Sick Of Stressing Quotes & Sayings

I always wear the same thing: a tight white shirt - I have about 50 - and tight black trousers. — Marie Helvin

Such is the pleasure of projecting that many content themselves with a succession of visionary schemes, and wear out their allotted time in the calm amusement of contriving what they never attempt or hope to execute. — Samuel Johnson

If you only try to do the things where you win, then you'll never try to do anything worth doing. — Myles Horton

My favorite times were spent in his backyard where he and his roommates had "let nature take its course," the weeds towering above our heads. We placed two chairs in the middle of that jungle and discussed what we didn't know we were discussing: What brings a writer and an engineer together? How can we reconcile our diverse interests into a pointed goal, a single aphorism on life? More simply stated: Why are we falling in love? — Megan Rich

I didn't set out to write a book with no real male characters, but men were not important to my narrator, who was much more interested in maternal and pseudo-maternal love, so they were unimportant to me. I didn't even notice the lack of men in the story until I finished it. But once I did notice it, I was kind of delighted. Apparently, my subconscious is totally sexist. — Janice Erlbaum

I like you less when you don't like yourself. — Richard Stevenson

Genuine bravery for a writer ... It is about calmly speaking the truth when everyone else is silenced, when the truth cannot be expressed. It is about speaking out with a different voice, risking the wrath of the state and offending everyone, for the sake of the truth, and the writer's conscience. — Murong Xuecun

We should have signs in the subways and shops "Watch your thoughts!" "Watch your words! — Florence Scovel Shinn

They had me all happy, singing. It was very awkward. I think the writers are frantically planning something appropriate to honor him, but we don't know what. — Kristin Chenoweth

I checked Delores, she appeared to be running on a lake top, a girl on a fairy horse sprinting across fresh water. As I looked, Delores let go of the bay's mane and sat straight up, riding only with her legs and hips, her arms out as if to fly. She tilted her head back, too, and she looked so perfect doing it that I didn't dare try to copy her. This was something only for her, something I could only witness, and she galloped down that hill with her soul somewhere up in the sky above her. We both knew it, and we never had to mention it. T — Joseph Monninger