Purtell Suicide Quotes & Sayings

The word 'cause' is an altar to an unknown god. — William James

But there is scant evidence to tie Saddam to terrorist organizations, and even less to the Sept. 11 attacks. — Brent Scowcroft

Positive mind, positive life. — Lailah Gifty Akita

They were just so different, and she kept wondering if he'd realize this was a mistake at some point; if, once she stopped being the novelty, the random American, he would recognize who she really was -- a nerdy bookworm, a happy loner -- and move on. — Jennifer E. Smith

The British accomplished much with little; at the height of empire, an insignificant number of Anglo-Celts controlled the entire Indian subcontinent. A confident culture can dominate far larger numbers of people, as England did for much of modern history. By contrast, in an era of Massively Applied Desultoriness, we spend a fortune going to war with one hand tied behind our back ... So on we stagger, with Cold War institutions, transnational sensibilities, politically correct solicitousness, fraudulent preening pseudo-nation building, expensive gizmos, little will, and no war aims ... but real American lives. — Mark Steyn

Your true self is beyond either relying on others or avoiding them in order to know who you are. — Kosho Uchiyama

Love. This is a lorry, not a Ferrari. — Sophie Kinsella

Fiction's about what it is to be a fucking human being. — David Foster Wallace

It is a peculiar thing in life that the people you most particularly want to edge away from always seem to cluster round like a poultice. — P.G. Wodehouse

Let us never forget that an age prospers or dwindles in proportion to its devotion to the Holy Eucharist. This is the measure of its spiritual life and its faith, of its charity and its virtue. — Peter Julian Eymard

I have a feeling we are going to be world champions, I can't really explain why. Brazil are probably the best team in the world in terms of individual players. But the team with the most gifted players do not always win. — Oliver Kahn

Inside a body there is no light. A massed wetness pressing in on itself, shapes thrust against each other with no sense of where they are. They break in the crowding, come unmade. You put your hand to your stomach and press into the softness, trying to listen with your fingers for what's gone wrong. Anything could be inside. It's no surprise, then, that we care most for our surfaces: they alone distinguish us from one another and are so fragile, the thickness of paper. — Alexandra Kleeman