Worauf Weist Quotes & Sayings

Some people work hard to be something that they're not, and I don't work at all, I'm just me. And that can bother anybody I'm not working nearly as hard as the other guys, and they don't like it. — Nas

Usually we regard as meaningful that which can be expressed, and as meaningless that which cannot be expressed. Yet, the equation of the meaningful and the expressible ignores a vast realm of human experience, and is refuted by our sense of the ineffable which is an awareness of an allusiveness to meaning without the ability to express it. — Abraham Joshua Heschel

I don't think we've been introduced," I said. "My name's Zara. I'm strong, I'm fast, and I totally kick ass. It's great to be me ... but that means right now it sucks to be you. — Skyla Dawn Cameron

Rather, very, little, pretty
these are the leeches that infest the pond of prose, sucking the blood of words. The constant use of the adjective little (except to indicate size) is particularly debilitating; we should all try to do a little better, we should all be very watchful of this rule, for it is a rather important one, and we are pretty sure to violate it now and then. — William Strunk Jr.

A little lifting up of the heart suffices; a little remembrance of God, an interior act of adoration, even though made on the march and with sword in hand, are prayers which, short though they may be, are nevertheless very pleasing to God, and far from making a soldier lose his courage on the most dangerous occasions, bolster it. Let him then think of God as much as possible so that he will gradually become accustomed to this little but holy exercise; no one will notice it and nothing is easier than to repeat often during the day these little acts of interior adoration. — Brother Lawrence

The human system does not really want comfort, it wants challenge. It wants adventure. — Steve Chandler

Where there is love, there is God also. — Leo Tolstoy

I thought about making biscuits, but there seemed to be more than enough calories on board. — Charlaine Harris

Bright beads of red are rising through the ink, Hearts-blood bubbles smearing out into the black stream — Sylvia Plath

The black rock was sharp-edged, hot, and hard as corundum; it seemed not merely alien but impervious to life. Yet on the southern face of almost every rock the lichens grew, yellow, rusty-brown, yellow-green, like patches of dirty paint daubed on the stone. — Edward Abbey