Quotes About Secrets

There's a lot of skeletons in my closet!

After 16 years in pictures I could not be intimidated easily, because I knew where all the skeletons were buried.

I have far too many skeletons in my closet to think about any sort of serious mention of public office.

I feel like we all have our skeletons.

Behind bars, everyone's an inmate. Everybody has their skeletons; everybody has their story.

It is what the poets of Ireland used to be saying, that every brave man, good at fighting, and every man that could do great deeds and not be making much talk about them, was of the Sons of the Gael; and that every skilled man that had music and that did enchantments secretly, was of the Tuatha de Danaan.

I would not say that secret-keeping is one of my finer skills, actually.

It is not true that women cannot keep secrets. Where they love, they can be trusted to death and beyond, against all sense and reason. It is their weakness, and their great strength.

Lips to lips, mouth to mouth, Comes the speaker of the shrouds, Suck in the spirit, speak the words, Let secrets of the dead be heard.

The heart is a place with worm holes made by feelings you aren't supposed to have but do.

Coaching secrets? I don't think I got any. The main "secret" - love for chess.

Love is like that. I could crush her beneath the weight of confession.

And when you have it, what then? Some secrets are safer kept hidden. Some secrets are too dangerous to share, even with those you love and trust.

Love is the profoundest of secrets. Divulged, even to the beloved, it is no longer Love. As if it were merely I that loved you. When love ceases, then it is divulged.

People love to hate the gravedigger.

None of us lie or guard our secrets when we sing, and India is a nation of singers whose first love is the kind of song we turn to when crying just isn't enough.

There are wounds of self-love which one does not confess to one's dearest friends.

We confide our secret to a friend, but in love it escapes us.

Even now, Dickon was upstairs, writing sonnets to his new love, while back at Seadown House, Marianne was writing 'Ella' on scraps of paper and then burning them.

She was with me. She did all of those things and so many more, things I would never tell anyone, and she never even loved me. Now that's love.

It's one of those secrets that's embarrassing to acknowledge, but we do love our students.

Id love to own Newstead, partly because it belonged to Lord Byron, but also to try to uncover what dark secrets really lie beneath.

I love the friendly faces of old sorrows; I have no secrets that they do not know.

To love life through our labor is to be intimate with life's inmost secrets.