Porfido Market Quotes & Sayings

Liars lie to others and they lie to themselves without even the concept of lying arising in their minds because this concept doesn't exist for them. There is no judgment, remorse, guilt, worry, or condemnation because lying is not a right or wrong thing. It just is. An axiomatic "Given." To — Alexandra York

The thing that sticks to me most about theater is that because it's such an ape crazy nonstop experience, you really don't have time to think about anything else. You're just really present; you have to be, or else, you know, you can't stop the play. — Sebastian Stan

At sixty miles per hour, you could pass our farm in a minute, on County Road 686, which ran due north into the T intersection at Cabot Street Road. — Jane Smiley

May you be ordinary, as the poet once wished the new-born baby. — Julian Barnes

Some studies of successful language learners have suggested that they're more "open to new experiences" than the rest of us. Temptingly, psychologist Alexander Guiora proposed that we have a self that's bound up in our native language, a "language ego", which needs to be loose and more permeable to learn a new language. Those with more fluid ego boundaries, like children and people who have drunk some alcohol, are more willing to sound not like themselves, which means they have better accents in the new language. — Michael Erard

Words can't describe... shouldn't be in a writer's vocabulary. — Mary M. Forbes

I was lucky in getting my first book published; my first book was 'Bunnicula,' which I wrote with my late wife Debbie, for the fun of it. — James Howe

In Tsurani culture, forgiveness was simply a less shameful form of weakness than capitulation. — Raymond E. Feist

Scotch beef, salmon and shellfish are recognised the world over for their excellence and Scottish provenance. People recognise the Scottish brand. They associate the country with quality food and drink, and clearly other Scottish sectors, such as dairy, can benefit from that, too. — Nicola Sturgeon

Ah, never shall the land forget
How gush'd the life-blood of the brave,
Gush'd warm with hope and courage yet,
Upon the soil they fought to save! — William C. Bryant

Werner sleeps in a tiny dormitory with seven other fourteen-year-olds. The bunk above belongs to Frederick: a reedy boy, thin as a blade of grass, skin as pale as cream. Frederick is new too. He's from Berlin. His father is assistant to an ambassador. When Frederick speaks, his attention floats up, as though he's scanning the sky for something. — Anthony Doerr

Nothing is a stronger cultural lightning rod than two needles and a ball of yarn. But — Clara Parkes