San Carlos Quotes & Sayings

Good call. A second drag and your next stop's the wastepaper basket - and not to toss your kleenex, true. — J.R. Ward

I, the unfortunate Doctor Polyakov, who became addicted to morphine in February of this year, warn anyone who may suffer the same fate not to attempt to replace morphine with cocaine. Cocaine is a most foul and insidious poison. Yesterday Anna barely managed to revive me with camphor injections and today I am half dead. — Mikhail Bulgakov

I mean, we're talking about chocolate, for chrissake! Chocolate's wonderful! Everyone loves it! Look at me, I'm part German! That makes me a kraut! Do you know what kraut is? It's sauerkraut, men! Which means pickled cabbage! And no one likes that! And I'm okay with it! You can call me Kraut, for all that I care! I don't give a god damn! Do you read me, men? Do you? ~ Roman Meister, manager of the San Carlos Coyotes, to three black ballplayers whom he has, cleverly he thinks, nicknamed "Dark Chocolate," "Milk Chocolate," and "Bitter Chocolate." From The Mighty Roman. — Jon Sindell

For the first time since Ben died, I look like a widow. For the first time since I lost him, I feel like I recognize the person in the mirror. There I am, grief-stricken and un-whole. Widowed. It's such a relief to see myself this way. I have felt so insecure in my widowness that seeing myself look like a widow comforts me. — Taylor Jenkins Reid

I studied engineering in the national university, the Universidad Autonoma, in San Ildefonso. — Carlos Slim

She understood now that while it had been wrong to kill Cansrel, it had also been right. The boy with the strange eyes had helped her to see the rightness of it. The boy who'd killed Archer. Some people had too much power and too much cruelty to live. Some people were too terrible, no matter if you loved them; no matter that you had to make yourself terrible too, in order to stop them. Some things just had to be done.
I forgive myself, though Fire. Today, I forgive myself. — Kristin Cashore

Pittsburgh entered the core of my heart when I was a boy and cannot be torn out. — Andrew Carnegie

And what does he feel?"
"He feels uneasy. A little afaid. Angry. Oddly, a hint of pride."
"Good," Henry said. "ANd where are you?"
"Backstage."
Henry shook his head gravely. "THere's no such thing as backstage. The play begins, and there's only the world it dramatizes. Now, where are you?"
"With my father, the president. In his chambers."
"Right. With me. Your father. And now
this is important
do you love me?"
Nelson considered this; or rather, Nelson, as Alejo, considered this.
"Yes," he said after a moment. "I do."
"Good. Remember that. In every scene
even when you hate me, you also love me. That's why it hurts. Got it?"
Nelson said that he did.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Good. Because it does hurt," Henry said. "DOn't forget that. It's supposed to. Always. — Daniel Alarcon

Manfred used to be a flock of pigeons
literally, his exocortex dispersed among a passel of bird brains, pecking at brightly colored facts, shitting semidigested conclusions. Being human again feels inexplicably odd. (331) — Charles Stross

Here are also the two vessels, but the San Carlos without sailors, all having died of the scurvy, except two. — Junipero Serra

At times we feel something is going to pierce the silence we are living in; after a while we realize it's the silence. — Gopichand Lagadapati

I can't comment on a person who won't comment on me in a positive light. — Fat Joe

What will they say about my poetry who never touched my blood? Que diran de mi poesia los que no tocaron mi sangre? — Pablo Neruda

Oh I've plenty of time, my time is entirely my own. — Fyodor Dostoyevsky

I realized that it's all really one, that John Lennon was correct. We utilize the music to bring down the walls of Berlin, to bring up the force of compassion and forgiveness and kindness between Palestines, Hebrews. Bring down the walls here in San Diego, Tijuana, Cuba. — Carlos Santana

The biggest problem in the world could have been solved when it was small. — Witter Bynner

If I could tell you only one thing about my life it would be this: when I was seven years old the mailman ran over my had. As formative events go, nothing else comes close; my careening, zigzag existence, my wounded brain and faith in God, my collisions with joy and affliction, all of it has come, in one way or another, out of that moment on a summer morning when the left rear tire of a United States postal jeep ground my tiny head into the hot gravel of the San Carlos Apache Indian reservation. — Brady Udall

And for its part, what was life? Was it perhaps only an infectious disease of matter - just as the so-called spontaneous generation of matter was perhaps only an illness, a cancerous stimulation of the immaterial? — Thomas Mann