Mosura Quotes & Sayings

I need to stop fantasizing about running away to some other life and start figuring out the one I have. — Holly Black

It was a message from her. A reminder - here among hundreds of people - of a moment that had been theirs alone. — Veronica Rossi

The loss of taste for what is right is loss of all right taste. — Johann Kaspar Lavater

The face of an angel, the mind of a devil, and a heart of gold. — Chelsea Handler

I am the queen of everything. Every woman is. — Karrine Steffans

Hate today, no love for tomorrow — Marilyn Manson

So often I was defined by what I could not have. — Hilary Reyl

You self-proclaimed "MILF" hunters have it all wrong
we aren't the prey, YOU are. You are but a Service Male - a SMILF! — Delaine Moore

"I take my leave of you, Mr. Creakle, and all of you," said Mr. Mell, glancing round the room, and again patting me gently on the shoulders. "James Steerforth, the best wish I can leave you is that you may come to be ashamed of what you have done today. At present I would prefer to see you anything rather than a friend, to me, or to anyone in whom I feel an interest." — Charles Dickens

But she still burns. she is on fire with need. burning that goes deeper than her skin, etched deeply, maybe in her soul, and there seems to be nothing for it, no balm, save inching her arms up to hold herself and wishin the arms weren't her own. — Mary E. Pearson

If you think the X-Men are going to be push-overs, think again! Far better men than you have pledged their destruction ... yet the X-Men are still here. — Chris Claremont

The life cycle of ratchet screwdriver fruit is quite interesting. — Douglas Adams

Women can go mad with insomnia.
The sleep-deprived roam houses that have lost their familiarity. With tea mugs in hand, we wander rooms, looking on shelves for something we will recognize: a book title, a photograph, the teak-carved bird
a souvenir from what place? A memory almost rises when our eyes rest on a painting's grey sweep of cloud, or the curve of a wooden leg in a corner. Fingertips faintly recall the raised pattern on a chair cushion, but we wonder how these things have come to be here, in this stranger's home.
Lost women drift in places where time has collapsed. We look into our thoughts and hearts for what has been forgotten, for what has gone missing. What did we once care about? Whom did we love? We are emptied. We are remote. Like night lilies, we open in the dark, breathe in the shadowy world. Our soliloquies are heard by no one. — Cathy Ostlere