Spymaster Online Quotes & Sayings

Sir, what is a pearl?"
"My worthy Ned," I answered, "to the poet, a pearl is a tear of the sea; to the Orientals, it is a drop of dew solidified; to the ladies, it is a jewel of an oblong shape, of a brilliancy of mother-of-pearl substance, which they wear on their fingers, their necks, or their ears; for the chemist, it is a mixture of phosphate and carbonate of lime, with a little gelatine; and lastly, for naturalists, it is simple a morbid secretion of the organ that produces the mother-of-pearl among certain bivalves. — Jules Verne

Words are like diamonds. Polish them too much, and all you get are pebbles. — Bryce Courtenay

Sometimes truth was the most brutal weapon of all. And the greatest gift. — Debora Geary

When I first went to school, I was fighting all the time. The soldier mentality was still in me. I kept getting expelled. I found it hard to take instructions from anyone who wasn't a military commander. — Emmanuel Jal

Enthusiasm could not supply the place of experience. — John Lothrop Motley

I just hate losing and that gives you an extra determination to work harder. — Wayne Rooney

It's only life. We all get through it. Not all of us complete the journey in the same condition. Along the way, some lose their legs or eyes in acidents or altercations, while others skate through the years with nothing worse to worry about than an occassional bad-hair day.
I still possessed both legs and both eyes, and even my hair looked all right when I rose that Wednesday morning in late January. If I returned to bed sixteen hours later, having lost all my hair but nothing else, I would consider the day a triumph. Even minus a few teeth, I'd call it a triumph. — Dean Koontz

In the end we're all Jerry Springer Show guests, really, we just haven't been on the show. — Marilyn Manson

The choicest believers, who are assuredly freed from the condemning power of sin, ought yet to make it their business all their days to mortify the indwelling power of sin. — John Owen

Outside the wind had picked up a little. Isaac sheltered his prize and walked quickly up the little alley that adjoined The Dying Child with Paddler Way and his workshop-home. He pushed open the green doors with his bum and backed into the building. Isaac's laboratory had been a factory and a warehouse years ago, and its huge, dusty floorspace swamped the little benches and retorts and blackboards that perched in its corners. — China Mieville