Violentsmusic Quotes & Sayings

Don't hate the Meat Lord, Atticus. Just offer him steak sauce and words of praise. — Kevin Hearne

when someone dumps you, it's heartbreaking and insulting and horrible, sure, but being the one who breaks up is almost as bad. — Keren David

Truth is buried, deep inside of men, sweep away each day. — Dawud Wharnsby Ali

It is my dream to have a controlling stake of Arsenal. — Alisher Usmanov

The pain of the narcissist is that, to him, everything is really a threat. What doesn't surrender in reverence is blasphemous to a high opinion of oneself - the burden of self-importance. The narcissist reconstructs his own law of gravity which states that all things and all creatures must adhere to his personal satisfaction, but when they do not, the pain is far more intense than it is for one who is free from the clamors of 'I'. — Criss Jami

I sincerely feel that beauty largely comes from within. — Christy Turlington

They wanted to help me with my pain. — Sherman Alexie

The most I can do for my friend is simply to be his friend. — Henry David Thoreau

Looking closely at de Vries, he added, 'You are a very ugly man, Piter. Even with my disease, I'm still prettier than you. — Brian Herbert

Everywhere I look and most of the time I look, I see photographs. — Bert Hardy

Every time I go into a tournament, I'm strictly on my own. I know I'm playing for my bread and butter. — Charlie Sifford

Even the sun directs our gaze away from itself and to the life illumined by it. — Eberhard Arnold

I'm the only one that's allowed to drive you to the motherfucking checkered flag. — K. Bromberg

Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantelpiece, and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle and rolled back his left shirtcuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist, all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally, he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined armchair with a long sigh of satisfaction. — Arthur Conan Doyle