Sharla In Japan Quotes & Sayings

At times I am gripped by an absurd desire: that the sentence I am about to write be the one the woman is reading at that same moment. The idea mesmerizes me so much that I convince myself it is true: I write the sentence hastily, get up, go to the window, train my spyglass to check the effect of my sentence in her gaze, in the curl of her lips, in the cigarette she lights, in the shifts of her body in the deck chair, in her legs, which she crosses or extends. — Italo Calvino

I think the hardest part of writing is revising. And by that I mean the following: A novelist has to create the piece of marble and then chip away to find the figure in it. — Chaim Potok

Envy is the coward side of Hate, And all her ways are bleak and desolate. — Charles Caleb Colton

Despairing of human relationships (people were so difficult), she often went into her garden and got from her flowers a peace which men and women never gave her. — Virginia Woolf

All gone. All anger quelled, all desire drained, all thirst slaked, all madness past. — Stephen Fry

I've tried singing like somebody else, and it never worked for me. The only thing that has ever worked for me was me being me, so either you love it or not. — Tamar Braxton

I would prefer to be a satyr rather than a saint. — Friedrich Nietzsche

Finding out what you don't like is, paradoxically, as valuable as finding out what you do like. — Susan Jeffers

The world is your oyster ...
... too bad you're allergic to shellfish. — Paul Neilan

she wore a Walther TPH .22 automatic in her right hand. The TPH is a pretty little thing. It has a straight blowback action, a six-round box magazine and two-and-a-quarter-inch barrel. It's also utterly useless as a firearm, because unless you can guarantee hitting either the heart or the brain first time, you're only going to annoy the person you're shooting at. For most people, a wet mackerel is the better choice of weapon. — Hugh Laurie

I knew very well what Lars meant when he praised me, and held me, and indicated through a caress that he liked me just the way I was; I knew, better than he knew himself, that he wanted to ensure he never be confronted with what, in his own personality, might need pruning or pushing or prodding, that behind every show of support he gave, for me here, for me now, there lurked a terrified refusal to acknowledge his own potential to grow. — Sara Levine