Antonio Porchia Quotes
Quotes to Explore
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It is nothing to die. It is frightful not to live.
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I have nothing to do with opinions. I deal only with armed rebellion and its aiders and abettors.
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I went to India and met some people who had been involved in this guerrilla business, middle-class people who were rather vain and foolish. There was no revolutionary grandeur to it. Nothing.
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The reason can give nothing at all Like the response to desire.
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I've got nothing very original to say myself.
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Nothing endures but personal qualities.
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Nothing ever goes away.
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Writing requires the concentration of the writer, demands that nothing else be done except that.
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Hungary will stop at nothing when it comes to protecting its citizens.
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Murderers, in general, are people who are consistent, people who are obsessed with one idea and nothing else.
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We have nothing to fear but fear itself... and, of course, the boogieman.
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I have nothing revolutionary or even novel to offer.
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When I was in New York, the whole vibe was really just not matching with me. I was kind of super depressed in New York. It just had this vibe of 'Get out,' you know? I would try to get out, and we'd look back and just see the city and feel like, 'Oh, I have to go back to prison again.'
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There's nothing more American than movies.
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This Party is a moral crusade or it is nothing.
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I was in prison with pretty much the who's who of the jihadist and Islamist scene of Egypt at the time, and Egypt was the cradle of Islamism for the world - it's where it began and where jihadism began as well.
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I never wanted to be that person who leaves 'SNL' and nothing happens.
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One must beware of ministers who can do nothing without money, and those who want to do everything with money.
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Home is the girl's prison and the woman's workhouse.
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There is nothing that you can do without working.
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Why is it there are so many more horses' asses than there are horses?
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Focus on being balanced - success is balance.
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Twice in her life she had mistaken something else for it; it was like seeing somebody in the street who you think is a friend, you whistle and wave and run after him, and it is not only not the friend, but not even very like him. A few minutes later the real friend appears in view, and then you can't imagine how you ever mistook that other person for him. Linda was now looking upon the authentic face of love, and she knew it, but it frightened her. That it should come so casually, so much by a series of accidents, was frightening.
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Nothing is not only nothing. It is also our prison.
