Stalagmites Stalactites Quotes & Sayings

Anyway." I cleared my throat loudly. "Thank you again for the beautiful necklace. It's perfect, and I love it. Where did you find it? I've never seen anything like it before."
It was his turn to look embarrassed and he ducked his head. "That's because I made it." He peeked up at me, and my heart melted. Am I dreaming? This has to be a dream.
"You made it?" Something wet hit my cheek and I brushed it away, impatiently waiting for his answer.
"Yeah," he said shyly. "I did. — Jessica Verday

If God has made the world a perfect mechanism, He has at least conceded so much to our imperfect intellect that in order to predict little parts of it, we need not solve innumerable differential equations, but can use dice with fair success. — Max Born

I hate that name," Mr. Grey said, walking toward the dragon's head statue. It was taller than he was, formed eerily from the stalactites and stalagmites of the cavern wall. "I wanted to be Mr. Purple. I like purple. — G. Norman Lippert

My recipe for success: Have someone else do it — Josh Stern

He had no ability to give up. It wasn't that he didn't want to quit, he couldn't. It wasn't in him. It never had been. — Dan Groat

We need a tremendous amount of energy and we dissipate it through fear but when there is this energy which comes from throwing off every form of fear, that energy itself produces the radical inward revolution. — Jiddu Krishnamurti

Stalactites and stalagmites. — Priscilla Shirer

The most dangerous thing for an actor is to refuse to listen to anyone else, to feel you know more than anybody. — Rock Hudson

Above all, she is the girl who 'feels' things, who has hung on to the freshness and pain of adolescence, the girl ever wounded, ever young. Now, at an age when the wounds begin to heal whether one wants them to or not, Joan Baez rarely leaves the Carmel Valley. — Joan Didion

The canvases which Mr. St. Jones referred to with a paintbrush that was long and slightly bowed: for the most part interiors, or undergrounds, of pocked and craggy holes, rock vaults with mossy floors and slimy walls, or narrow scenic vistas that skinny silver streams squirmed through like sidewinders flipped on their backs, beneath downward grasping tentacles of roots, stalactites dagger-sharp and dangling by threads of stone, stalagmites teetering, all doused, frozen in molten electric white that suggested what a glimpse of hell might be, too beautiful, some still lifes too, great bulbous beets, hoary legumes, giant scallions, white carrots, tomatoes, berries, squash in huge radiant bowls, and portraits, signed by Ionia, of shadows, from which gleamed eyes and teeth and nails and, here and there, a glowing bubble, or scrotum, caught the eye. Near the door a counter clacked but rather quietly. — Douglas Woolf

When a player gets to 30, so does his body — Glenn Hoddle

Graham Greene famously said that all writers need a chip of ice in their heart; Cusk can come across as the most beautiful ice palace of stalactites and stalagmites, and some people find her company, albeit by proxy, about as inviting as a long weekend in a walk-in frigidaire. — Julie Burchill

Really? When? Had all his material become threadbare? After thirty years of marriage, were you supposed to come up with new stuff all the time? — Richard Russo

Lina looked out at the lighted streets spreading away in every direction, the streets she knew so well. She loved her city, worn out and crumbling though it was. — Jeanne DuPrau