Young Kwang Chae Quotes & Sayings

Strong women don't play victim, don't make themselves look pitiful, & don't point fingers. They stand & they deal. — Mandy Hale

I'm sort of a Southerner because those are my roots, but my parents are from Iowa. — Geneva Carr

I realized this weak that I just cannot do it all. So I will choose to do what i can, fabulously. — Clinton Kelly

He doesn't seem to mind at all that he's stupid about math. — Wendy Lichtman

I'll buy an old jacket and attach gold buttons and a couple royal patches. Or I'll find an old busted sweatshirt, tear out the zipper, and replace it with a $700 zipper. I make things my own. — Theophilus London

Referring to the NFL Players' Association: I have one thing to say about the union: It's like Christopher Columbus. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't know where he was when he got there. He lost two-thirds of his ships along the way. And he did it with someone else's money. — Matt Bahr

But what I learned from the Widow's Hand is that whose who would be gods fear no one so much as other potential deities — Salman Rushdie

I don't think I'm a risk-taker. I don't think any entrepreneur is. I think that's one of those myths of commerce. The new entrepreneur is more values-led: you do what looks risky to other people because that's what your convictions tell you to do. Other companies would say I'm taking risks, but that's my path - it doesn't feel like risk to me. — Anita Roddick

A room to myself is a luxury that I do not always enjoy. — Frances Harper

I consider myself to be a very strong, independent woman. — Julie Gonzalo

I made my money with software - encoded knowledge without which few products and services can exist today - and so it seemed imperative that this would be the field where I would give something back. — Hasso Plattner

At eighteen, she already looks like a woman of sorrows and as her breaths start becoming shorter, tired of looking over her shoulder, she only wants to get away from this city where no one can fathom her love- boundless and profane and real, like her skin and her lips and the insides of her thighs. She knows she can smile, smell like the others. Her skin would bleed too if pricked and yet this reality does not belong to the ones sleeping on the platform floor; this reality is hers and her alone. Thus when she puts the mirror back, she rummages in her handbag, searching for that thing called identity: some of it lost somewhere in the railway colony she had just left behind, some in Sudhanshu's left jacket pocket, the rest of it scattered here around broken teacups on railings, totally aberrant and arbitrary. — Kunal Sen