Monkhouse And Bannister Quotes & Sayings

I long for the day where we don't have to talk about our age as actresses, — Celia Imrie

I'm just sick of being tossed around. He'll forget every word he said to me once he gets married. Before long, an heir will be born and he'll no longer remember the promise he made to me. Just like the former master forgot. It never worked out with anyone. I became intimate with some people. But they never lasted long ... — Shoko Hidaka

The people shall not be deprived or abridged of their right to speak, or to publish their sentiments; and the freedom of the press, as one of the great bulwarks of liberty, shall be inviolable. — James Madison

A computer is the most incredible tool we've ever seen. It can be a writing tool, a communications center, a supercalculator, a planner, a filer and an artistic instrument all in one, just by being given new instructions, or software, to work from. There are no other tools that have the power and versatility of a computer. — Steve Jobs

'Sex and the City' is about outsiders. Single girls as lepers, should have been married by now. It's the reason the whole thing took off. — Michael Patrick King

But stones, too, can lie. — Amy Hennig

The key to meditation is to exist one hundred percent in the here and now. — Ilchi Lee

At headquarters, where everyone lived under the tremendous pressure of responsibility, probably nothing was more welcome than a dictate from above. That meant being freed of a decision and simultaneously being provided with an excuse for failure. — Albert Speer

He got up and walked out to the road. The black shape of it running from dark to dark. Then the distant low rumble. Not thunder. You could feel it under your feet. A sound without cognate and so without description. Something imponderable shifting out there in the dark. The earth itself contracting with the cold. It did not come again. What time of year? What age the child? He walked out into the road and stood. The silence. The salitter drying from the earth. The mudstained shapes of flooded cities burned to the waterline. At a crossroads a ground set with dolmen stones where the spoken bones of oracles lay moldering. No sound but the wind. What will you say? A living man spoke these lines? He sharpened a quill with his small pen knife to scribe these things in sloe or lampblack? At some reckonable and entabled moment? He is coming to steal my eyes. To seal my mouth with dirt. — Cormac McCarthy