Ecrivain Algerien Quotes

#1. It's like being a fairy named Mary," he goes on. "Or a vampire named Gampire," I say. "Gampire isn't even a proper name, Snow. You're terrible at this game.

Rainbow Rowell

#2. By voluntarily adopting a dominated body posture you display the fact that you have accepted to be inferior.

J.F. Bouchard

#3. In god we trust.. everyone else will and shall be judged.. make peace with it

Prabhu Subramanian

#4. Stop needing and start having. Stop wanting and start being.

Ralph Marston

#5. It was never about you not being what I wanted. It was me not knowing that what I had was everything I needed.

Corinne Michaels

#6. Sometimes, breaking down is the bravest thing you can do.

Vironika Tugaleva

#7. I just need to believe that we're not in some form of stasis, that we can try to be whoever we want to be. We probably won't get there, but we might get a little bit closer, you know?

Jonathan Evison

#8. How was church?" I asked.
"I'm going to hell."
I shrugged like it was of no importance. "That's good. You'd be lonely in heaven without me.

Marshall Thornton

#9. Right now I can't even control my own imagination as it grips my hair and drags me into the dark

Tahereh Mafi

#10. If it's you or me I'd make yourself right with God, motherfucker.

Teresa Mummert

#11. For a long time, there was grief. It pulled me down into suffocating darkness, and kept me anchored there. I went through the motions. I turned up at school. I ate food and watched TV and took algebra tests. But I didn't feel anything. It was easier that way.

Lili Wilkinson

#12. There's a point of poverty at which the spirit isn't with the body all the time. It finds the body really too unbearable. So it's almost as if you were talking to the soul itself. And a soul's not properly responsible.

Louis-Ferdinand Celine

#13. A versifier passes through the sound; sounds go through a poet.

Dejan Stojanovic

#14. It was the beginning of a day in June; the deep blue sky unsullied by a cloud, and teeming with brilliant light. The streets were, as yet, nearly free from passengers, the houses and shops were closed, and the healthy air of morning fell like breath from angels, on the sleeping town.

Charles Dickens