“I'm a moldy moldy man
I'm moldy thru and thru
I'm a moldy moldy man
You would not think it true
I'm moldy til my eyeballs
I'm moldy til my toe
I will not dance I shyballs
I'm such a humble Joe.”
― John Lennon, quote from In His Own Write
“I sat belonely
I sat belonely down a tree,
humbled fat and small.
A little lady sing to me
I couldn't see at all.
I'm looking up and at the sky,
to find such wondrous voice.
Puzzly puzzle, wonder why,
I hear but have no choice.
'Speak up, come forth, you ravel me',
I potty menthol shout.
'I know you hiddy by this tree'.
But still she won't come out.
Such softly singing lulled me sleep,
an hour or two or so
I wakeny slow and took a peep
and still no lady show.
Then suddy on a little twig
I thought I see a sight,
A tiny little tiny pig,
that sing with all it's might.
'I thought you were a lady'.
I giggle, - well I may,
To my suprise the lady,
got up - and flew away.”
― John Lennon, quote from In His Own Write
“I was bored on the 9th of Octover 1940 when, I believe, the Nasties were still booming us led by Madolf Heatlump (who only had one). Anyway they didn't get me. I attended to varicous schools in Liddypol. And still didn't pass -- much to my Aunties supplies. As a member of the most publified Beatles my (P, G, and R's) records might seem funnier to some of you than this book, but as far as I'm conceived this correction of short writty is the most wonderfoul larf I've every ready.
God help and breed you all.”
― John Lennon, quote from In His Own Write
“- Значи, тя просто се смяфка, без да има някакъв спечален повод? - мъдро каза той.
- Да бе, туйто, чисто и просно - отвърна Ричард. - Сутрин, прокобед и вечер само се смяфка като смяхната.
Спасторът вдигна поглед от къркоделието си и си отвори устите:
- Трябва да се стори нещо за това момиче, което се смяфка непрекъснато. Не е правилно.
- Наистина, не развирам, защо те ми се бърбърлят дали се смяфкам, или не се смяфкам. - въздъхна Араминта нашата търтелива жерква.- Неприятното на кражданите тука им е, че са закравили, ще го повторя, закравили са как се смяфка човек. Поне аз мисля тъй преподобни.”
― John Lennon, quote from In His Own Write
“Dammit woman, stop trying to beat me. I'll sue you for domestic violence.”
― Karen Mahoney, quote from The Iron Witch
“I don’t think most people realize—and there’s no reason they should—the amount of demeaning garbage you have to take if you want a career in the arts. I mean, going off to med school is something you can say with your head high. Or being a banker or going into insurance or the family business—no problem. But the conversations I had with grown-ups after college… “So you’re done with school now, Bill.” “That’s right.” “So what’s next on the agenda?” Pause. Finally I would say it: “I want to be a writer.” And then they would pause. “A writer.” “I’d like to try.” Third and final pause. And then one of two inevitable replies: either “What are you going to do next?” or “What are you really going to do?” That dread double litany… What are you going to do next?… What are you really going to do?… What are you going to do next?… What are you really going to do…?”
― William Goldman, quote from Adventures in the Screen Trade
“Hope, like faith and a purpose in life, is medicinal.”
― Billy Graham, quote from Hope for the Troubled Heart: Finding God in the Midst of Pain
“You hold in your hands my heart, my soul, and my very being. You are already the Queen of my heart, my love, my true love, my only love.”- Kian, Frost Kisses”
― Kailin Gow, quote from Frost Kisses
“This way,” he said gently, wheedlingly, rallyingly, and they walked, Moose and his diminutive companion, around the edge of Belmont Harbor, past the totem pole, up toward the bird sanctuary and then to the edge of the lake, the great flickering oceanic lake that could look milky and tropical in sunlight (as now) or greenish-gray beneath clouds, that during storms could rage in tones of purple-black. And Moose finally did what he’d been longing to do: climbed over the seawall and perched on a cube of concrete with the boy beside him, that mischievous boy he had been, that happy, blind boy, looking out at the sunlight striking the lake with sparks, listening to sounds of locusts although there were none, they had ended with the cornfields. Clicking noises, amoebic phantoms waving their tentacles from the sky; Moose observed these phenomena, which he recognized as hallucinations induced by the excited state of his thoughts, observed them in part to avoid looking at Moose-the-boy, who was watching him. Moose felt the boy’s eyes on his face, a prolonged stare that would be rude in anyone but a child, a stare Moose put off returning for as long as possible because he knew it contained a question he could answer only with the greatest expenditure of energy (and right now he was so tired), and perhaps not even then: What had happened to him?”
― Jennifer Egan, quote from Look at Me
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