Omgomgomgomgomg Quotes & Sayings

The book is like the wheel - once invented, it cannot be bettered. — Umberto Eco

What the fuck, what the fucking, bloody devil-shit, what in the name of Satan's swollen cock was that? — K.J. Charles

Your style is the way you talk in paint. — Robert Henri

But mostly what we think of as the 'meaning' of life concerns the style of the private autobiography we each write and which records how we 'see' ourselves. Whether this autobiography reads as a narrative of progress in which difficulties are transcended, or is chaotic, is the test of whether one's life seems to be meaningful or not. Meaning is something we find, or fail to find, as we follow through this project. We can see how love figures here: love is a major theme, but how we see our experience of love depends upon our general thinking. If, for example, we work with extremely high expectations of love we impose a tragic style upon our self-perceptions: for our experience of love will always be seen under an aspect of failure - failure focused upon ourselves or others. Hence the more subtle our thinking about love, the more intelligently we discriminate ideals from reality, the more interesting our autobiography becomes. — John Armstrong

You know, young actors say all the time, 'Should I use my own life experience?' And my response is, 'What choice do you have?' — David Mamet

How could you keep this from me? How could you let me fall for you?" I shouted, as I uncontrollably shoved him, repeatedly. "I meant nothing to you, did I?"
"Look at me!" he yelled, gesturing his arms as the rain cascaded off of him. "I'm standing here. What more do I have to do to prove what you mean to me?" he proclaimed, as he engulfed the space between us, steeling my breath. Intense passion radiated from him as he spoke. — Nicole Gulla

Max, you can change your mind." His voice was like autumn leaves dropping
lightly onto the ground.
"I don't know how."
Then my throat felt tight, and I rubbed my fists against my eyes. I dropped
my face onto my arms, crossed over my knees. This sucked! I wanted to be back
with the oth-
Fang's hand gently smoothed my hair off my neck. My breath froze in my
chest, and every sense seemed hyperalert. His hand stroked my hair again, so
softly, and then trailed across my neck and shoulder and down my back, making
me shiver.
I looked up. "What the heck are you doing?"
"Helping you change your mind," he whispered, and then he leaned over,
tilted my chin up, and kissed me. — James Patterson

Other good reading from Japan includes Banana Yoshimoto's Kitchen, with its heroine who finds whatever comfort she can in food; Miyuki — Nancy Pearl