#certain

To be absolutely certain about something, one must know everything or nothing about it. ↗

— Henry A. Kissinger

#absolutely #certain #everything #know #must

For me writing is a question of finding a certain rhythm. I compare it to the rhythms of jazz. ↗

— Francoise Sagan

#compare #finding #i #jazz #me

I can't deny that some customers and prospects think it's the key to our future. But it's not. We're certainly supportive of the Dept. of Justice and the 20 states that have brought this action. ↗

— Jim Barksdale

#brought #certainly #customers #deny #future

When you dance, your purpose is not to get to a certain place on the floor. It's to enjoy each step along the way. ↗

— Wayne Dyer

#certain #dance #each #enjoy #floor

Take the situation of a scientist solving a problem, where he has certain data, which call for certain responses. Some of this set of data call for his applying such and such a law, while others call for another law. ↗

— George Herbert Mead

#applying #call #certain #data #his

History is moving pretty quickly these days and the heroes and villains keep on changing parts. ↗

— Ian Fleming

#hero #heroes #history #uncertainty #villain

He felt that he was still groping in the dark; he had chosen his path but kept looking back, wondering whether he had misread the signs, whether he should not have taken the other way. ↗

— J.K. Rowling

#decisions #doubts #death

Nothing, they say is more certain than death, and nothing more uncertain than the time of dying ↗

— Thomas Paine

#death #dying #uncertain #death

What is blackness? Is it the way you talk? Do you got to say, 'Dey this, dey dat.' Or the way you dress? Or is it the forgiving of certain things? What is black enough? ↗

— Douglas Wilder

#blackness #certain #certain things #dress #enough

I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there unable to decide the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they popped to the ground at my feet. ↗

— Sylvia Plath

#death