Nikudango Quotes & Sayings

Stiff, huh? I think seeing you roll around on the floor in that tight little outfit accomplished that. — Collette West

It is time for us to take off our masks, to step out from behind our personas - whatever they might be: educators, activists, biologists, geologists, writers, farmers, ranchers, and bureaucrats - and admit we are lovers, engaged in an erotics of place. Loving the land. Honoring its mysteries. Acknowledging, embracing the spirit of place - there is nothing more legitimate and there is nothing more true. That is why we are here. That is why we do what we do. There is nothing intellectual about it. We love the land. It is a primal affair. — Terry Tempest Williams

Why do people say they wish every day was Friday? If it was always Friday, we'd be here every freakin' day. — Ed Bernard

For women's tears are but the sweat of eyes. — Juvenal

We become what we want to be by consistently being what we want to become each day. — Richard G. Scott

Just because you love something doesn't mean it has to consume your days. It can just add richness and texture to your life. — Lea Michele

The problem with hanging one's ideas of success on superficial hooks is that when those hooks fail - when the address changes, when the income falters - the feeling of defeat is total. My dwindling savings are far from a safety net. They are more like a tightrope. My life is unusually solitary and frugal, and my entertainment is limited to reading, writing, and watching television rather than socializing at restaurants, bars, and nightclubs. Yet, I try to operate without panic on the hopes that my situation will improve. — Wayne Lionel Aponte

The eyes closed. Cammed each night out of that safe furrow the bulk of this city's waking each sunrise again set virtuously to plowing, what rich soils had he turned, what concentric planets uncovered? What voices overheard, flinders of luminescent gods glimpsed among the wallpaper's stained foliage, candlestubs lit to rotate in the air over him, prefiguring the cigarette he or a friend must fall asleep someday smoking, thus to end among the flaming, secret salts held all those years by the insatiable stuffing of a mattress that could keep vestiges of every nightmare sweat, helpless overflowing bladder, viciously, tearfully consummated wet dream, like the memory bank to a computer of the lost? She was overcome all at once by a need to touch him, as if she could not believe in him, or would not remember him, without it. — Thomas Pynchon

We spend a great deal of time telling God what we think should be done, and not enough time waiting in the stillness for God to tell us what to do. — Peace Pilgrim