Roedding Real Estate Quotes & Sayings

When an individual changes in even a small way he immediately changes the world around him. And that concentric circle moves out and changes everything. — Tom Shadyac

Look, you're small-town. I've had over 50 jobs, maybe a hundred. I've never stayed anywhere long. What I am trying to say is, there is a certain game played in offices all over America. The people are bored, they don't know what to do, so they play the office-romance game. Most of the time it means nothing but the passing of time. Sometimes they do manage to work off a screw or two on the side. But even then, it is just an offhand pasttime, like bowling or t.v. or a New Year's Eve party. You've got to understand that it doesn't mean anything and then you won't get hurt. Do you understand what I mean?"
I think that Mr. Partisan is sincere."
You're going to get stuck with that pin, babe, don't forget what I told you. Watch those slicks. They are as phony as a lead dime. — Charles Bukowski

Bernstein looked like one of those counterculture journalists that Woodward despised. Bernstein thought that Woodward's rapid rise at the Post had less to do with his ability than his Establishment credentials.
They had never worked on a story together. Woodward was 29, Bernstein 28.
Carl Bernstein, Bob Woodward — Carl Bernstein

However, such an understanding is problematic. Barcan Marcus, for example, suggested that "Individuals must be there before they enter into relations, even relations of self-identity".29 — Steven French

As a writer, if you're prepared to work from your own wound, you're allowing people into the most vulnerable parts of yourself. — Jeanette Winterson

The kiss, dear maid ! thy lip has left

Shall never part from mine,

Till happier hours restore the gift

Untainted back to thine.


Thy parting glance, which fondly beams,

An equal love may see:

The tear that from thine eyelid streams

Can weep no change in me.


I ask no pledge to make me blest

In gazing when alone;

Nor one memorial for a breast,

Whose thoughts are all thine own.


Nor need I write --- to tell the tale

My pen were doubly weak:

Oh ! what can idle words avail,

Unless the heart could speak ?


By day or night, in weal or woe,

That heart, no longer free,

Must bear the love it cannot show,

And silent ache for thee. — George Gordon Byron