Transparence Ethos Quotes & Sayings

Facebook's campus has a lot of creative spaces: an analogue print shop, a candy store. It's a dynamic place and one of the best environments I've been in, period. — Kevin Systrom

Rhythm When you reach for me, reach with love. I vow to return your extension with open arms and a dancing heart. — Alexandra Elle

ITS EASY TO HATE BUT HARD TO LOVE — QHUBEKANI NCUBE

My window fogs and this makes me feel like there is no world outside of the car. — Augusten Burroughs

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself. But if to love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires: to melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. To know the pain of too much tenderness. To be wounded by your own understanding of love; and to bleed willingly and joyfully. To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving; to rest at noon and meditate love's ecstasy; to return home at eventide with gratitude; and then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips. — Kahlil Gibran

I wept heartily over this poor little deceased soul. It was the first sentient being I had ever killed. I was now a killer. I was now as guilty as Cain. I was sixteen years old, a harmless boy, bookish and religious, and now I had blood on my hands. It's a terrible burden to carry. All sentient life is sacred. — Yann Martel

I have the feeling that this Moscow Pact will at some time or other exact vengeance upon National Socialism. — Alfred Rosenberg

I wish I could find MY books listed on GOODREADS - DODGING JOE, THE WOMAN WHO WOULDN'T EXPLAIN, THE BITTER GRAPES - ll available through Amazon and Createspace - — Saaskia Aark-Bennett

Women don't have to be defined by others. We have the power to define ourselves: by telling our own stories, in our own words, with our own voices. — Sarah Kay

Prosperity, pleasure and success, may be rough of grain and common in fibre, but sorrow is the most sensitive of all created things. There is nothing that stirs in the whole world of thought to which sorrow does not vibrate in terrible and exquisite pulsation. The thin beaten-out leaf of tremulous gold that chronicles the direction of forces the eye cannot see is in comparison coarse. It is a wound that bleeds when any hand but that of love touches it, and even then must bleed again, though not in pain. — Oscar Wilde