Ian Tracey Quotes

#1. Ian took off his glasses and slid them into the pocket of his jacket.

"I like those," she said. "Put them back on."

"They'll only be in the way when I kiss you."

"Who said we were going to kiss?"

"I did. Katie, you must pay closer attention.

Tracey Garvis-Graves

#2. Most of the time, I'm here in Michigan and I'm taking out the garbage every Monday.

Bob Seger

#3. I don't mind summer rain. In fact I like it. It's my favourite sort.' 'Your favourite sort of rain?' said Thea. I remember that she was frowning, and pondering these words, and then she announced: 'Well, I like the rain before it falls.

Jonathan Coe

#4. O Liberty! What crimes are committed in thy name!

Madame Roland

#5. So I guess the complete lack of any new developments is what struck me. That and the fact that much of the good we had done for the artists' side of the industry with G.O.D. had been just as quickly undone by the big boys.

Mike Wilson

#6. If the bees disappear, man would have only four years of life left.

Albert Einstein

#7. As far as we are concerned, we are ready to leave today, tomorrow, at any time, to join the people of Haiti, to share in their suffering, help rebuild the country, moving from misery to poverty with dignity.

Jean-Bertrand Aristide

#8. The cattleyas especially (these being, with chrysanthemums, her favourite flowers), because they had the supreme merit of not looking in the least like other flowers, but of being made, apparently, out of scraps of silk or satin.

Marcel Proust

#9. Everywhere on the Continent, the tourist is looked upon as a bird to be plucked, and presently the bird himself feebly comes to regard plucking as his proper destiny and abjectly holds out his wing so long as there is a feather left on it.

Thomas Bailey Aldrich

#10. He fumed like a bottled storm.

Charlotte Bronte

#11. If there was a light at the end of the tunnel, the flickering bulb above my head wasn't it. The faces of my tormentors were no angels - they were hell's minions and I'd stepped into their purgatory.

Susan Illene

#12. Did we choose love, or did we choose ourselves?

Sylvia Day