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P Quotes

Browse famous quotes beginning with P. This page is a child index of the full Popular Quotes A-Z directory.

All P Quotes

“Peter je zo svojho každodenného života zvyknutý dosť času tráviť sám, a tak mu to vyhovuje. Raz za čas sa skrátka potrebuje zamyslieť a zasnívať. Ak tú možnosť dlhodobo nemá, čo sa mu stane prvý raz práve tu v letnom tábore, začnú sa ho zmocňovať chmúrne myšlienky a úzkosť. Potrebuje samotu, aby unikol osamelosti. Osamelosť totiž nevzniká tým, že by človek nemal okolo seba ľudí, ale tým, že s nimi nemôže zdieľať veci, ktoré ho bavia a ktoré sa mu javia ako dôležité. A naopak, keď on považuje za nezmyselné veci, ktoré pre ostatných hrajú zásadnú úlohu. V takom prípade je potom už lepšia naozajstná, fyzická samota, keď si môže človek tráviť čas celkom po svojom.”

“Peter Keating: "Do you always have to have a purpose? Do you always have to be so damn serious? Can't you ever do things without reason, just like everybody else? You're so serious, so old. Everything's important with you. Everything's great, significant in some way, every minute, even when you keep still. Can't you ever be comfortable-and unimportant?" | Howard Roark: "No."”

“Peter kept filling his wine glass, and Clara prattled on about getting the garden ready. That was the beauty of friends, she knew. Nothing was expected of Monsieur Béliveau, and he knew it. Sometimes it's just nice not to be alone.... On the veranda Clara and Peter had hugged him but offered no easy words of comfort. To do that would be to simply comfort themselves. What Monsieur Béliveau needed was to feel bad. And then he'd feel better.”

“Peter King paused just inside taking in the scene with a few critical sweeps of eyes so dark they didn’t catch any light from the sunlight or the chandelier. His irises seemed to bleed pigment into the whites, warming them with swirls of ivory. In his black suit, his skin tanned almost to match, he might have been a heroically sized construction paper cutout against white walls, white carpet, the white-and-gold marble-topped table that looked both antique and French.”

“Peter. Miles and miles of pale, muscled torso. A skimpy, threadbare motel towel slung dangerously low on his hips. And nothing else. He looked like he'd been carved from marble. His body certainly belonged in a museum, anyway. He was big everywhere, his thick body suggestive of a person who'd earned his muscles through regular strenuous physical activity rather than in the gym.”

“Peter Montiel has long set the highest standard for lucid textbooks on the macroeconomics of developing countries. Now in this new edition of his superb classic Macroeconomics in Emerging Markets, he has surpassed even himself. He uniquely fills the gap between rich-country-obsessed macro- and micro-obsessed developing-country analysis. No student of the macroeconomics of development will henceforward be able to do without this book.”

“Peter muttered, shaking his head in dismay. "Megan is some piece of work. I was a little worried that guy she supplied to Anya would try to throw-down. He was one of those bodybuilder types that stand in front of the mirror all day admiring themselves." Christy replied, "I know the type. They can't believe all people aren't equally in love with their muscles. Most of them can't even finish a sentence, or put down their muscle magazines.”

“Peter, naomba nitubu kosa. Mimi si mtoto wa Mwanasheria Mkuu wa Serikali. Ni mtoto wa Rais wa Meksiko. Lisa ni mtoto wa Naibu Mwanasheria Mkuu wa Serikali,” Debbie alisema akitabasamu. “Hata mimi nilijua ulikuwa ukinidanganya. Lakini mbona Rais wa Meksiko haitwi Patrocinio Abrego?” Murphy aliuliza. “Utamaduni wa Meksiko ni tofauti kidogo na tamaduni zingine,” Debbie alijibu baada ya kurusha nywele nyuma kuona vizuri. “Hapa, watu wengi hawatumii majina ya pili ya baba zao. Hutumia jina la kwanza la mama la pili la baba; ndiyo maana Wameksiko wengi wana majina matatu. Kwa upande wangu, Patrocinio ni jina la baba yake mama yangu na Abrego ni jina la babu yake mama yangu – kwa sababu za kiusalama.”

“Peter Pan has to be the book of my childhood. Come to think of it, it's the book of my adulthood too. It's a book which, in the reading of it, takes me back to editions that I've had and lost, with various illustrators' work in them. It brings back moments sitting reading it with my mother. It brings back my first contact with the Disney cartoon. It brings back standing in the play-yard when I was a kid, when the wind was really blowing, and closing my eyes, spreading my arms and pretending I could fly. It brings back childhood dreams of flying. It brings back the first encounter I ever had with an invented world... Never Never Land was really the first journey I took to an invented world which I believed in wholly and completely. I remember the immense solidarity that I felt with the Lost Boys, with Peter, with the Indians - how much I wanted to be a Red Indian - how much the saving of Tiger Lily meant to me as a kid, how much I wanted to one day wake up and save an Indian squaw from drowning.”

“Peter pushed off from the roof and stalked a few feet away, his back to her. “Please tell me this is all some kind of a sick joke.” “It’s the truth. All of it. That’s why hunters are after me.” “How did they find out?” Peter asked, swiveling toward her now. “I think Beck ratted me out. I went to his house this morning and told him what had happened. He was furious, Peter. I’ve never seen anyone that angry.” “Duh! Now there’s a surprise,” her friend replied sarcastically. “I saw the way he looked at you at your dad’s funeral. Of course he’d be mad. You’re about the only one on the planet who doesn’t realize how he feels about you.” “He never said anything,” she retorted. “Hey, we guys don’t blurt out that kind of stuff,” he replied. “It’s against the man code. Beck may never have said how he felt, but everything he did for you should have been a big clue. I mean, come on, how slow are you?” She glowered at her friend. “I figured he was doing it because of my father.” “Maybe, but the guy is really into you, Riley.” “No way. If he’d liked me, he wouldn’t have blown me off and—” “Ancient history, girl!” he countered. “You were, what, fifteen? Your dad would have torn him apart if he’d touched you. Beck had no other choice.” “He didn’t have to be so mean.” “God, will you listen to yourself?” Peter retorted. “You have no idea how much he hurt me,” she shot back. “Give it up, will you? You’re my best friend, but you can be a real self-centered asshat sometimes.”

“Peter’s management style was very different from that of his predecessors. He was a listener, always ready to hear out his journalists when they approached him. He ran an open and transparent newsroom and believed in the principle that government and media should not be one. There should be a line, no matter how thin, between the two. He believed the PAP was good for Singapore, but not that all its actions were correct.”