Quotes About Resignation

Counting sheep no longer works. The day comes crashing down on you and you can't escape it. You go home, have two shots of Jack, look through the bills, fix yourself a TV dinner, watch the Lakers lose another one, take a bath, think briefly of cutting your wrists knowing you don't have the guts to do it, and you go to bed. So much for the sheep.

Good. Well. Shit." Locke rubbed his gloved hands together. "I guess that's that. I'm all out of rhetorical flourishes.

When I resigned, I put the U.S. Government on notice that I'm going to stick to policy issues, that I have no intention of going out and blowing the cover off of the intelligence operations, that those are truly sensitive and they should not be exposed.

I should say nothing! I'm through with it! I hate to repeat myself all the time.

I realized people would soon forget me once I was dead. I couldn't even say that this was hard to stomach; really, there's no idea to which one doesn't get acclimatized in time.

They looked at each other. They weren't thinking anymore. The time for that had come and gone. Smashed smiles lay ahead of them. But that would be later. Lay Ter.

One of the things I've learned is there's no lesson to be learned. You have to resign yourself to the fact that mistakes are going to be made at any time in the creative process.

It isn't up to me to break his heart; that's time's job.

I have decided that whatever time I may have left is left for Him.

Renunciation is submission to time.

I mean, maybe under the surface, somewhere that's hard to see, I've known it had to end for a long time. I just never thought I'd be the one to end it.

I give up on spending time on these courts; I give up on practicing before the tournament I hate. I hate this.

If it's time for you to go, leave willingly - as you would to accomplish anything that can be done with grace and honor.

I'm not afraid of death; I just don't want to be there when it happens." Woody Allen *

Don't make me happy. Please, don't fill me up and let me think that something good can come of any of this. Look at my bruises. Look at this graze. Do you see the graze inside me? Do you see it growing before your very eyes, eroding me? I don't want to hope for anything anymore.

He prefers not to ruin things with any more questions. What it is is what it is.

I stood there and stared, into the sky and at the city around me. I stood, hands at my side, and I saw what had happened to me and who I was and the way things would always be for me. Truth. There was no more wishing, or wondering. I knew who I was, and what I would always do. I believed it, as my teeth touched and my eyes were overrun.

He was hanging from one of the rafters in a laundry up near Frau Diller's. Another human pendulum. Another clock, stopped.

Don't make me happy. Please, don't fill me up and let me think that something good can come of any of this. Look at my bruises. Look at this graze. Do you see the graze inside me? Do you see it growing before your very eyes, eroding me? I don't want to hope for anything anymore. I don't want to pray that Max is alive and safe. Or Alex Steiner. Because the world does not deserve them.

No quiere amarme pero tampoco quiere perderme.

Non rendetemi felice. Non riempitemi, per favore, non lasciate che mi persuada che qualcosa di buono possa venire fuori da tutto ciò. Guardate i miei lividi. Guardate questo taglio. Vedete il taglio che ho nel cuore? Lo vedete allargarsi proprio sotto i vostri occhi, lo vedete consumarsi? Non voglio più sperare. Non voglio pregare che Max sia sano e salvo. O alex Steiner. Il mondo non li merita.

He was hanging from one of the rafters in a laundry up near Frau Diller's. Another human pendulum. Another clock, stopped.

In a way, I wish I could be like that. You'd never worry or care about anything that really mattered. You'd be happy, in the same pitiful way someone like our friend Ritchie is. Nothing affects you and you affect nothing.

August este singur pe vîrful unui munte; sînt ultimele sale zile. Poetul spune: "El sta aici si asculta vidul pur. Totul e ciudat, o nalucire. Pe mare (cîndva, August calatorise adesea pe mare) se misca totusi ceva; acolo exista sunet, ceva ce se putea auzi, un cor al apelor. Aici — nimicul se întîlneste cu nimicul într-o absenta fara hotare. Nu-ti ramîne decît sa dai din cap, plin de resemnare.