Famous Quotes & Sayings

Danny Hale

He was our punter. And had a real promising future.

Syvelle Newton

They were promising me that I could play anything I want to, just like I'm doing now,

Tom Joyner

It's just unbelievable that a talent so young and so promising is gone,

Richard Aboulafia

You're tapping in to the most promising revenue stream in the world.

Jeff Colton

It doesn't look promising for a wet spring at this point.

Hank Blalock

It is just part of Spring Training soreness. If this was during the season, I'd play through it.

Richelle Mead

What am I supposed to do with a wool coat? Especially here in Palm Springs?” “Sleep with it,” he suggested. “Think of me.

Truman Capote

June, July, all through the warm months she hibernated like a winter animal who did not know spring had come and gone.

Truman Capote

Aprils have never meant much to me, autumns seem that season of beginning, spring.

Reinhold Niebuhr

Since inequalities of privilege are greater than could possibly be defended rationally, the intelligence of privileged groups is usually applied to the task of inventing specious proofs for the theory that universal values spring from, and that general interests are served by, the special privileges which they hold.

William Zinsser

The sound of the bat is the music of spring training.

William Wordsworth

Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay, And at my casement sing, Though it should prove a farewell lay And this our parting spring. * * * * * Then, little Bird, this boon confer, Come, and my requiem sing, Nor fail to be the harbinger Of everlasting spring.

William Ellery Channing

It feeds and grows on the blood which it sheds. The passions , from which it springs, gain strength and fury from indulgence.

Sarah Vowell

If I'm still wistful about On the Road, I look on the rest of the Kerouac oeuvre--the poems, the poems!--in horror. Read Satori in Paris lately? But if I had never read Jack Kerouac's horrendous poems, I never would have had the guts to write horrendous poems myself. I never would have signed up for Mrs. Safford's poetry class the spring of junior year, which led me to poetry readings, which introduced me to bad red wine, and after that it's all just one big blurry condemned path to journalism and San Francisco.