Pittsburghs Quotes & Sayings

The American father is never seen in London. He passes his life entirely in Wall Street and communicates with his family once a month by means of a telegram in cipher. — Oscar Wilde

Happiness isn't a destination. It's a journey. And sometimes the journey is hard. — Jennifer Dukes Lee

Right ain't changed in all these years. From my maternal grandmother, Pearl C. Parker — Deborah L. Parker

Everyone assumes writers spend their time lounging around, writing and occasionally striking a pose whilst having a think. — Sara Sheridan

You claim I stole the sun, now it is too dark for you to see ... — A. Mani

The real reason why I should not like to be in the book trade for life is that while I was in it I lost my love of books. A bookseller has to tell lies about books, and that gives him a distaste for them. — George Orwell

Taint no use to sit and whine 'Cause the fish ain't on your line; Bait your hook an' keep on tryin', Keep a-goin'! — Frank Lebby Stanton

I thought I was looking for something. Now I get that I was looking for someone. You. I'll go back to school and get my degree because it will make you happy. But also because it will make me the kind of man you want. This all about you, Aurelia. Don't you get that? — Susan Mallery

When I walk for a designer, I walk the ramp as Vijender Singh, the boxer. I believe that by doing so, boxing will at least, in some way, get promoted in our entertainment industry. Plus, if cricketers can, why can't I? — Vijender Singh

Anyone who says I would never hit a woman hasn't met my x girlfriend. — Dov Davidoff

After us they'll fly in hot air balloons, coat styles will change, perhaps they'll discover a sixth sense and cultivate it, but life will remain the same, a hard life full of secrets, but happy. And a thousand years from now man will still be sighing, "Oh! Life is so hard!" and will still, like now, be afraid of death and not want to die. — Anton Chekhov

I like extravagance. Letters which give the postman a stiff back to carry, books which overflow from their covers, sexuality which bursts the thermometers. — Anais Nin