Savez Rusina Quotes & Sayings

I wished I could visit a Museum of Unnatural History, but, even so, I was glad there wasn't one. Werewolves were wonderful because they could be anything, I knew. If someone actually caught a werewolf, or a dragon, if they tamed a manticore or stabled a unicorn, put them in bottles, dissected them, then they could only be one thing, and they would no longer live in the shadowy places between the things I knew and the world of the impossible, which was, I was certain, the only place that mattered. — Neil Gaiman

No one knows enough to worry. — Terence McKenna

I have deep emotions about the American people. If I were to cry for anything, I would cry for them and the policies that they're about to face. — Nancy Pelosi

I am afraid to die, though,' I whispered to myself. These turned out to be my last words. They were not very impressive words, but it was too late to change them. — Haruki Murakami

Some people are scared to tell the truth, but I'm going to tell you the Good, the bad, the ugly," it's like, "Let's go there. Let's talk about it." — LeCrae

In the depths of him, he too didn't want to go. But he was a born American, and if anything was on show, he had to see it. That was Life. — D.H. Lawrence

I'd loved in so many bodies, but never one I loved like this. Never one that I craved in this way. Of course, this would be the one I'd have to give up.
The irony made me laugh, and I concentrated on the feel of the air that popped in little bubbles from my chest and up through my throat. Laughter was like a fresh breeze - it cleaned its way through the body, making everything feel good. Did other species have such a simple healer? I couldn't remember one. — Stephenie Meyer

If you are in a movie theater, you can look two people down and they are laughing while you are laughing or you can look three people down and they love that song that you love. It is living proof that you are not alone. — Stephen Chbosky

From my father, I learnt kindness and how to talk straight. — Mo Ibrahim

Her love for him closed within her like a fist. Nervous, bruised. She despised it. Wasn't it the love of a beaten animal, slinking back to its master? Yet here was the truth: she missed her father. — Marie Rutkoski