Obermaier Hotel Quotes & Sayings

Sifting through long forgotten stories of my childhood and writing on a daily basis, I became obsessed with following the threads of my memories, one leading to another. I start pulling on a single, seemingly trivial strand, only to discover it is attached to a longer strand; that one in turn is attached to an even bigger one. Sometimes, I find have tugged a whole, hidden tapestry of my past into view, one thread at a time. — Alice Bag

So far as the mere imparting of information is concerned, no university has had any justification for existence since the popularization of printing in the fifteenth century. — Alfred North Whitehead

One thing more: Wonderland and I are the same. You love one of us, you love the other. You are Wonderland, too. Which means we are the perfect fit, in more ways than you can even imagine. On our day together, I'll take great pleasure in showing you all of them. — A.G. Howard

Why did my husband have to die?"

I didn't answer her; because I'd realized a question like this was predicated on an illusion: the illusion that war can ever have a happy outcome. It's always someone's husband. It's always someone's son. It's always someone's brother. It's always someone's friend. — Rose Christo

If you only think outside the box,you will always wonder what's inside. Keep your options open. Lorenzo Victory — Lorenzo Victory

Even when the sun was shining she couldn't see it. The whole house was closing in on her and she was suffocating. — Crissi Langwell

Good government is good politics. — Richard J. Daley

You know, the act of feeding someone is the ultimate act of care and affection ... sharing yourself with someone else through food." He held another mouthful of cake under her nose. "Think about it. We are fed in the Eucharist, by our mothers when we are infants, by our parents as children, by friends at dinner parties, by a lover when we feast on one another's bodies ... and on occasion, on another's souls. — Sylvain Reynard

Sunset was only thirty minutes gone when some pissant vampire waylaid Deacon on his way to Theriault's. One of those younger shits who wrote poetry to Mother Darkness and thought becoming a vampire would make him sparkle. — Meljean Brook