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S Quotes

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

All S Quotes

“So while you're getting ripped apart head to toe as you fall into a black hole, you will also extrude through the fabric of space and time, like toothpaste squeezed through a tube. To all the words in the English language that describe ways to die (e.g., homicide, suicide, electrocution, suffocation, starvation) we add the term spaghettification.”

“So who gave him his name?" I asked. "Kerrick," Belen answered. Not who I'd expect. "Why 'Flea'?" A full-out grin spread across Flea's face. "Cause I'm fast and hard to catch." "Because he's a pest and hard to squash," Belen said. "Because he jumps about three feet in the air when you scare him," Loren added. "Because he's annoying and makes us itch with impatience," Quain said. "Thanks, guys. I love you too." Flea made exaggerated kissing noises and patted his ass.”

“So who is better off, those who share love long enough to see which parts inevitably fade or those who lose their love when it is still pristine? I think each is lonely in a different place, though if you lose your love while it is still perfect you at least have a clear explanation for your grief, while if it gradually crumbles in your hands you do not.”

“So Who Is Christen Kuikoua Who is Christen Kuikoua? Is It Just a Random Person is it Just a Dream, Or is a Person With a Soul Days By Days Night By Night You Work Through the valley of the Death Trying to Figure Who is Me, How did I Come To Be You ask Yourself, Am I Mistake Or just someone's Mistake Before You Remember That You are Not A Mistake Then You Ask Yourself Again Who is Christen Kuikoua? Then You Answer With Faith I am a Child of The Living God The God That Sent His Beloved Son To Die For me The God That Said In Jeremiah 29:11 'For I know the plans I have for you,' Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future. and Then You Asked Yourself Again Who is Christen Kuikoua? And In silence God Answer You Are My Child That I Will Use To Do Great Things You Are Not ordinary You Are Special You Are Loved, You are Cared For And Later With a Smile You Answer I am Christen Kuikoua The little Teen That God Love So Much That he Made His Own Son Die For Me And The Multitude You Answer I am Christen Kuikoua Not a Mistake For Before I Was he Knew The Plans He Had For Me.”

“So, who is it?" Stella is persisting, somewhat suspiciously. "What's his name?" But if I don't tell her the truth, what do I say? My mind draws a blank. I don't want to lie to her- "um..." walking back to the bedroom, I notice the postcard Spike chose for me resting on my top of my dresser. I haven't written that one yet. Absently I pick it up and turn it over. On the back is written "Matthew Macfadyen as Fitzwilliam Darcy." "Fitzwilliam," I blurt. "No, what's his first name?" she asks. "That is his first name.”

“So who will I get today?’ asked one eagerly, ‘The most beautiful of them all,’ chuckled the eunuch. ‘What is she called?’ ‘Phulwati, Mrignaini, Meethi, Champa...’ Hira began reciting the poetic list of names. Little did the boys know that the whores down below were bald, toothless hags, some marked with pox, others filled with pus. The warm blanket of darkness made them all beautiful.”

“So, who won the fight?' Cassian asked the next morning as she sat on her rock and watched him go through his exercises. He hadn't asked at breakfast about the black eye and cut chin or how stiffly she'd moved. Neither had Mor upon her arrival. That the bruising and cuts remained at all told Nesta how bad the fall had been, but as High Fae, with her improved healing, they were already on the mend. ... 'What fight?' She examined her mangled nails. Even with the... whatever it was she'd flung out to catch herself, her nails had cracked. She didn't let herself name what had come from within her, didn't let herself acknowledge it. By dawn, it had been strangled into submission. 'The one between you and the stairs.' Nesta cut him a glare. 'I don't know what you're talking about.' Cassian began moving once more, drawing his sword and running through a series of movements that all seemed designed to hack a person in two. 'You know: three in the morning, you leave your room to get shit-faced drunk in town, and you're in such a rush to conquer the steps that you fall down a good thirty of them before you can stop yourself.' Had he seen the step? The handprint? She demanded. 'How do you know that?' He shrugged. 'Are you watching me?' Before he could answer, she spat. 'You were watching and didn't come to help?' Cassian shrugged again. 'You stopped falling. If you'd kept at it, someone would have eventually come to catch you before you hit the bottom.' She hissed at him. He only grinned and beckoned with a hand. 'Want to join me?' 'I should push you down those stairs.' ... 'Well?' he demanded, an edge creeping into his voice. 'If you've got those glorious bruises, you might as well claim it came from training and not a pathetic tumble.”

“So whom does God wrong in commanding the destruction of the Canaanites? Not the Canaanite adults, for they were corrupt and deserving of judgment. Not the children, for they inherit eternal life. So who is wronged? Ironically, I think the most difficult part of this whole debate is the apparent wrong done to the Israeli soldiers themselves. Can you imagine what it would be like to have to break into some house and kill a terrified woman and her children? The brutalising effect on these Israeli soldiers is disturbing.”

“So why bother investing in one’s memory in an age of externalized memories? The best answer I can give is the one I received unwittingly from EP, whose memory had been so completely lost that he could not place himself in time or space, or relative to other people. That is: How we perceive the world and how we act in it are products of how and what we remember. We’re all just a bundle of habits shaped by our memories. And to the extent that we control our lives, we do so by gradually altering those habits, which is to say the networks of our memories. No lasting joke, invention, insight, or work of art was ever produced by an external memory. Not yet, at least. Our ability to find humor in the world, to make connections between previously unconnected notions, to create new ideas, to share in a common culture: All these essentially human acts depend on memory. Now more than ever, as the role of memory in our culture erodes at a faster pace than ever before, we need to cultivate our ability to remember. Our memories make us who we are. They are the seat of our values and source of our character.”

“So why bother investing in one's memory in the age of externalized memories? The best answer I can give is the one that I received unwittingly from EP, whose memory had been so completely lost that he could not place himself rin time or space, or relative to other people. That is: How we perceive the world and how we act in it are products of how and what we remember. We're all just a bundle of of habits shaped by our memories. And to the extent that we control our lives, we do so by gradually altering those habits, which is to say the networks or our memory. No lasting joke, invention, insight, or work of art was ever produced by an external memory. Not yet, at least. Or ability to find humour in the world, to make connections between previously unconnected notions, to create new ideas, to share in a common culture: All these essentially human acts depend on memory. Now more than ever, as the role of memory in our culture erodes at a faster pace than ever before, we need to cultivate our ability to remember. Our memories make us who we are. They are the seat of our values ad source of our character. [...] That's what Ed had been trying to impart to me from the beginning: that memory training is not just fro the sake of performing partyb tricks; it's about nurturing something profoundly and essentially human.”

“So why did the King James translation of the Bible use the word ‘kill’ rather than ‘murder’? Because four hundred years ago when the translation was made, ‘kill’ was synonymous with ‘murder.’ As a result, some people don’t realize that English has changed since 1610 and therefore think that the Ten Commandments prohibit all killing. But, of course, they don’t. If the Ten Commandments forbade killing, we would all have to be vegetarians—killing animals would be prohibited. And we would all have to be pacifists—since we could not kill even in self-defense.”

“So why didn't ABCP investors -- at least the large institutional investors -- have a better grasp of the uncertain nature of market disruption triggers as defined under Canadian-style liquidity? Probably because the contracts were not available for review to investors wishing to purchase ABCP -- yet another example of the lack of transparency surrounding the distribution and sale of this product.”

“So, why didn't you? There's bound to be some gadget in your computer that would have let you get out of there." This was a question Tori had been burning to ask ever since Donald decided to stay behind in spite of being able to run. She didn't understand it, simply couldn't fathom why he'd lay down his life like that. Fighting for friends and family was one thing, but they could have evacuated with the rest of the club.”

“So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had been realised, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.”

“So why do I write, torturing myself to put it down? Because in spite of myself I've learned some things. Without the possibility of action, all knowledge comes to one labeled "file and forget," and I can neither file nor forget. Nor will certain ideas forget me; they keep filing away at my lethargy, my complacency. Why should I be the one to dream this nightmare?”