The Johnny High Fives Quotes & Sayings

Nothing is difficult for the humble. — Mary Faustina Kowalska

Writing about a war will always be political writing, no matter what amount of hermetical hide-and-seek or aesthetical operations are involved. — Sasa Stanisic

She vanished over the side of the chapel. Kaz stood there, staring at the place she'd been only seconds before. She'd tricked him. The decent, honest, pious Wraith had outsmarted him. He turned to look back at the long expanse of roof he was going to have to traverse to get back to the boat. "Curse you and all your Saints," he said to no one at all, then realized he was smiling. — Leigh Bardugo

The only way to win a race is to run alone. — Nam June Paik

The America's Cup is like driving your Lamborgini to the Gran Prix track to watch the charter buses race. — P. J. O'Rourke

They live, we sleep, we starve, they eat. You must comply with their deceit, don't trust the wolves to guard the sheep. They'll colonize when you close your eyes into a superpower that will never die. — Trevor D. Richardson

When the pieces fell around him, he'd pick them up.
It was what he was good at, after all.
Restoring what was once lost, what could never be perfectly whole again. — Carrie Ann Ryan

Memory is fiction ... All memory is a way of reconstructing the past ... The act of narrating a memory is the act of creating fiction. [Armitstead, Claire. "Damon Galgut talks about his novel In a Strange Room." The Guardian. 10 September 2010.] — Damon Galgut

No one today knows what is indecent. — Jack Valenti

He knew it would take as many years as could think of now to forget the tracks, no matter how deeply buried. Some morning in autumn, spring, or winter he kn he'd wake and, if he didn't go near the window, if he just lay deep and snug and warm, in his bed, he would hear it, faint and far away.
And around the bend of the morning street, up the avenue, between the even rows of sycamore, elm and maple, it the quietness before the start of living, past his house h would hear the familiar sounds. Like the ticking of a doe the rumble of a dozen metal barrels rolling, the hum of single immense dragonfly at dawn. Like a merry-go-round like a small electrical storm, the color of blue lightning, coming, here, and gone. The trolley's chime! The hiss like a sc fountain spigot as it let down and took up its step, and starting of the dream again, as on it sailed along its way, traveling a hidden and buried track to some hidden and buried destination. — Ray Bradbury

If the prince of a State love benevolence, he will have no opponent in all the empire. — Mencius

In springtime, the only pretty ring time
Birds sing, hey ding
A-ding, a-ding
Sweet lovers love the spring - — William Shakespeare