Selase Botchway Quotes & Sayings

I heard a noise on the back patio and opened the door. The rabbit was there in a black metal cage. It was big, not some fluffy little ball of fur, but a big, ugly rabbit. It stood on its hind legs and sniffed the air.

"Yes, you smell that," I told the rabbit. "That's the smell of your enemy. Get a good whiff. We are not friends." It could probably smell the apple I still held, not me. I bit off a piece and threw it into the cage, sending it a very mixed message considering the speech I'd given. "Just keeping you on your toes."

"Who are you talking to — Kasie West

Boredom is the root of all evil. It is very curious that boredom, which itself has such a calm and sedate nature, can have such a capacity to initiate motion. The effect that boredom brings about is absolutely magical, but this effect is one not of attraction but of repulsion. — Soren Kierkegaard

I was not born to amuse the Tsars. — Alexander Pushkin

Self-doubt is common when our efforts fail to bring results. Failure is a rock in our shoe that nags us until we find relief. At first, failure to achieve our desired end will elicit careful scrutiny (What can I do better?) and resumed commitment (How can I try harder?). Success may be achieved - straight As, an athletic scholarship, perfect Sunday school attendance - but the real goal - a happy family, an end to the abuse, or relief from the pain - is always out of reach. — Dan B. Allender

When I train against men, I always find that I push myself harder to my absolute maximum. — Lindsey Vonn

At eighteen, she already looks like a woman of sorrows and as her breaths start becoming shorter, tired of looking over her shoulder, she only wants to get away from this city where no one can fathom her love- boundless and profane and real, like her skin and her lips and the insides of her thighs. She knows she can smile, smell like the others. Her skin would bleed too if pricked and yet this reality does not belong to the ones sleeping on the platform floor; this reality is hers and her alone. Thus when she puts the mirror back, she rummages in her handbag, searching for that thing called identity: some of it lost somewhere in the railway colony she had just left behind, some in Sudhanshu's left jacket pocket, the rest of it scattered here around broken teacups on railings, totally aberrant and arbitrary. — Kunal Sen

The only real mistake here is ignoring the inner voice. — Del Close