Tymberlee Quotes & Sayings

What do you want to do?" Gabriel asks.
"Not commit suicide," I say. "Wait for Marcus. — Sally Green

Just give me a thousand words and you may make your own pictures. — Erica Goros

The first thunderstorm of the season was in the dressing room, donning its black robes and its necklace of hailstones, strapping on its electrical sword. — Tom Robbins

When a man rides a long time through wild regions he feels the desire for a city. Finally he comes to Isidora, a city where the buildings have spiral staircases encrusted with spiral seashells, where perfect telescopes and violins are made, where the foreigner hesitating between two women always encounters a third, where cockfights degenerate into bloody brawls among the bettors. He was thinking of all these things when he desired a city. Isidora, therefore, is the city of his dreams: with one difference. The dreamed-of city contained him as a young man; he arrives at Isidora in his old age. In the square there is the wall where the old men sit and watch the young go by; he is seated in a row with them. Desires are already memories. — Italo Calvino

This is outrageous!" Jagen bellows. "Grom, you need to get your siblings under control before I do it myself."
Galen rolls his eyes. Jagen is over 150 years old. If he wants to tussle with Galen, he's more than welcome to come closer. — Anna Banks

My smile is my servant, he should come at my command. — George R R Martin

In Northern Ireland, if you don't have basic Christianity, rather than merely religion, all you get out of the experience of living is bitterness. — Bernadette Devlin

If you begin to have a relationship where you're doing what the guards want, and once you're out you will see that as a treason, a treason to your country, a treason to yourself, a treason to everybody, so you have to be very cautious on what is the perspective you're looking at yourself, and you have always to see yourself like from the outside. — Ingrid Betancourt

Loneliness wasn't just a state of mind, was it? It was tactile. She could feel it. It was a sixth sense, not in some fanciful play of words, but physically. It hurt ... it hurt like phagocytes devouring the white matter of her brain. It was merely that she had no friends. She didn't even have a sanctuary in which she could simply be alone. — Tom Wolfe