The Echo Of Twilight Quotes & Sayings

I wouldn't wanna fight me, because I know it wouldn't be a good outcome for both. — Bernard Hopkins

All wars are waged against children — Eglantyne Jebb

I can only manage to hold on to one simple thought: an image of Snow's face accompanied by the whisper in my head. I will kill you. — Suzanne Collins

Do you think that the day you reach forty you will be any different than you were at thirty-nine or forty-one for that matter? People create little ideas about ages so they can write silly self-help books, stick stupid comments in birthday cards, create names for internet chat rooms and look for excuses for crises that are happening in their life. — Cecelia Ahern

I'm finally just relaxed and comfortable with who I am. — Wanda Sykes

I steal back into dreams of you, your unmade bed a huge open-faced sandwich. — Lorrie Moore

I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper
sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes,
new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind,
and the old things go, not one lasts. — Carl Sandburg

The mirror is the mother dew, the book of desiccated twilights, echo become flesh. — Federico Garcia Lorca

The crumpled butcherpaper mountains lay in sharp shadowfold under the long blue dusk and in the middle distance the glazed bed of a dry lake lay shimmering like the mare imbrium and herds of deer were moving north in the last of the twilight, harried over the plain by wolves who were themselves the color of the desert floor. Glanton sat his horse and looked long out upon this scene. Sparse on the mesa the dry weeds lashed in the wind like the earth's long echo of lance and spear in old encounters forever unrecorded. All the sky seemed troubled and night came quickly over the evening land and small gray birds flew crying softly after the fled sun. He chucked up the horse. He passed and so passed all into the problematical destruction of darkness. — Cormac McCarthy

In the writings of a recluse one always hears something of the echo of the wilderness, something of the murmuring tones and timid vigilance of solitude; in his strongest words, even in his cry itself, there sounds a new and more dangerous kind of silence, of concealment. He who has sat day and night, from year's end to year's end, alone with his soul in familiar discord and discourse, he who has become a cave-bear, or a treasure-seeker, or a treasure-guardian and dragon in his cave - it may be a labyrinth, but can also be a gold-mine - his ideas themselves eventually acquire a twilight-colour of their own, and an odour, as much of the depth as of the mould, something uncommunicative and repulsive, which blows chilly upon every passer-by. — Friedrich Nietzsche

For Twilight, it was like the echo of a song- a song from long ago. He could almost remember some of the words, but had no clue as to where they had come from. There had been a wonderful voice singing it, singing this song just for him. A voice like silk? Satin? Like liquid moonlight, it flowed, it curled around him and suffused him with a glowing warmth. — Kathryn Lasky

I think once you've allocated an actor to the role that the character will evolve slightly. — Nathalie Emmanuel

FIND YOUR WEIRD

Finding your weird is a lot like finding your voice. Although, your voice is more about your passion, your story, your way of communicating with the world.

Your weird is that thing you do that people would miss if you were gone.

Your weird is the thing that keeps your followers following you.

Your weird puts a smile on a face or an idea in a mind or money in your pocket.

Your weird is how we remember you.

What's your weird?

If you don't know, ask someone. Ask lots of people!

When you embrace your weird, you
love your life, share your story, meet new people, experience great things, freak yourself out, live on purpose, "save the whales," enjoy the moment.

Find your weird.

But first, breathe. — Richie Norton

Does advertising corrupt editors? Yes it does, but fewer editors than you may suppose ... the vast majority of editors are incorruptible. — David Ogilvy

Sometimes, with two strikes and two outs, I step off the mound. People are yelling, they're yelling really loud. I step off because I want to feel it. You've got all that adrenaline going, you've got that rush. People think I'm thinking about something, but I'm just trying to listen to everyone and feed off it. — Eric Gagne

Harp of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark,
On purple peaks a deeper shade descending;
In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark,
The deer, half seen, are to the covert wending.
Resume thy wizard elm! the fountain lending,
And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy;
Thy numbers sweet with nature's vespers blending,
With distant echo from the fold and lea,
And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing bee. — Walter Scott

Sunlight on orchids
Lightning on water
Twilight calls your name
I have searched for you for centuries
I am the woman who fell in love by accident-
Virtual love- who would have thought, is it even possible? ( I believe so )
I raise my white flag and listen for your echo in my dreams
I'm walking backwards to find you in my past
I'm entangled in your fate~

~Lady A~ — Ladyaslan

I can't find anything wrong with Ashton Kutcher. I think he's great. It's odd that in America there's a very mixed reaction to him. I think those that have only seen him on 'Punk'd' or 'That 70s Show' get him wrong. There's much more to him than those characters or that persona he plays in those shows. — Nigel Cole

Golf is a better game played downhill. — Jack Nicklaus

They pulled the wet saddles off the horses and hobbled them and walked off in separate directions through the chaparral to stand spraddle legged clutching their knees and vomiting. The browsing horses jerked their heads up. It was no sound they'd ever heard before. In the grey twilight those retchings seemed to echo like the calls of some rude provisional species loosed upon that waste. A thing smirking deep in the eyes of grace itself like a gorgon in an autumn pool. — Cormac McCarthy