Uncle June Quotes & Sayings

Which maybe that's what love was: liking someone how he was and doing things to help him get even better. — George Saunders

As a man, I have no problem saying I was hurt. — Andre Ward

You know that wherever you go, not everyone will speak your language. But go and experience the local culture and try to pick up as much as you can. I certainly think going forward - away from football because football is just a small part of your life - you will grow as a person. — Steve McManaman

There is no problem with global warming. It stopped in 1998. The last two years of global cooling have erased nearly thirty years of temperature increase. — Ian Plimer

Such a mysterious business, motherhood. How brave a woman must be to embark on it. — M.L. Stedman

She's Cherokee Indian, which is great 'cause whenever we have sex, it rains. — Jay Mohr

I feared disappointing my father more than anything in the world. — Ryan Reynolds

Unless we deny our own will, we shall never do God's will. — Thomas Watson

A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me will full hands;
How could I answer the child? ... I do not know what it is any more than he.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.
There was the hope Dr. Holden had talked about-the grass was a metaphor for his hope. But thats not all. He continues,
Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,
Like grass is a metaphor for God's greatness or something ...
And then soon after is itself a child ...
And then soon after that,
Or, I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broadzones and narrow zones.
Growing among black folk as among white. — John Green

What's really great about Buddhism is its rational, informal quality. Coming from my experience of growing up a Catholic, I found Buddhism to be refreshingly easygoing and forgiving. — Matt Dillon

Murderess is a strong word to have attached to you. It has a smell to it, that word - musky and oppressive, like dead flowers in a vase. Sometimes at night I whisper it over to myself: Murderess, Murderess. It rustles, like a taffeta skirt across the floor. — Margaret Atwood