Studiul Limbilor Quotes & Sayings

In comic strips, the person on the left always speaks first. — George Carlin

Sombre thoughts and fancies often require a little real soil or substance to flourish in; they are the dark pine-trees which take root in, and frown over the rifts of the scathed and petrified heart, and are chiefly nourished by the rain of unavailing tears, and the vapors of fancy. — John Frederick Boyes

I don't think you necessarily identify and believe in the motifs of the character, but you have to want to play it and want to commit to the lines. — Clive Owen

Jake, she whispered, the hot blast of her exhalation making him groan. He gave in and fisted his hands in her hair.
She opened to him at once, her body melting against his, wilting into his embrace so that it felt like his light pressure on her cheeks was all that held her upright. But her mouth was a hungry thing, her tongue diving in to tangle with his while her arms wound around his shoulders. He slanted his head to plunder her as deeply as he could, ravenous to explore every inch of her mouth.
Forget kissing. They were eating each other alive. — Cari Quinn

You know how you feel when you meet someone and they just give you the impression they're living on this entirely different planet from everyone else? That's sort of how I felt when I met you. — Courtney Summers

I think there's evil on both sides [of Syria], and I think that's one reason I don't want to be involved in civil war. I see things in personal terms. I just can't see sending one of my sons - or your son or daughter - to fight in a civil war, where on one side we have a dictator, who in all likelihood gassed his people. — Rand Paul

That's something I think is growing on me as I get older: happy endings. — Alice Munro

Because honor still matters. Honor is what echoes. His father's words. But they are as empty on his lips as they feel in my ears. This was has taken everything from him. I see in his eyes how broken he is. how terribly hard he is trying to be his father's son. If he could, he would choose to be back by the campfire we made in the highlands of the Institute. He would return to the days of glory when life was simple, when friends seemed true. But wishing for the past doesn't clean the blood from either of our hands. — Pierce Brown

Every good and perfect gift comes from God. — Lailah Gifty Akita

I never wake up in the morning and wonder why I am here. I wake up and wonder why I am not making here better. — Jeffrey Fry

I once asked my friends if they'd ever held things that gave them a spooky sense of history. Ancient pots with three-thousand-year-old thumbprints in the clay, said one. Antique keys, another. Clay pipes. Dancing shoes from WWII. Roman coins I found in a field. Old bus tickets in second-hand books. Everyone agreed that what these small things did was strangely intimate; they gave them the sense, as they picked them up and turned them in their fingers, of another person, an unknown person a long time ago, who had held that object in their hands. You don't know anything about them, but you feel the other person's there, one friend told me. It's like all the years between you and them disappear. Like you become them, somehow. — Helen Macdonald

The things you get fired for when you're young are the same things that you get lifetime achievement awards for when you're old. — Francis Ford Coppola

Echo's breathing hitches when I slide my thumb along a smaller scar. She likes that spot. I've memorized it. A centimeter below the crook of her elbow. Her skin is sensitive there, and when I kiss it, Echo normally falls apart and nearly shatters.
I gently press my lips behind her ear, and Echo nudges closer to me. "Why, Echo?"
"Because."
I nip at her earlobe, and she shivers. "Because why?"
Her shoulder moves under my body. A half shrug maybe. "It makes me feel better."
Fuck that. "Why?"
A kiss on her neck. A long one. A lingering one. God damn, Echo tastes so good. Her skin is soft and tempting. But I want answers.
"Because sometimes I want to blend in."
I raise my head and stare straight into her eyes, spotting the plain honesty. What she doesn't understand is that she could never blend in. Blazing red hair. Bright emerald eyes. The most beautiful girl in the world. She'd turn heads regardless of a sweater. — Katie McGarry