Missiom Quotes & Sayings

Gracias, danke, merci - whatever language is spoken, "thank you" frequently expressed will cheer your spirit, broaden your friendships, and lift your lives to a higher pathway as you journey toward perfection. There is a simplicity - even a sincerity - when "thank you" is spoken. — Thomas S. Monson

If you have two friends in your lifetime, you're lucky. If you have one good friend, you're more than lucky. — S.E. Hinton

Art for Art's Sake is for the well fed. The well fed are all the babies in cradles and my kitty along with them, and I am happy if my writings are for my kitty. — Lara Biyuts

Be perfectly resigned, perfectly unconcerned; then alone can you do any true work. No eyes can see the real forces; we can only see the results. Put out self, forget it; just let God work, it is HIS business. — Swami Vivekananda

If any of you have ever lived down south of the Mason-Dixon line, you know that late September still means summer heat. — Scott Porter

Death is the dawn of eternal life in paradise. - John Lars Zwerenz — John Lars Zwerenz

I'm chaos, I've always been chaos, my point on Earth is chaos. — Marilyn Manson

Whatever you think this is going to be like," she whispers, "it's going to be worse. — Chelsea Cain

Often a star
was waiting for you to notice it. A wave rolled toward you
out of the distant path, or as you walked
under an open window, a violin
yielded itself to your hearing. All this was mission. — Rainer Maria Rilke

If a train is coming at you, closing your eyes won't save you ... but if you look right at it, you at least have a chance to jump. — Andrew Vachss

I just felt like there was a world of cartoon voices that had to be discovered by me. — Tom Kenny

I think it's kind of difficult to write a good Christmas song because you have a narrow framework of references that you have to work within, and at the same time you want to do something that's personally original and hopefully somewhat unique. — John Oates

The phantom of the man-who-would-understand,
the lost brother, the twin
for him did we leave our mothers,
deny our sisters, over and over?
did we invent him, conjure him
over the charring log,
nights, late, in the snowbound cabin
did we dream or scry his face
in the liquid embers,
the man-who-would-dare-to-know-us?
It was never the rapist:
it was the brother, lost,
the comrade/twin whose palm
would bear a lifeline like our own:
decisive, arrowy,
forked-lightning of insatiate desire
It was never the crude pestle, the blind
ramrod we were after:
merely a fellow-creature
with natural resources equal to our own. — Adrienne Rich