Rosendo Cruz Quotes & Sayings

A man counted only because he had a prison number. One literally became a number: dead or alive - that was unimportant; the life of a "number" was completely irrelevant. — Viktor E. Frankl

I know little about nature and hardly anything about men. — Albert Einstein

Long-term interpersonal relationships are the crucible of genuine progress in the Christian life. People who stay also grow. People who leave do not grow. We all know people who are consumed with spiritual wanderlust. But we never get to know them very well because they cannot seem to stay put. They move along from church to church, ever searching for a congregation that will better satisfy their felt needs. Like trees repeatedly transplanted from soil to soil, these spiritual nomads fail to put down roots and seldom experience lasting and fruitful growth in their Christian lives. — Joseph H. Hellerman

My parents taught me to do whatever makes you happy - follow your bliss. That's why I don't make a lot of movies. I'm very meat and potatoes when it comes to work, putting in eight hours each day. I only do what I love. — Mike Myers

I hold it to be of great prudence for men to abstain from threats and insulting words towards any one, for neither the one nor the other in any way diminishes the strength of the enemy; but the one makes him more cautious, and the other increases his hatred of you, and makes him more persevering in his efforts to injure you — Niccolo Machiavelli

People expect us to be different, but we're not. We're very similar people, and it's because we're so similar and close to each other that we make each other laugh - in fact we make each other laugh more than we make anyone else laugh. — Adrian Edmondson

Role-playing situations work well for many parents. After deprivation or prenatal exposure to substance, many children have verbal instruction as their weakest learning area, but many have role playing as their strongest. — Deborah D. Gray

His hand reached for his throat, fumbling for the small leather pouch he always wore about his neck. Inside he kept the bones of the four fingers his king had shortened for him, on the day he made Davos a knight. My luck. His shortened fingers patted at his chest, groping, finding nothing. The pouch was gone, and the fingerbones with them. Stannis could never understand why he'd kept the bones. "To remind me of my king's justice," he whispered through cracked lips. But now they were gone. — George R R Martin

When we sense something, it is due to the movement of atoms in space. When I see the moon it is because "moon atoms" penetrate my eye. — Jostein Gaarder

The Song of the Winged Ones is a song of celebration, written as though the singer were standing on the Dragon Isle watching the dragons flying in the sun. The words are full of wonder at the beauty of the creatures; and there is a curious pause in the middle of one of the stanzas near the end, where the singer waits a full four measures in silence for those who listen to hear the music of distant dragon wings. It seldom fails to bring echoes of something beyond the silence, and is almost never performed because many bards fear it.
I love it. — Elizabeth Kerner

Sirius, I need you to set off at once. You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher - the old crowd. Lie low at Lupin's for a while, I will contact you there."
"But - " said Harry.
He wanted Sirius to stay. He did not want to say goodbye again so quickly,
"You'll see me very soon, Harry," said Sirius, turning to him. "I promise you. But I must do what I can, you understand, don't you?"
"Yeah," said Harry.. "Yeah... of course I do."
Sirius grasped his hand briefly, nodded to Dumbledore, transformed again into the black dog, and ran the length of the room to the door, whose handle he turned with a paw. Then he was gone. — J.K. Rowling

Sinister is Latin for 'left', making it the sort of enjoyable schoolboy pun that is such an advert for mixed-gender education. — Ben Aaronovitch

Promised his love to keep her quiet - that he had never — Rudyard Kipling

My eyes feel all soft, all soft as flesh. I'm going to sleep. — Jean-Paul Sartre