Mistimed Quotes & Sayings

Predestination ... and salvation are clean taken out of our hands, and put in the hands of God only ... for we are so weak and so uncertain, that if it stood in us, there would of a truth be no man saved; the devil, no doubt, would deceive us.23 — Steven J. Lawson

Yet the life expectancy for white people without a high school diploma has dropped catastrophically since the 1990s - down by five years for women, three years for men - suggesting a cultural crisis among poor whites akin to that in Russia after the Soviet Union collapsed. Yet the morally preening powerful, confident in their supposedly progressive views, largely ignore this collapse and the people suffering from it. — R. R. Reno

Your sadness doesn't make you less of a human being. In fact, it makes you more. More expansive. More connected. Painfully beautiful. Raw. Open. Completely alive. — Panache Desai

I wanted to race cars. I didn't like school, and all I wanted to do was work on cars. But right before I graduated, I got into a really bad car accident, and I spent that summer in the hospital thinking about where I was heading. I decided to take education more seriously and go to a community college. — George Lucas

I am sorry for your disappointment,' he continued, glancing into her face. Their eyes having met, became, as it were, mutually locked together, and the single instant only which good breeding allows as the length of such a look, became trebled: a clear penetrating ray of intelligence had shot from each into each, giving birth to one of those unaccountable sensations which carry home to the heart before the hand has been touched or the merest compliment passed, by something stronger than mathematical proof, the conviction, 'A tie has begun to unite us.' Both faces also unconsciously stated that their owners had been much in each other's thoughts of late. Owen had talked to the young architect of his sister as freely as to Cytherea of the young architect. — Thomas Hardy

Make Winning an Attitude. — Pat Summitt

Writers understand the world better, but they lack the strength to change it. Perhaps that is so because they understand their limitations more than others. — Janvier Chouteu-Chando

We identify New York with the great bridges and tunnels and roadways and subway system and so forth. — Paul Goldberger

People, in whatever walk of life, would be surprised if they just gave themselves a chance by believing in what they are. — Hale Irwin

From somewhere, I was not sure where, Donnett procured a dressmaker's dummy, and the two of us began to spar to protect it. I started next to it, or far away, but whatever the case, it was my job to keep him from reaching it. Donnett had no clever line, as Temar did: now you're dead, and Miriel is dead. Whenever he tapped the mannequin with his sword, he only looked over at me, and then raised an eyebrow. If I did not understand the maneuver he had used, he would explain it. When I did understand it, we went again. — Moira Katson

Spirituality is meant to take us beyond our tribal identity into a domain of awareness that is more universal. — Deepak Chopra

Laughter, when out of place, mistimed, or bursting forth from a disordered state of feeling, may be the most terrible modulation of the human voice. — Nathaniel Hawthorne

Good artists exist in what they make, and consequently are perfectly uninteresting in what they are. — Dave Eggers

I get in my golf cart with my dogs, I have five dogs. — Delta Burke

Things come into your memory even when you don't want them to; that is because 'pratikraman dosh' is pending (mistake for which pratikraman was not done yet). — Dada Bhagwan

Or there, in the clay-baked piedmont of the South, that lean and tan-faced boy who sprawls there in the creaking chair among admiring cronies before the open doorways of the fire department, and tells them how he pitched the team to shut-out victory to-day. What visions burn, what dreams possess him, seeker of the night? The packed stands of the stadium, the bleachers sweltering with their unshaded hordes, the faultless velvet of the diamond, unlike the clay-balked outfields down in Georgia. The mounting roar of eighty thousand voices and Gehrig coming up to bat, the boy himself upon the pitching mound, the lean face steady as a hound's; then the nod, the signal, and the wind-up, the rawhide arm that snaps and crackles like a whip, the small white bullet of the blazing ball, its loud report in the oiled pocket of the catcher's mitt, the umpire's thumb jerked upwards, the clean strike. — Thomas Wolfe