Talleyrands Grave Quotes & Sayings

Such are the Splendors and Miseries of memory: it is proud of its ability to keep truthful track of the logical sequence of past events; but when it comes to how we experienced them at the time, memory feels no obligation to truth. — Milan Kundera

I sort of feel sorry for gays being the last ones at the sexual revolution window. We've had liberalizing rules on divorce. We've had the sexual revolution. We've had, you know, the pill, and burning bras and rampant premarital sex and polymorphous perversity. — Ann Coulter

You don't know where west is?" Sarah asked with disbelief.
I wasn't going to drop her to the ground. I was going to throw her. "Do I look like I have a compass on me?"
Sarah waved a hand at the sky. "Can't you use the stars to navigate?"
"I 'm twenty-nine years old, not two hundred and twenty-nine. I navigate by GPS, MapQuest, or TomTom. Not the fucking stars, 'k? — Jeaniene Frost

I told Ella Mae Cheeks Johnson, then age 105, that she was the only person over 80 who I'd ever met who never referred to her physical infirmities or health problems. To which she replied, I have my difficulties; I do not rejoice in them. — Patricia Mulcahy

Call Loretta Lynch for a vote. Get her confirmed. Put her in place. Let her do her job. — Barack Obama

The regard one shows economy, is like that we show an old aunt who is to leave us something at last. — William Shenstone

A lot of crime writing suffers from treading water. I feel an obligation to move the character on and not repeat myself. I try to fit him into a different period and a different agenda. That way, you learn slightly more about his personal history in the tradition of the unreliable narrator. It makes it more challenging to write. — Philip Kerr

The moon is friend for the lonesome to talk to. — Carl Sandburg

He cradled her face between his hands, angled his mouth over hers, and welcomed the bliss she offered. Boldly, she gave her tongue the freedom to roam within his mouth. She sighed. He moaned.
He thought a man could become spoiled touching a woman. He might never want to touch stone again. Stone wasn't warm. It didn't alter its shape with the gentlest of pressures. Stone didn't breathe so he could feel its moisture on his face. Rocks didn't make soft sounds that he'd carry with him until the day he died. — Lorraine Heath