Diva Quotes

And there we were, in the background of it all, holding on to one another. The Perfectionist, the Sweetheart, the Diva . . . and me.

There's no half-singing in the shower, you're either a rock star or an opera diva

So I told him his bread was ugly, and he called me a dough diva. A dough diva. Of all the nerve! We're going out on Saturday.

What a diva!" "Stupid, men can't be divas..." "Divo, then." "That just sounds weird. Call him a jerk and be done with it.

Hello?" Isabelle called from the other side. "Simon, is your diva moment over? I need to talk to Jace.

Single ladies, we are not Damsels in Distress…we are Divas that Impress!

As Calvin helped him to the stairs, Dex braced himself. “So on a scale of one to diva, how pissed off is Sloane at me right now?” Calvin winced. “I’d say…. Mariah Carey pissed.

People who call themselves divas...you are not a diva. I'm pretty sure you're a cunt.

That’s what we do with our pain,” she said, watching the butterfly rise. “We make it into something beautiful.” “We make it into something meaningful,” said the diva. “We make it matter,” whispered the actress.

always imitated, never duplicated, never new being me could be so complicated

Brie! Do Beyonce or Christina or whichever lame MTV diva you're mostly admiring this week waste their time with what-ifs? No, they spend all their energy on looking fabulous and cutting down any bitch that dares get in their way.-Charlie

Your war drum ain't / louder than this breath.

Every little bit of stress you eliminate contributes to a more productive day. That’s not being a diva; it’s placing yourself in a situation that allows you to be in optimal form.

The only thing you should be faking is confidence. If you don't have it yet, pretend that you do. Pretend you're not nervous, pretend you're not scared, and after a while, the pretend part disappears.

It's the ballads I like best, and I'm not talking about the clichéd ones where a diva hits her highest note or a rock band tones it down a couple of notches for the ladies. I mean a true ballad. Dictionary definition: a song that tells a story in short stanzas and simple words, with repetition, refrain, etc. My definition: the punk rocker or the country crooner telling the story of his life in three minutes, reminding us of the numerous ways to screw up.

The mere fact that I exist means that I deserve to be here and to express myself any damn why I please.

Blood circulated through her veins with the fluidity of a song that branched off into the most hidden areas of her body and returned to her heart, purified by love. Before I left at dawn I drew the lines of her hand on a piece of paper and gave it to Diva Sahibí for a reading so I could know her soul.

I have sex," Grace shrugged. I meant with a man," Claudia said dryly. Now why would I ruin something so good by inviting a man along?" Grace asked.

According to Thomas, the city [of Bath] had once been a veritable hotbed of manifestations, with every sorcerer, bunyip, golem, goblin, pict, pixie, demon, thylacine, gorgon, moron, cult, scum, mummy, rummy, groke, sphinx, minx, muse, flagellant, diva, reaver, weaver, reaper, scabbarder, scabmettler, dwarf, midget, little person, leprechaun, marshwiggle, totem, soothsayer, truthsayer, hatter, hattifattener, imp, panwere, mothman, shaman, flukeman, warlock, morlock, poltergeist, zeitgeist, elemental, banshee, manshee, lycanthrope, lichenthrope, sprite, wight, aufwader, harpy, silkie, kelpie, klepto, specter, mutant, cyborg, balrog, troll, ogre, cat in shoes, dog in a hat, psychic and psychotic seemingly having decided that this was the hot spot to visit.

It's been my experience that people who treat others as inferiors are really only covering up their own lack of class.

Was that girl ever not in diva mode?

There is a certain amount which I shan't mention publicly," Elizabeth said. "Things about Lucia which I should never dream of stating openly." "Those are just the ones I should like to hear about most," said Diva. "Just a few little titbits.

You wouldn’t shut up about how brain-damaged that ‘little Rusky diva-bitch’ was and how he needed to just ‘get over his sorry self and give our poor cop a blow job and live happily ever after’—you remember that?

That's one of the things that "queer" can refer to: the open mesh of possibilities, gaps, overlaps, dissonances and resonances, lapses and excesses of meaning when the constituent elements of anyone's gender, of anyone's sexuality aren't made (or can't be made) to signify monolithically. The experimental linguistic, epistemological, representational, political adventures attaching to the very many of us who may at times be moved to describe ourselves as (among many other possibilities) pushy femmes, radical faeries, fantasists, drags, clones, leatherfolk, ladies in tuxedos, feminist women or feminist men, masturbators, bulldaggers, divas, Snap! queens, butch bottoms, storytellers, transsexuals, aunties, wannabes, lesbian-identified men or lesbians who sleep with men, or ... people able to relish, learn from, or identify with such.

a woman will tell you every home she has ever inhabited has been broken into starting with her body

To be good is to be forgotten. I'm going to be so bad I'll always be remembered.

We're sistas. We treat each other like sistas. That's the blessin'. That's the problem. We come together cause we're both bein' fucked over by the same people. We get close. And then we fall in love with each other cause us third world diva gals are beautiful and blessed like none other.

The world's full of idiots, divas and assholes, mainly in Ireland. In Ireland, one cannot achieve anything if he is not a little wacky. That's a holy truth. It just simply cannot be otherwise.

The gays, the kids, the misfits, the freaks, the ones who feel like they don't have a place... you got it. Just be you.

I dunno." She sat on the bench and hugged the robe like a pillow. "I still think that Brett guy is cute." "Good luck getting him away from Bekka." Cleo gathered her silky black hair into a high pony and pink-dabbed Smith's Rosebud Salve on her lips. "She's got more grip than Crazy Glue." "More cling than Saran Wrap," Lala added. "More hold than Final Net." Cleo giggled. "More possession than The Exorcist," Lala managed. "More clench than butt cheeks," Blue chimed in. "More competition than American Idol," Frankie stuck out her chest and showed them her diva booty roll. The girls burst out laughing. "Nice!" Blue lifted her purple gloved hand. Frankie slapped it without a single spark. "I hate to be a downer..." Claudine shuffled back into the conversation wearing her slippers and robe. "But that girl will destroy you if she catches you with Brett." "I'm not worried," Frankie tossed her hair back. "I've seen all the teen movies, and the nice girl gets the boy in the end.

Every hunchback has his gypsy, each phantom his diva, and flames of passion consume witches and martyrs alike. For any lonely monster, tradition demands that one sacrificial soul seek immolation. Ashes to ashes. It remains the ultimate, transformative act of love.

All my life I've been fascinated by the precipice in all of us. When you come to it, you either choose to fall or you don’t --Alvin Ailey

... in the world, it will be women, mostly colored and poor. women will have to bury children, and support themselves through grief.

I’m tired of dealing with crazies. When did it become my job to manage your mental illness?

Good. I can’t be the only diva in this relationship. It is far too exhausting.

Real Divas Read!

“Are they monsters?” Kusha once asked Meera about the ones living in the Junk Land. Meera didn’t answer. Not directly anyway. She skeptically avoided it like the diva of voice she is—the kind who owns half of the entertainment channels of Alpha…

I swear there are about a million rocks underneath me," [Dylan] said grouchily. Think of it as therapeutic. Like a shiatsu massage." (Sadie) You obviously have a much better imagination than me," he said.

Adventure should be part of everyone's life. It is the whole difference between being fully alive and just existing.

i cried when i saw those buildings collapse on themselves like a broken heart.

There are always exceptions,' replied Flea. 'They are what make you exceptional.

In the great design of fate, there are no accidents.

Tarot is always whispering to you. Tarot weaves truth, stories, secrets, and tales. All you need to do is slow down and listen.

Screw him and his perfect forearms and cute crooked smile and diva brother. I'm so tired of wanting to shove him into the wall and then shove my hand down his pants.

Live Like A Diva on A Budget

She’ll be more than fine, she’ll be fierce.

Me pregunto si llegaré a ser alhun día feliz o si me pasaré el resto de mi vida luchando por sobrevivir. Aunque sobrevivo fabulosamente no quiero quejarme. Preferiría esperar lo peor y tener lo mejor... Maria callas

I'm learning what it means to focus less on me and more on God, because when I focus my attention on him, he enables me to focus my love and my patience on those who matter most to me. If there's anything I have learned from going through this experiment--which really became much more a challenge of the heart than any kind of domestic diva contest--is that as a wife, as a mom, as a woman, and ultimately as a daughter of Christ, I have much influence. And I can use it for good and for blessing, or I can use it for harm and for cursing. I want to be the wife who is a blessing to her family, who is praised and remembered, not for the activities or projects I checked off, but for the smiles I wore, the peace I shared, and the deep love of God I hope I instilled wherever I went....

Men are so clueless, self-centered, and undeserving, each a bland replica of the other. They’re motivated by sex, sports, hunting, cars, and food. If they can’t screw it, cheer for it, shoot it, drive it, or consume it, then it might as well be a diva cup or a maxi pad.

I was a diva for thinking that my life would dramatically change when I came out of the gigantic closet-o-porn.

I’m a diva in my own right, I own my own and going to hold my own. ™

Maybe being here won’t be so bad after all… as long as I can avoid the music, the bloodthirsty diva duo, and the phantom’s shadow lurking around every corner.

Steve Jobs was one of the greatest business divas the world has ever known!)

Simon, is your diva moment over? I need to talk to Jace.

is Whitney? Is that your dealer?” “Whitney Houston,” Mom said. “You know, dear. She was that singer who sang that song you like that Helena performed.” “‘Hit Me Baby, One More Time?” “That’s Britney, dear.” “‘Dirty?” “That was Christina.” “Umbrella?” “And that was Rihanna. Larry, you’re embarrassing yourself. You have a gay son, for God’s sake. How can you not know your divas?” Mom sounded affronted. “Paul? Paul! If you can hear me, don’t listen to your father! He obviously doesn’t know his ass from his elbow!” “Language,” Dad scolded. “And I know my divas. I know them very well. What about that Woman Goo-Goo that Helena performs like?

If I had a daughter, here's what I'd tell her: One day, when you've worked hard for what you want, when people see that you are confident and intelligent and that you recognize your own self-worth, when you take care of yourself, support yourself, and stand up for yourself, that is the day that the world will call you "a cruel and selfish bitch." It's a tough title to earn and you should be and proud of it.

Inside we found the TV rooms packed, because a jury had found Martha Stewart guilty on four counts of obstructing justice and lying to investigators about a well-timed stock sale. The style diva was going to have to do fed time. Her case had been followed with keen interest at Danbury—most prisoners thought she was being targeted because she was a famous female: “Guys get away with that shit all the time.

Knaves are not to be confused with divas. Knavish behavior is a product of low integrity; diva-ish behavior is one of high exceptionalism. Knaves prioritize the individual over the team; divas think they are better than the team, but want success equally for both. Knaves need to be dealt with as quickly as possible.

The best advice I can give a young aspiring singer is not to become an old aspiring singer.

You have made my day a little better, and I hope I have made your day a little better, too

It’s never too late to find that one person who can change you, for a reason, a season or a lifetime.

I think everyone should have a problem with zombies on fire.

Life is a journey worth making.

There are a lot of writers, but only one YOU.

You are the secret. Let tarot guide you. And remember, if you want to embody the World card, first you must ask for it.

I was barely conscious but my standards were still awake.

The heart of magic hasn't to do with any result; rather, it propels the practitioner to the source of all experience. ~ Llewellyn's Magical Almanac

Catie Conrad, just because we think we deserve something, it doesn't mean God is going to allow it to happen in the snap of a finger.

Be nice because it’s the right thing to do, it’s the best way to act in the world and it is what good human beings do. Being difficult and diva-ish or petulant just makes you hard to deal with, it doesn’t make you more authentic or creative or real.

Tarot brings us out of ourselves. It moves our perceptions outwards and onto the cards. Rather than living with the possibility imagined in our mind's eye, the possibility is spread on the table before us.

Probably the most startling story I've heard was about a freelance copy editor for a women's magazine who discovered that a writer-a famous "domestic diva"-had plagiarized a recipe. The poor freelancer mysteriously died the very same night she invited the writer to a dinner party at her house ... But I don't mean to worry you. Statistically speaking, I believe that the number of copy editors murdered by their authors is fairly low.

Tyra’s always standing up for herself and her “race” over perceived slights. For example, she’ll say, “You just pushed me because I’m black!” No, I pushed you because the train was coming right at you, you bulimic twit.

Connaitre une personne c'est anticiper ses faits et gestes, de façon inconsciente, parce que, finalement, l'autre c'est nous même. Perdu puis retrouvé.

I can be totally feminine and totally feminist. The two are not mutually exclusive.

Once a person knows better and doesn’t do better, then that’s on them.

I'll never forget the first time I saw him-the wild shock of black hair, the beautiful blue eyes, the full lips with that perfected pout.Such a diva,even from the beginning.I was entranced, smitten, mesmerized.He had the face of an angel, and the voice of one, too.And almost from the start,I began the pattern of losing Nicholas.I was good at that.I guess i never believed i really deserved him,what he would bring to us both.What we would experience because of him.What we would be because of him.What i could be because of the strength and belief he had in me.

New Rule: Let the Pope be Pope. An animal-rights group in Italy has asked Pope Benedict to give up his fur-trimmed cape and hat. To which the Pope replied, "Don't be hatin' on my cape, bitch." Sorry, but Popes are the original divas, they invented bling, they've been wearing outlandish outfits for a thousand years--almost as long as Elton John. The clothes, the jewels, the fancy palace...Those aren't just symbols of the Papacy, they are the Papacy. The day the Pope shows up on the balcony in a pair of jeans and polo shirt is the day a billion Catholics go, "What the hell were we thinking?

one more person ask me if i knew the hijackers. one more motherfucker ask me what navy my brother is in. one more person assume no arabs or muslims were killed. one more person assume they know me, or that i represent a people. or that a people represent an evil. or that evil is as simple as a flag and words on a page.

On this literary journey. I never thought that this would ever come true. I'm finally living out my dreams. Not trying to be a carbon copy I'm the blueprint, I am who I am and not going to make excuses for who I am. I'll never trying to pretend to be someone else its too hard being me as it is, nor would I try to walk in another's shoes, don't need the foot fungus. I'm too much of a Diva for that, I love my own Stillettos! Now that is my swag ™

Remember The Princess and the Pea? She could feel a single pea through dozens of mattresses, and that’s how everyone knew she was of noble blood, even though she’d arrived looking bedraggled and scruffy. It’s supposed to be an example of the saying “breeding will out”, meaning that you can always spot true royalty, even if that someone is dressed in rags. Am I the only one who thinks the moral of this story is all screwed up? You get caught in a storm and knock on a stranger’s door in the middle of the night to ask for shelter... then when they ask how you slept, you COMPLAIN that you were uncomfortable? Honey, that’s not being a Princess. That’s being a diva bitch.

Diva had "popped" into the grocer's. She always popped everywhere just now; she popped across to see a friend, and she popped home again; she popped into church on Sunday, and occasionally popped up to town, and Miss Mapp was beginning to feel that somebody ought to let her know, directly or by insinuation, that she popped too much. So, thinking that an opportunity might present itself now, Miss Mapp read the news-board outside the stationer's till Diva popped out of the grocer's again. The headlines of news, even the largest of them, hardly reached her brain, because it was entirely absorbed in another subject. Of course, the first thing was to find out by what train . . .

I also really liked God, or at least the idea of God as he was presented to me, because God was a little bit of a queen, too.* I mean, think about it: He sits up in heaven on a gold-ass throne with a bunch of baroque naked babies flying around him and demands that you worship him and sing him lots of songs or else he will destroy your entire city and kill all your relatives. Talk about a diva. I mean, like, the Old Testament is pretty much just a litany of all the times God threw a diva tantrum in his dressing room because one of his fans coughed during his performance. He’s like Naomi Campbell constantly throwing his phone at the paparazzi (by the way, I support you, Naomi).

But then the Lord had spoken to her and had let her know that she could sit around all she wanted, waiting for some man to make an honest woman out of her, but that true self-respect came when a woman made an honest woman out of herself.

I'm saying it's totally oblivious to how people feel. Take the ocean, for instance. You can love it, but it doesn't love you back. It will suck you under and steal your breath and beauty can make you cry, or that the sound of the tide coming in at night is the best lullaby you ever heard.

defiance of law and tone, and everybody’s disbelieving looks, the president seemed intent on surrounding himself in the White House with his family. The Trumps, all of them—except for his wife, who, mystifyingly, was staying in New York—were moving in, all of them set to assume responsibilities similar to their status in the Trump Organization, without anyone apparently counseling against it. Finally, it was the right-wing diva and Trump supporter Ann Coulter who took the president-elect aside and said, “Nobody is apparently telling you this. But you can’t. You just can’t hire your children.

It's only young people who make giant, life-altering decisions based on what other people might think, and it's because they don't see their own death looming. Their fear is, "Will my family, friends and lovers admire me?" whereas an older person's fear is that vision of themselves lying in a hospital bed, a breathing tube up their nose and the thought running through their heads, "Why didn't I at least try to do what I wanted to do, while I had the chance?

Six years later, Kalief and I are exactly where we started: still engaged and still hustling in this fucked-up industry. Only now he has a coke problem, a drinking problem, a gambling problem, a lying problem, and a cheating problem. But I still fuckin’ love him: hood girl problems. I hang my head as another

As women of the western world, we see our sisters in other lands being raped, maimed and even executed simply for trying to exercise the most basic freedoms, such as taking a bus alone or wearing a bright red sweater. And when we look at our own world, we see that it too still lacks equality for the sexes. It's a terrible thing to go through one's entire lifetime not getting to do all the things we dream of doing just because others say we're not permitted to do them, and to know that they will hurt us if we try. But far, far worse than that is when there's not a thing or a person outside that's stopping us from living exactly as we wish, but we stop ourselves; internally we do not give ourselves permission, simply because we're too scared of what will happen if we dare.

wI don’t care what they say about Aretha. She can be hiding out in her house in Detroit for years. She can go decades without taking a plane or flying off to Europe. She can cancel half her gigs and infuriate every producer and promoter in the country. She can sing all kinds of jive-ass songs that are beneath her. She can go into her diva act and turn off the world. But on any given night, when that lady sits down at the piano and gets her body and soul all over some righteous song, she’ll scare the shit out of you. And you’ll know—you’ll swear—that she’s still the best fuckin’ singer this fucked-up country has ever produced.

When life comes knockin', it's the heartbroken doo-wop singer who understands regret and the price of loving, the hard-living soul man who understands "I take what I want, I'm a bad go-getter, yeah..." and the Motown divas, men and women, who know you've got to play a little bit of the white man's/rich man's game. You have to make thoughtful compromises that don't sell out your soul, that let you reach just a little bit higher until your moment comes and then you set the rules. This was the credo all along Route 9 and you'd better understand it or else you would die an ugly musical death while risking bodily injury on Saturday night.

And in that he shared a common history with most of the men who wandered Folsom and Polk and Market this late afternoon. Men whose mothers and fathers - however loving, however liberal - would never understand them the way they understood their straight children, because these gay sons were genetic cul-de-sacs. Men who would be obliged to make their own families: out of friends, out of lovers, out of divas. Men who were self-invented, for better or worse, makers of styles and mythologies which they constantly cast off with the impatience of souls who would never find a description that quite fitted. If there was a sadness in this there was also a kind of unholy glee.

As parents we have to make sure our children receive immunization shots so that they are protected against something they might come into contact with that could kill them. That could destroy and tear down their little bodies until death is welcomed versus the pain. We would never want that to happen to our children. Well, our Father feels the same way about us.

(Sadie)"I'm not judging you, Dylan. I love vampire movies. If I looked surprised it was only because it's so different from your TV work, that's all." His shoulders relaxed a notch. "Sorry. Olly gives me a lot of shit for selling out. He doesn't get that no one is ever going to make his movie about two old men on a fishing trip. Or, even if they do, no one is every going to go see it.

Michael Heseltine, a wild-haired visionary, Klaus Kinski to Margaret's Thatcher's Werner Herzog, pushed Docklands across the Thames to the East Greenwich Peninsula. The Millennium Dome concept was a remake of 'Fitzcarraldo', a film in which suborned natives (expendable extras) drag a paddle steamer over a hill in order to force a short cut to more exploitable territory. The point being to bring Enrico Caruso, one of the gods of opera, to an upstream trading post. An insane achievement mirrored in the rebranding of the Dome, after its long and expensive limbo, as the O2 Arena, a popular showcase for cryogenic rock acts:Norma Desmond divas and the resurrected Michael Jackson, whose virtual rebirth,post-mortem, gave the shabby tent the status of a riverside cathedral.

Now Miss Mapp's social dictatorship among the ladies of Tilling had long been paramount, but every now and then signs of rebellious upheavals showed themselves. By virtue of her commanding personality these had never assumed really serious proportions, for Diva, who was generally the leader in these uprisings, had not the same moral massiveness. But now when Elizabeth was so exceedingly superior, the fumes of Bolshevism mounted swiftly to Diva's head. Moreover, the sight of this puzzling male impersonator, old, wrinkled, and moustached, had kindled to a greater heat her desire to know her and learn what it felt like to be Romeo on the music-hall stage and, after years of that delirious existence, to subside into a bath-chair and Suntrap and Tilling. What a wonderful life! . . . And behind all this there was a vague notion that Elizabeth had got her information in some clandestine manner and had muddled it. For all her clear-headedness and force Elizabeth did sometimes make a muddle and it would be sweeter than honey and the honeycomb to catch her out. So in a state of brooding resentment Diva went home to lunch and concentrated on how to get even with Elizabeth.

There is no set of rules that dictates what you owe someone you love. What parts of your past should be disclosed? Should you confess you are trans? Alcoholic? That you had a same-sex relationship? An abortion? That you were abused by the person you trusted most in the world? When, if ever, is the right time for that conversation: before your first date, before your first kiss, before you sleep together? Where is the line between keeping something private, and being dishonest? What if the worst happens? What if honesty is the thing that breaks you apart? “What’s her name?” Asher asks, drawing me out of my reverie. I cover the new hive. I’ve been thinking of Billie Eilish, but maybe not every queen needs to be a pop diva. “Lily?” I suggest. I sit down next to him in the field, as stragglers from the crate fly to the entrance of the hive. We watch the sun go down,

Something refused to come into focus in my thinking. Indistinctly, as though in a fog, shapes moved toward me and retreated just beyond cognition. But that getting a hold of things is the uncertainty. As the Tractatus says right at the beginning, “The world is everything that is the case.” It seemed as though the Mammy≈Divas® were just like Steve Jobs, trying to have reality bent to their own wills. Objectively, the iPhone was a muddle of mysticism and logic—breakable glass, non-ergonomic design, lousy battery life, lousy irreplaceable battery, lousy headphone jack, lousy virtual keyboard, lousy email, lousy memory, lousy lice, etc., etc, and an interface that you had to adapt to by pretending as an article of faith that no adaptation was required. The Mammy≈Divas® promised a seamless racial interface—eternal blackness ordered and majestic. They put a benign face on their lust for panoptic power. They promised to discipline and punish with pancakes.

She paused on the pavement, and remembered that Diva had not yet expressed regret about the worsted, and that she still "popped" as much as ever. Thus Diva deserved a punishment of some sort, and happily, at that very moment she thought of a subject on which she might be able to make her uncomfortable. The street was full, and it would be pretty to call up to her, instead of ringing her bell, in order to save trouble to poor overworked Janet. (Diva only kept two servants, though of course poverty was no crime.) "Diva darling!" she cooed. Diva's head looked out like a cuckoo in a clock preparing to chime the hour. "Hullo!" she said. "Want me?" "May I pop up for a moment, dear?" said Miss Mapp. "That's to say if you're not very busy." "Pop away," said Diva. She was quite aware that Miss Mapp said "pop" in crude inverted commas, so to speak, for purposes of mockery, and so she said it herself more than ever. "I'll tell my maid to pop down and open the door.

Why, oh why, do you hide in shadows? As a venomous viper you lurk in dark corners. Waiting, waiting, waiting to spew your hate. cantankerous you are though you haven't a clue. Spread, spread, spreading over beauty like a poisonous cloak. At your touch the day is dark. At your touch the dark is death. Dying, dying, dying, all light is gone, made ash of simmering sulfur no more to see the day, the dawn. Do we partake of your deceit or do we despise? Your lies, your lies, I will outlive your lies, and once again color this world in truth. Pure, so sweet, the taste of revenge. Be cursed evil shroud for the dark never wins.

As children and into our tumultuous teen years, we feel our way through the world. We may be told our intuition is wrong by peers and family. We act on our intuition and are quieted, shushed, or made fun of. In abusive situations, children raise their voice in objection and are silenced by adults who supposedly know better. Our childhood intuition is stuffed down, ignored or suppressed. When you lie to a child, you send the message that their intuition is worthless and unreliable. This same child grows into adulthood questioning and doubting themselves. One of the most empowering things you can do is start to heal, trust and cultivate your intuition. You have the ability to reignite that candle inside yourself. You can reclaim your intuitive facilities. To do so is your birthright.