Pinkenolsie Quotes & Sayings

Knowing God without knowing our wretchedness leads to pride. Knowing our wretchedness without knowing God leads to despair. Knowing Jesus Christ is the middle course, because in him we find both God and our wretchedness. — Blaise Pascal

I'm used to being in the minority. I'm a left-handed gay Jew. I've never felt, automatically, a member of any majority. — Barney Frank

We will have to continue to improve our human intelligence system-something that was, unfortunately, lacking in the years which led up to September 11. This is going to be a continuing process of change. — John Sununu

We live as if we will never die. — Lailah Gifty Akita

They're tortured by indecision and guilt and lust. They love X but want to fuck Z. It is the plight of almost every monogamous person at one time or another. We all love X but want to fuck Z. — Cheryl Strayed

Having to struggle gave me the chance to demonstrate strength of character.
The Speed of Dark — Elizabeth Moon

What distinguishes all love from lust is the fact that it bears an impress of eternity. — Soren Kierkegaard

Every child can learn, and we mean it ... excuses are not good enough, we need results. — Rod Paige

But at some point, you know that you know what poem keeps going through my mind is, "first they came for the Jews." People, all of us, are like, "Well, this news doesn't really affect me." "Well, I'm not a bondholder." "Well, I'm not in the banking industry." "Well, I'm not a big CEO." "Well, I'm not on Wall Street." "Well, I'm not a car dealer." "I'm not an auto worker." Gang, at some point, they're going to come for you! — Glenn Beck

Every time an artist dies, part of the vision of mankind passes with him. — Franklin D. Roosevelt

My hope is my joy. — Lailah Gifty Akita

He belonged to a walled city of the fifteenth century, a city of narrow, cobbled streets, and thin spires, where the inhabitants wore pointed shoes and worsted hose. His face was arresting, sensitive, medieval in some strange inexplicable way, and I was reminded of a portrait seen in a gallery I had forgotten where, of a certain Gentleman Unknown. Could one but rob him of his English tweeds, and put him in black, with lace at his throat and wrists, he would stare down at us in our new world from a long distant past - a past where men walked cloaked at night, and stood in the shadow of old doorways, a past of narrow stairways and dim dungeons, a past of whispers in the dark, of shimmering rapier blades, of silent, exquisite courtesy. — Daphne Du Maurier

I woke up thinking a very pleasant thought. There is lots left in the world to read. — Nicholson Baker