Virginijus Baltusis Quotes & Sayings

Where you live should not determine whether you live, or whether you die. — Bono

All the time she writing the world had continued. — Virginia Woolf

Cheese! I exclaimed. It was a secret prayer, whose meaning was known only to God and to me. — Alan Bradley

Snap out of it," I said. I wasn't in the mood.
With a huge effort, Eric reined himself in. "When you smell like that," he said. "I just want to fuck you and bite you and rub myself all over you."
-Eric drunk on Fairies. — Charlaine Harris

Now that you've got me right down to it, the only thing I didn't like about The Barrets of Wimplole Street was the play. — Dorothy Parker

Ulysses He ... saw the dark tangled curls of his bush floating, floating hair of the stream around the limp father of thousands, a languid flatong flower. — James Joyce

We must inspect each part, and we have to do so while relying on other parts. But the result of that inspection may, if we are coherent and imaginative, be perfectly seaworthy. — Simon Blackburn

People who have to announce that they are trustworthy deserve to be lied to. — Laurie Halse Anderson

I was in the neighborhood," he said, answering the question I was about to ask. His lips twitched. "You know, wandering around, trying to be a hero. — Brodi Ashton

I can't tell where the journey will end
But I know where to start — Avicii

Angst is not the human condition, it's the purgatory between what we have and what we want but can't get. — Miguel Syjuco

Jerry Falwell can go straight to hell - and I mean that in a Christian way. — Jimmy Carter

Life is shitty sometimes, Rachel. But what good does it do to run away from everything because you're afraid of something bad happening? — Susan Bishop Crispell

Lies can be wrung out of a witness as easily as truth. Yes, after a few hours with the Enquiry's ... instruments, I am sure she will be willing to swear that she had swallowed an antidote, or indeed that she had flown to the moon if that would make the pain stop. But, here and now, you can see she is telling the truth. There was no betrayal. There was no poison. There was no murder. — Frances Hardinge

Shelby looked over to see Andrew silently mouthing syllables to himself, as if he were part of an ecstatic rite. He grinned as he bit fricatives and tongued plosives. He was tasting English origins, mulling over words ripped from bronze-smelling hoards. Words that had slept beneath centuries of dust and small rain, sharp and bright as scale mail. Poetry had never moved her quite so much as drama. She loved the shock of colloquy, the beat and treble of words doing what they had to on stage. Andrew preferred the echo of poems buried alive. — Bailey Cunningham