Targaryens Greek Quotes & Sayings

Only very few people can remain unruffled by trouble. — Anuradha Bhattacharyya

Soft feathers cannot make a cruel bird kind — Munia Khan

No pain means the end of feeling; each of our joys is a bargain with the devil. — Charles Bukowski

Literature tries to express the intricate inner beauties of life. Philosophy tries to explain the intricate inner beauties and conflicts of thoughts. — Debasish Mridha

If you keep acting like a big baby, I will shoot you. I've never known a man so in love with his hair before. "

"I'm in love with all of me. I'm a very lovable pervert."

"Well, you're going to be a very sexy pervert when I'm done with you. Now hold still. — Tiffany Reisz

Well,' he said, 'I don't know. What's the use of my generalizing? I only know my own case. I like women, but I don't desire them. I like talking to them; but talking to them, though it makes me intimate in one direction, sets me poles apart from them as far as kissing is concerned. So there you are! But don't take me as a general example, probably I'm just a special case: one of the men who like women, but don't love women, and even hate them if they force me into a pretence of love, or an entangled appearance. — D.H. Lawrence

His face was an exploding zit-factory below a Brylcreem-loaded Bobby Rydell duck's ass. — Stephen King

The play's over, the house lights are up, the audience is gone, but I'm still on the damned stage. — Gregory Miller

Once you have met a true human being,
Let him not disappear from the horizon of your HEART. — Rumi

Doctors don't seem to realize that most of us are perfectly content not having to visualize ourselves as animated bags of skin filled with obscene glop. — Joe Haldeman

One of my first films was Zebrahead. I remember the producer asking me, "Can you handle the big lights?" And I thought, Do I want to be sarcastic, or do I want the job? So I said, "I don't handle the big lights, I just tell big men where to put the big lights and they do it." — Maryse Alberti

Madness will push you anywhere it wants. It never tells you where you're going, or why. It tells you it doesn't matter. It persuades you. It dangles something sparkly before you, shimmering like that water patch on the road up ahead. You will drive until you find it, the treasure, the thing you most desire.
You will never find it. Madness may mock you so long you will die of the search. Or it will tire of you, turn its back, oblivious as you go flying. The car is beside you, smoking, belly-up, still spinning its wheels. — Marya Hornbacher