You shouldn't be in here! — Evelyn Winters, The Little Big Clockmaker
You shouldn't be in here! — Evelyn Winters, The Little Big Clockmaker
You shouldn't be in here! — Evelyn Winters, The Little Big Clockmaker
You shouldn't be in here! — Evelyn Winters, The Little Big Clockmaker
You shouldn't be in here! — Evelyn Winters, The Little Big Clockmaker
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You shouldn't be in here!

— Evelyn Winters, The Little Big Clockmaker
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More “Chester” Quotes

Dean, you've been to Hell, I started the Apocalypse, and we're supposed to be possessed by an archangel and the devil. N — Keith R.A. DeCandido, Heart of the Dragon
Each of us is a book waiting to be written, and that book, if written, results in a person explained. — Thomas M. Cirignano, The Constant Outsider
When once we are buried you think we are gone. But behold me immortal! — Jane Austen
As a result of its investigation, the NIH said that to qualify for funding, all proposals for research on human subjects — Rebecca Skloot, The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks
The poor have sometimes objected to being governed badly — the rich have always objected to being governed at all.
The person doing the worrying experiences it as a form of love — the person being worried about experiences it as a form of control.
Anyone who doesn't want you to be happy with who you are is an asshole. Fuck pleasing everyone else. You only live once. — Dahlia Adler, Under the Lights
It may well be on such a night of clouds and cruel colors that there is brought forth upon the earth such a portent as a — I say you are a contradiction in terms. I only wonder there were not comets and earthquakes on the night you appeared in this garden.
Roger was not personally ambitious — he mainly wanted life not to make too many demands on him.
Thrift is poetic because it is creative — waste is unpoetic because it is waste.
All ceremony depends on symbol; and all symbols have been vulgarized and made stale by the commercial conditions of our — G.K. Chesterton, The G.K. Chesterton Collection [34 Books]
The hiss of the quenched element, the breakage of the pitcher which I had flung from my hand when I had emptied it, and, — Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre