Velesi Trilogy Quotes & Sayings

Another turn in my life happened when I took on the Canada Council. — Maureen Forrester

The nose looked at the Major and frowned a little. — Nikolai Gogol

You have a choice every moment of the day to open yourself up. And when you do that, it opens the channels of love. — Laura Berman

Nevertheless, with reference to the natural process of childbirth one thing can seldom be forgotten, the fact that the human infant has an absurdly big head. — D.W. Winnicott

When you enter the lair of a dragon you must expect to get a little burnt. — Adele Clee

Rota's personality is compatible with mine. — Stanislaw Ulam

If you're brighter than a lightning bug, don't show your ass — Stanley Victor Paskavich

I think people somehow get a skewed view of Tom Brady. That he's just a clean-cut guy that does everything right and never says a bad word to anyone. We know him to be otherwise. — Richard Sherman

There is only one thing that gives me hope as a Republican, and that is the Democrats. It's going to be hard to do a worse job running American than the Republicans have, but if anybody can do it, it's the Democrats. — P. J. O'Rourke

I didn't forget it. It's a cranky bastard when it doesn't get time to snuggle in my bunk. It was napping, not dead. — Kim Holden

(A male human's testicles were the most attractive thing about him, I realized, and vastly unappreciated by humans themselves, who would very often rather look at almost anything else, including smiling faces.) — Matt Haig

LONDON. TRINITY TERM one week old. Implacable June weather. Fiona Maye, a High Court judge, at home on Sunday evening, supine on a chaise longue, staring past her stockinged feet toward the end of the room, toward a partial view of recessed bookshelves by the fireplace and, to one side, by a tall window, a tiny Renoir lithograph of a bather, bought by her thirty years ago for fifty pounds. Probably a fake. Below it, centered on a round walnut table, a blue vase. No memory of how she came by it. Nor when she last put flowers in it. The fireplace not lit in a year. Blackened raindrops falling irregularly into the grate with a ticking sound against balled-up yellowing newsprint. A Bokhara rug spread on wide polished floorboards. Looming at the edge of vision, a baby grand piano bearing silver-framed family photos on its deep black shine. On the floor by the chaise longue, within her reach, the draft of a judgment. — Ian McEwan