Mulumba Singer Quotes & Sayings

The best actors do not let the wheels show. — Milan Kundera

A hand landed on his shoulder like an anvil. "How'd you like to stay for dinner?"
Butch looked up. The guy was wearing a baseball cap and had some kind of marking - was that a tattoo, on his face?
"How'd you like to be dinner?" said another one, who looked like some kind of model. — J.R. Ward

CNN recently ran a sort of roundup article on why some conservatives say that Trump talk is fascist. The roundup included this tweet from Iowa Republican radio host, very influential guy in Iowa Republican caucuses, Steve Deace. Quote, "If [Barack] Obama proposed the same religion registry as Trump, every conservative in the country would call it what it is - creeping fascism." — Rachel Maddow

She tries to get a waitressing job for a while - I mean, she's looking for a while before she finds Coyote Ugly - and it's hard to get a waitressing job in the city. — Piper Perabo

A DESCRIPTION OF HAPPINESS IN KOBENHAVN
All this windless day snow fell
into the King's Garden
where I walked, perfecting and growing old,
abandoning one by one everybody:
randomly in love with the paradise
furnace of my mind. Now I sit in the dark,
dreaming of a marble sun
and its strictness. This
is to tell you I am not coming back.
To tell you instead of my private life
among people who must wrestle their hearts
in order to feel anything, as though it were
unnatural. What I master by day
still lapses in the night. But I go on
with the cargo cult, blindly feeling the snow
come down, learning to flower by tightening. — Jack Gilbert

I think that's the point of view of an outsider, a tourist who puts picturesqueness above everything else. — Paul Bowles

I'm conjuring up a little fuck you."
-Hannah Rat Queens Vol 1 — Kurtis J. Wiebe

Rocking on a lazy billow
With roaming eyes,
Cushioned on a dreamy pillow,
Thou art now wise.
Wake the power within thee slumbering,
Trim the plot that's in thy keeping,
Thou wilt bless the task when reaping
Sweet labour's prize. — John Stuart Blackie

Winter came in days that were gray and still. They were the kind of days in which people locked in their animals and themselves and nothing seemed to stir but the smoke curling upwards from clay chimneys and an occasional red-winged blackbird which refused to be grounded. And it was cold. Not the windy cold like Uncle Hammer said swept the northern winter, but a frosty, idle cold that seeped across a hot land ever lookung toward the days of green and ripening fields, a cold thay lay uneasy during during its short stay as it crept through the cracks of poorly constucted houses and forced the people inside huddled around ever-burning fires to wish it gone. — Mildred D. Taylor