Warschaw Quotes & Sayings

As long as any one has the means of doing good to his neighbours, and does not do so, he shall be reckoned a stranger to the love of the Lord. — Irenaeus Of Lyons

Lawyers, doctors, plumbers, they all made the money.
writers?
writers starved.
writers suicided.
writers went mad. — Charles Bukowski

Just being a mediocre driver has never been my ambition. That's not my style. — Michael Schumacher

As I watched the pulsing fire among the trees and heard the beat of the drum merge and tremble with the voices, forming an intricate pattern of sound, I knew that someday I would have to return or be haunted forever by the beauty and mystery that is Africa. — Gerald Durrell

The American people demand results, not rhetoric, especially when it comes to national security issues. — J. D. Hayworth

May be it took realizing that you could die to keep you from wanting to do it. — Jodi Picoult

Normal people let relationships fill their homes. — Richelle Mead

Destroy all the barrier inside you and accept everyone with love. We are in each other all along. Be nonjudgmental but be loving. — Debasish Mridha

Death was painful, not because people couldn't see their loved ones anymore, but because they couldn't communicate with them anymore. — Karen McQuestion

The Psalter forms the great epic poem of the creator and covenant God who will at the last visit and redeem his people and, with them, his whole creation. — N. T. Wright

People can hold out just so long and then they fold. — Sue Grafton

What a player does best, he should practice least. Practice is for problems. — Duke Snider

I think that maybe in every company today there is always at least one person who is going crazy slowly. — Joseph Heller

Stepan Arkadyevitch's eyes twinkled gaily, and he pondered with a smile. "Yes, it was nice, very nice. There was a great deal more that was delightful, only there's no putting it into words, or even expressing it in one's thoughts awake." And noticing a gleam of light peeping in beside one of the serge curtains, he cheerfully dropped his feet over the edge of the sofa, and felt about with them for his slippers, a present on his last birthday, worked for him by his wife on gold-colored morocco. And, as he had done every day for the last nine years, he stretched out his hand, without getting up, towards the place where his dressing-gown always hung in his bedroom. And thereupon he suddenly remembered that he was not sleeping in his wife's room, but in his study, and why: the smile vanished from his face, he knitted his brows. — Leo Tolstoy

Figuring her out was fast becoming an obsession, — Christine Feehan