Kokichi Mikimoto Quotes

#1. The sun weeps because it can no longer caress your skin or warm your lips." He sifted his fingers through my hair. "I do not envy the sun, Eva. But I truly hate the moon, because its light touches you in all the ways I cannot.

Michele Bardsley

#2. We see that that ritual of reading every evening at the end of the bed when they were so little
set time, set gestures
was like a prayer.

Daniel Pennac

#3. Music, I regret to say, affects me merely as an arbitrary succession of more or less irritating sounds. Under certain emotional circumstances I can stand the spasms of a rich violin, but the concert piano and all wind instruments bore me in small doses and flay me in larger ones.

Vladimir Nabokov

#4. He fucks me. He doesn't want you. Back off.

Abbi Glines

#5. When you get used to that kind of life - of never having anything you want - then you stop knowing what it is you want.

Haruki Murakami

#6. Did you boys say something? My new headphones are mostly soundproof and also I was ignoring you.

Ananth Panagariya

#7. During his runs for the GOP presidential nomination, Mitt Romney has done a good job of mimicking Reagan's anti-government diatribes and 'better days ahead' rhetoric.

Jackson Katz

#8. I've always hung out with people older than me, with my parents' friends, because I appreciated the conversation.

Lorde

#9. Are some free fonts a gift to humanity rather than a blight on typographic civilization ?

Ellen Lupton

#10. I may be a composite of multiple dead people, but I'm not stupid.

Seanan McGuire

#11. Because that's what a comic is, ultimately: a collection of pages. It's not a flatpanel or a touchscreen, even though that's where it might eventually be displayed. It's a page.

John Heffernan

#12. My mother always said - Never run after a man or a bus - there is always another one coming.

Tessa Kiros

#13. In the world's most dangerous country, the job of going after Pablo was the most dangerous position of all.

Mark Bowden

#14. You will not become a saint through other people's sins.

Anton Chekhov