Pg 48 Quotes & Sayings

A wife who obsesses on "fixing" her husband only succeeds in demeaning him.
pg 48 — Michael Ben Zehabe

I would rather be on stage playing to 25 people with a band I love and the music I love than learning dance moves I don't want to do for 25,000 people. — Drake Bell

Someone once said to me, 'Are you telling me that chair isn't real, that it's only thought?' I said 'Of course the chair is real. But it comes to you via Thought — Sydney Banks

When we justify a flaw we are actually inventing a new one. When a woman neglects developing her own character, she not only chisels away her own reputation, but the reputation of everyone in her household.
pg 48 — Michael Ben Zehabe

Deronda ... gave himself up to that strongest effect of chanted liturgies which is independent of detailed verbal meaning ... The most powerful movement of feeling with a liturgy is the prayer which seeks for nothing special, but is a yearning to escape from the limitations of our own weakness and an invocation of all Good to enter and abide with us; or else a self-oblivious lifting up of gladness, a Gloria in excelsis that such Good exists; both the yearning and the exultation gathering their utmost force from the sense of communion in a form which has expressed them both, for long generations of struggling fellow-men. — George Eliot

My favourite superhero is obviously Batman because he's the sexiest. But I can't imagine myself as Batman. — Jamie Bell

Christopher couldn't recall what day it was; he certainly didn't know what hour it was. It was a gray day, but there was no dullness in that gray. It was shimmering pearl-gray, of a color bounced back by shimmering water and shimmering air. It was a crimson-edged day, like a gray squirrel shot and bleeding redly from the inside and around the edges. Yes, there was the pleasant touch of death on things, gushing death and gushing life. — R.A. Lafferty

Not many girls would have used their wits the way you did, the officer observed. — Carolyn Keene

Grass is hard and lumpy and damp, and full of dreadful black insects. — Oscar Wilde