Oh Quotes (page 70)
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What was that you were saying just before the food arrived? Something about me...no competition...best thing that ever happened to you..."I don't remember that last part," I say, hoping it's too dim in here for the cameras to pick up my blush."Oh, that's right. That what I was thinking," he says.
Suzanne Collins
Christ, too, will forgive, if only you attain to forgiving yourself...Oh, no, no, do not believe that I have spoken a blasphemy: even if you do not attain to reconciliation with yourself and forgiveness of yourself, even then He will forgive you for your intention and for your great suffering.
Fyodor Dostoevsky
Then he continues his rant, saying, "And even if I didn't know them, I know their type." "And what type is that?" she asks, leaning foward in her chair, yearning for confirmation that he gets it, that they are like-minded in their observations of others and the circumspect way they view the world. "Oh, let's see," he says, rubbing his jaw. "Superficial. Artificial. Sheep. They're more worried about how they come across to others than who they really are. They exhaust themselves in their...
Emily Giffin
Higgins: I find that the moment I let a woman make friends with me, she becomes jealous, exacting, suspicious, and a damned nuisance. I find that the moment I let myself make friends with a woman, I become selfish and tyrannical. Women upset everything. When you let them into your life, you find that the woman is driving at one thing and youre driving at another.
Pickering: At what, for example?
Higgins: Oh, Lord knows! I suppose the woman wants to live her own life; and the man wants to live...
George Bernard Shaw
We are the dead,' he said.'We're not dead yet,' said Julia prosaically.'Not physically. Six months, a year? five years, conceivably. I am afraid of death. You are young, so presumably you're more afraid of it than I am. Obviously we shall put it off as long as we can. But it makes very little difference. So longs as human beings stay human, death and life are the same thing.''Oh, rubbish! Which would you sooner sleep with, me or a skeleton? Don't you enjoy being alive? Don't you like feeling:...
George Orwell
Do you truly believe that you care more for me than I do for you?" he murmured, leaning closer to me as he spoke, his dark golden eyes piercing. I tried to remember how to exhale. I had to look away before it came back to me."You're doing it again," I muttered. His eyes opened wide with surprise. "What?"Dazzling me," I admitted, trying to concentrate as I looked back at him."Oh." He frowned."It's not your fault," I sighed. "You can't help it.
Stephenie Meyer
I have a little boy, younger than you, who knows six Psalms by heart: and when you ask him which he would rather have, a gingerbread-nut to eat, or a verse of a Psalm to learn, he says: ‘Oh! the verse of a Psalm! angels sing Psalms,’ says he; ‘I wish to be a little angel here below;’ he then gets two nuts in recompense for his infant piety.
Charlotte Bronte
Only ignorance! only ignorance! how can you talk about only ignorance? Don't you know that it is the worst thing in the world, next to wickedness? -- and which does the most mischief heaven only knows. If people can say, `Oh! I did not know, I did not mean any harm,' they think it is all right.
Anna Sewell
Government! Three-fourths parasitic and the rest stupid fumbling - oh, Harshaw concluded that man, a social animal, could not avoid government, any more than an individual could escape bondage to his bowels. But simply because an evil was inescapable was no reason to term it "good." He wished that government would wander off and get lost! (96)
Robert A. Heinlein
The rosy hearth, the lamplight's narrow beam, The meditation that is rather dream, With looks that lose themselves in cherished looks; The hour of steaming tea and banished books; The sweetness of the evening at an end, The dear fatigue, and right to rest attained, And worshipped expectation of the night? Oh, all these things, in unrelenting flight, My dream pursues through all the vain delays, Impatient of the weeks, mad at the days!
Paul Verlaine
