrace the divine, erotic impulse. So breathe and relax. This is tantra. — Janet Robertson

Try them, try them, and you may! Try them and you may, I say. — Dr. Seuss

The ego must be able to listen attentively and to give itself, without any further design or purpose, to that inner urge toward growth ... People living in cultures more securely rooted than our own have less trouble in understanding that it is necessary to give up the utilitarian attitude of conscious planning in order to make way for the inner growth of the personality. — Marie-Louise Von Franz

In his studies, he usually finds men do one and a half things at a time. Whereas women, particularly mothers, do about five things at once. And, at the same time, they are caught up in contaminated time, thinking about and planning two or three things more. So they are never fully experiencing their external or their internal worlds. — Brigid Schulte

Experience shows that what happens is always the thing against which one has not made provision in advance. — John Maynard Keynes

The best sentence? The shortest. — Anatole France

A maiden was imprisoned in a stone tower. She loved a lord. Why? Ask the wind and the stars, ask the god of life; for no one else knows these things. And the lord was her friend and her lover; but time passed, and one fine day he saw someone else and his heart turned away. As a youth he loved the maiden. Often he called her his bliss and his dove, and her embrace was hot and heaving. He said, Give me your heart! And she did so. He said, May I ask you for something, my love? And she answered, in raptures, Yes. She gave him all, and yet he never thanked her. The other one he loved like a slave, like a madman and a beggar. Why? Ask the dust on the road and the falling leaves, ask life's mysterious god; for no one else knows these things. She gave him nothing, no, nothing did she give him, and yet he thanked her. She said, Give me your peace and your sanity. And he only grieved that she didn't ask for his life. And the maiden was put in the tower. . . . — Knut Hamsun

Stunned, I sat down on the bed, reading the message over and over again, convinced I had misunderstood it in some way. I couldn't believe that Jack would have written something so cruel or been so cutting. He had never spoken to me in such a way before, he had never even raised his voice to me. I felt as if I'd been slapped in the face. Surely I deserved some explanation and, at the very least, an apology? I needed to talk to someone, badly, so it was sobering to realise there was no one I could call. My parents and I didn't have the sort of relationship that would allow me to sob down the phone that he had left me by myself and for some reason I felt too ashamed to tell any of my friends. Where had the perfect gentleman I'd thought him to be gone? Had it all been a facade, had he covered his true self with a cloak of geniality and good humour to impress me? — B.A. Paris

And why? Because they are suffocating within the lines that define their town and their times. And sometimes lines are made to be crossed. — Kathryn Stockett

This is not written for the young or the light of heart, not for the tranquil species of men whose souls are content with the simple pleasures of family, church, or profession. Rather, I write to those beings like myself whose existence is compounded by a lurid intermingling of the dark and the
light; who can judge rationally and think with reason, yet who feel too keenly and churn with too great a passion; who have an incessant longing for happiness and yet are
shadowed by a deep and persistent melancholy - those who grasp gratification where they may, but find no lasting comfort for the soul. — B.E. Scully

Writing fiction, I really just sit there and it just comes. — Alexander McCall Smith

He wondered often how he would ever recognize the first chill, flush, twinge, ache, belch, sneeze, stain, lethargy, vocal slip, loss of balance or lapse of memory that would signal the inevitable beginning of the inevitable end. — Joseph Heller

I would argue that it might be easier to endure loneliness than to endure the idea that you might disappear. — Susan Orlean