My Formula Wont Quotes & Sayings

One day when I was 8 years old, everyone was talking in hushed tones about a great scientist that had just died. His name was Albert Einstein. — Michio Kaku

Axum might have been her first love. He might have part of her heart forever. But she's a different woman now, and that woman chose you. You've got the upper hand because you're here. If you still want her, fight for her. If you're not willing to do that, you don't deserve her." Using — Kirsten Beyer

We have to show the American People that war is not patriotic. — Justin Raimondo

Whoever submits himself to a super-discipline can expect great triumphs. — Samael Aun Weor

Soon after the doctor, Dolly had arrived. She knew that there was to be a consultation that day, and though she was only just up after her confinement (she had another baby, a little girl, born at the end of the winter), though she had trouble and anxiety enough of her own, she had left her tiny baby and a sick child, to come and hear Kitty's fate, which was to be decided that day. — Leo Tolstoy

These days I'm missing everything. I'm haunted by music; music I can hear, but never play again. Melodies that taunt me note by note, mocking me with the simple fact that they exist. — Katja Millay

[T]he task of abolishing the essence of Jewry is in truth the task of abolishing Jewry in civil society, abolishing the inhumanity of today's practice of life, the summit of which is the money system. — Karl Marx

Shakespeare language is fantastic, and to be honest, you don't need to do anything to Shakespeare. — Sam Heughan

Self-government can succeed only through an instructed electorate. — Herbert Hoover

You're the Sue Sylvester of NXT. — Josh Mathews

You need a good James Clavell novel, I think, to make a good miniseries. — Noah Hawley

They had come to the end of what they could talk about. Beyond that point there was nothing: the random thoughts of men who knew nothing. — Paul Auster

I couldn't get to sleep. The book lay nearby. A thin object on the divan. So strange. Between two cardboard covers were noises, doors, howls, horses, people. All side by side, pressed tightly against one another. Boiled down to little black marks. Hair, eyes, voices, nails, legs, knocks on doors, walls, blood, beards, the sound of horseshoes, shouts. All docile, blindly obedient to the little black marks. The letters run in mad haste, now here, now there. The a's, f's, y's, k's all run. They gather together to create a horse or a hailstorm. They run again. Now they create a dagger, a night, a murder. Then streets, slamming doors, silence. Running and running. Never stopping. — Ismail Kadare