Best 4015 quotes in «perfect quotes» category

If she'd just kept her mouth shut, she would have been perfect, but no...

If the director himself writes the script or screenplay of the drama, movie etc., the direction becomes perfect because he already imagined each shot nicely in his brain while writing the screenplay!

If the world were perfect, then I would not exist.

If you are perfect apart from your mistakes, you are complete else if you are perfect apart from your precision, you are whole

I guess the sky in real life isn’t actually perfect. Maybe that’s what makes it so perfect.

I know he wasn’t perfect… But he did the best impression of it I’ve ever seen.

I know who I am. I am not perfect. I'm not the most "DOWN-TO-EARTH" man in the world. But I'm one of them.

I'm afraid it will never be perfect again. I am indelibly stained. Forever redefined, but blurred around the edges.

I live with the hope that one day, someone, will look into my eyes and see the deepness of my soul, and all the suffering and struggles will finally make sense to the person that can see behind all the imperfections and dust that's been pilled up in all these years. I've had my turns at trying to love people, but it never turned out as planned and I've failed in keeping someone next to me, simply because you can't force someone to be by your side if it's not meant to be, and I've grown to accept that and not fight against it. I've been selfish for far too long in trying to cling on to someone, and I believe nobody is perfect.. But as long as I still breathe, I'm willing to let people come into my life, play their part in my life's plan and then let go if it's necessary. Nothing can last forever and it's something we grow to accept. Let time do its' thing and don't get too attached, that's all I can do.

I loved everything to anything to everyone who surrounded him. He was perfect. A delusion with a sweet melancholy taste. He was crazy, but he was my crazy and inside, everything felt right.

I'm not here to be small, to compare, to judge (myself or you), to fit in or to be perfect. I'm here to grow, to learn, to love, to be human.

I may not be perfect for you, but I am perfect for me. If you cannot handle that then you cannot handle me.

I may not be perfect for you or the world but guess what I'm not perfect for myself either. I'm dead to you and the world just as I'm dead to myself.-p.b

I'm not perfect, I'm beautifully imperfect

Imperfect. Beautiful. The most extraordinary thought of all.

I'm sorry I don't conform to your standards of feminine perfection, but I'm quite happy the way I am—anyway, I wasn't born to be buxom.

In 2008, I was the woman who thought she had the world by the tail: the "perfect life." In 2010, I was the woman without hope who thought she had no life left to live. Which woman am I today? Neither. Both were illusions.

In my society we know how to say things, but we don't know how to realize them. In my society everyone has a perfect personality in public, and a dirty one behind the curtain.

In our world nothing is perfect, only those which rule by the perfecter.

In order to make our gifts perfect, you need to work on yourself but it hurts

In the campaign of 1876, Robert G. Ingersoll came to Madison to speak. I had heard of him for years; when I was a boy on the farm a relative of ours had testified in a case in which Ingersoll had appeared as an attorney and he had told the glowing stories of the plea that Ingersoll had made. Then, in the spring of 1876, Ingersoll delivered the Memorial Day address at Indianapolis. It was widely published shortly after it was delivered and it startled and enthralled the whole country. I remember that it was printed on a poster as large as a door and hung in the post-office at Madison. I can scarcely convey now, or even understand, the emotional effect the reading of it produced upon me. Oblivious of my surroundings, I read it with tears streaming down my face. It began, I remember: "The past rises before me like a dream. Again we are in the great struggle for national life.We hear the sounds of preparation--the music of boisterous drums--the silver voices of heroic bugles. We see the pale cheeks of women and the flushed faces of men; and in those assemblages we see all the dead whose dust we have covered with flowers..." I was fairly entranced. he pictured the recruiting of the troops, the husbands and fathers with their families on the last evening, the lover under the trees and the stars; then the beat of drums, the waving flags, the marching away; the wife at the turn of the lane holds her baby aloft in her arms--a wave of the hand and he has gone; then you see him again in the heat of the charge. It was wonderful how it seized upon my youthful imagination. When he came to Madison I crowded myself into the assembly chamber to hear him: I would not have missed it for every worldly thing I possessed. And he did not disappoint me. A large handsome man of perfect build, with a face as round as a child's and a compelling smile--all the arts of the old-time oratory were his in high degree. He was witty, he was droll, he was eloquent: he was as full of sentiment as an old violin. Often, while speaking, he would pause, break into a smile, and the audience, in anticipation of what was to come, would follow him in irresistible peals of laughter. I cannot remember much that he said, but the impression he made upon me was indelible. After that I got Ingersoll's books and never afterward lost an opportunity to hear him speak. He was the greatest orater, I think, that I have ever heard; and the greatest of his lectures, I have always thought, was the one on Shakespeare. Ingersoll had a tremendous influence upon me, as indeed he had upon many young men of that time. It was not that he changed my beliefs, but that he liberated my mind. Freedom was what he preached: he wanted the shackles off everywhere. He wanted men to think boldly about all things: he demanded intellectual and moral courage. He wanted men to follow wherever truth might lead them. He was a rare, bold, heroic figure.

In the difficult moments believe in yourself. Believe that you are whole, perfect, powerful, and blessed.

I romanticized him until he was the perfect being. A soul so beautiful, but so immensely evil too.

In the short run, technology many be more efficient than man, but it will never be perfect. Every piece of equipment will eventually reveal an error code. In the long run, man will never be perfect, but prove to be more reliable than technology.

I opened up a dictionary And tried to find a meaning in a hurry. Turned the pages to look for the word -- "Perfect" And saw you listed there, coz I know you're worth it!

[The answer of Solon to the question 'Which is the most perfect popular government?'] That where the least injury done to the meanest individual, is considered as an insult on the whole constitution.

It is good to be imperfect so that we retain our joy to work hard to rise to perfection!

I think I need to become perfect all at once, so I keep getting overwhelmed and putting it off. I can't remember the last time that I didn't have something hanging over my head. There are usually about thirty to eighty things. Is that normal? Don't tell me. If it's not, I'm a jerk. If it is, that's super-depressing, and I know I'll just use 'this is normal' as an excuse to procrastinate even more.

I think we need to develop a powerful dose of tolerance to understand each other’s humanness. None of us is perfect.

It is impossible to credit one gender with every good and perfect gift without slighting the other. That’s what extreme diversity does to us.

It’s not about making it perfect; it’s about making it better and getting it done.

It is not until you rhyme with a person that makes you their perfect match, it is when you are satisfied with each others peculiarities, and find jewels in their loopholes.

It's always funny that you can try and try again to steal all your critics' ammo, predict their responses, but no matter what, they'll still have a water gun stashed somewhere.

I tried to gather all the pieces… I picked each one and fixed them so perfectly. No one could say that I was broken once but they saw my hands, lacerated by the splinters of my heart…

I will miss you not because you taught me, not because you helped me on all steps of education; but only because you made me a leader to lead as an perfect Electrical Engineer.

I want you to want something for once. Something that nobody told you to want. I want. I do. Want things. Like what princess? I want something that will make this all worth it; I want the good stuff. I’m ready for the goddamn silver lining. I want to have sisters who live down the street, I want a family; I want a mother to call when I need to know the right temperature to cook a goddamn chicken. I want Sunday suppers and summer barbecues at lake houses. I want to stop second-guessing every tiny detail of every single day, every word that comes out of my mouth. I want to be brave. I want to jump without looking down all the time. I want to be able to watch a TV show without seeing things that remind me about my sisters, about the could-have-been family. I want us to push tables together in restaurants so we all fit, I want to fill benches and rows of bleachers with us, I want the world to make room. I want to laugh too loud and make people wish they were us. I want them to feel it. Those perfect families, those perfect packages, those smug titles for everyone- mother father sister brother, step-this and half-that. They all have words for what they are. And we don’t. I want that.

It was clear that most of my insecurities originated from my need to have things be “perfect.” I wasn’t sure what bothered me more; the fact that I had no control over the changes of my body and hair or that this horrible situation was only happening to me.

It was perfect, but perfection is terrifying.

It was the kind of early-fall day Rachel had always loved, not warm or cold, the sky all deep-blue and cloudless and no breeze, the crops proud and ripe and the leaves so pretty but hardly a one yet fallen--a day so perfect that the earth itself seemed sorry to let it pass, so slowed down its roll into evening and let it linger.

I was going to stop pretending that just because we were in ministry we were perfect. I was tired of wearing the mask of ministry, and knew that I needed to start living the life.

I wish for all of us the blindness of love that makes us see no faults in the other.

Many people and poets, especially, talk of love, without thought, without fear, without knowing, what it is, what it can make of us Love is not just grace and beauty, dandelions, a perfect song and rainbows in the sun Love is also bitter, jealous, fierce and cold, the darkest deeds sought and desired Love is a tidal wave that you ride or don't, there is no in between state I burn with it....white hot, torn and bleeding from a thousand wounds I know it can consume or enliven me and either way I will know that I have loved you and it was true...

Look at how deeply flawed we are and yet capable of loving so perfectly.

Miracles' rely on their observer’s ignorance. 'Perfection' relies on the observer’s failure to notice the observed’s defects.

Maybe 'perfect' was just another word for belonging. For feeling like yourself. It didn't mean things weren't hard. It just meant they were right.

My life, my soul is anything but finished hence it is not perfect. Only masterpieces are finished and could be considered perfect. So unless you are a "David" or a "Requiem" or perhaps a "Mona Lisa" you and I are not perfect. We'll be prone to errors and we will make mistakes. But at least these allow us to become something closer to perfection.

My life, my soul is anything but finished hence it is not perfect. Only masterpieces are finished and could be considered perfect. So unless you are a "David" or a "Requiem" or perhaps a "Mona Lisa" you are not perfect. We'll be prone to errors and we will make mistakes. But at least these allow us to become something closer to perfection.

Moms are not perfect—we are being perfected.

Myra wasn't simple or complicated. She was different. She was not perfect, not even close but her flaws were intresting. She always had an opinion, something to say about everything.Most interesting thing about her is that she never said something to please, yet she was nice to be around.

My story can move fast, as I can't, it can have a reasonable and perhaps perfect solution, as mine can't. A solution that is somehow satisfying, as my personal solution never can be.