Browsing Topic Best Classmates Quotes

Middle age is when your old classmates are so grey and wrinkled and bald they don’t recognize you.

I really was more sexual than my classmates.

People are discouraged from voting and part of what is important for Latino citizens is to make your voice heard, because you’re not just speaking for yourself. You’re speaking for family members, friends, classmates of yours in school.

Damen is gorgeous. I know this without looking up. I just focus on my book as he makes his way toward me since I know way too much about my classmates already. So as far as I’m concerned, an extra moment of ignorance really is bliss. But according to the innermost thoughts of Stacia Miller sitting just two rows before me – Damen Auguste is totally smoking hot. Her best friend, Honor, completely agrees. So does Honor’s boyfriend, Craig, but that’s a whole other story

Now we’re asking ourselves why our children have no conscience, why they don’t know right from wrong, and why it doesn’t bother them to kill strangers, their classmates, and themselves.

I thought that was the coolest thing in the world, the idea of somebody trying to solve mysteries. I would see conspiracies in everything. I think I believed in leprechauns longer than any of my fellow classmates because I tried to catch them.

I was perhaps the worst student you have ever seen. You know, I thought I was stupid, all my classmates thought I was stupid, so there was general agreement.

Jenna Bush was cited for underage drinking in Austin Friday. Her dad warned her that too much partying at school could cost her a good career. At $400,000, he’s making the lowest salary of any of his Yale classmates.

Estiven Rodriguez couldn’t speak a word of English when he moved to New York City at age nine. But last month, thanks to the support of great teachers and an innovative tutoring program, he led a march of his classmates – through a crowd of cheering parents and neighbors – from their high school to the post office, where they mailed off their college applications. And this son of a factory worker just found out he’s going to college this fall.

So I kept it to myself. Then some of my classmates started to come down to the comedy club, taking a girl out, and they started finding out I was a stand-up comedian.

I encourage my students to be honest in their assessment of both the published work we read and the work of their classmates. I think there’s always the occasion for discussing elements of craft, whether the student’s poem is terrible or quite wonderful.

Back in my days as a children’s book editor, my superiors caught on to the fact that teenagers were using the Internet to gossip about each other, and thought it might be nifty to develop a series of books about an anonymous high-school blogger who gossips about her classmates. The concept was passed on to me.

No child is taught to kill, but he has to be taught to love, respect, honor and value, not only his own life, but the lives of his classmates, parents and teachers. He has to experience love and acceptance. He has to know his life has purpose and meaning. No amount of money can do that.

I was born in segregated Birmingham, Alabama. I didn’t have a white classmate till we moved to Denver.

My mother would organize huge parties for my elementary school classmates. To prepare, she would go back to the bakery in her old neighborhood of Inwood and get special shamrock cookies. Hawaiian Punch was served and we had shamrock napkins. It was a lot of fun.

Don’t wait for success, but for the respect and interest of those who read you. At the start it could be a classmate, someone who shares your interests. Before sending off the manuscript for a novel to a publishing house, it would be a good idea to try writing short stories, and publishing them in a local magazine.

And one of the things I noticed pretty early on in art school was that my classmates had no notion of an audience. Right? I mean, growing up with the mother that I did, I learned that when you walk into the dry cleaners, there’s an audience waiting for you. You know, maybe it’s just the person behind the counter.

I want my daughter to be able to go to school and see the diversity of things that her classmates are eating and appreciate that, too. So I’m really excited for her to just kind of sit in and watch me cook and be really hands on and just enjoy cooking.

It took me until my teenage years to realize that I was medicating with music. I was pushing back against my stupid school uniform, instructors who called me by my last name and my classmates, who, while friendly enough, were not at all inspiring.

For a Catholic kid in parochial school, the only way to survive the beatings – by classmates, not the nuns – was to be the funny guy.

My classmates would copulate with anything that moved, but I never saw any reason to limit myself.

I don’t know if God exists and I don’t care. God’s will and design for this temporal and spatial vastness, if any, is so patently, deliberately impenetrable that I doubt any mortal has a grasp on it. The very inexplicability of sad events like the tsunami, like the AIDS crisis or even like the cancer death of the father of one of my daughter’s 2nd-grade classmates last week are, to me, reminders to focus on our obligations to one another, not to the infinite; to honor the creator, if any, by honoring creation itself and hoping that’s good enough.

I was educated in London at Central Saint Martins and had this whole thing about getting together with a lot of international students. Twenty-three languages were spoken during our lunch breaks! The school was very open minded, you could do whatever you wanted. Some people loved that freedom, others got lost. Gareth Pugh was a classmate, and so was Peter Jensen.

Ever since we had arrived in the United States, my classmates kept asking me about magic carpets.- They don’t exist-I always said. I was wrong. Magic carpets do exist. But they are called library cards.

What you are lies with you. If you are lazy, and accept your lot, you may live in it. If you are willing to work, you can write your name anywhere you choose, among the only ones who live beyond the grave in this world, the people who write books that help, make exquisite music, carve statues, paint pictures, and work for others. Never mind the calico dress, and the coarse shoes. Work at you books, and before long you will hear yesterday’s tormentors boasting that they were once classmates of yours.

I had a classmate who fitted for college by the lamps of a lighthouse, which was more light, we think, than the University afforded.

I couldn’t help but to think back to my classmates at Thomas Jefferson High School in San Antonio. They had the same talent, the same brains, the same dreams as the folks we sat with at Stanford and Harvard. I realized the difference wasn’t one of intelligence or drive. The difference was opportunity.

A child’s learning is a function more of the characteristics of his classmates than those of the teacher.

I am an only child and home-schooled, so I have no siblings or classmates.

Why is it, I wonder, that anyone who displays superior athletic ability is an object of admiration to his classmates, while one who displays superior mental ability is an object of hatred?

I was somewhat out of place among my classmates; I could not be as bohemian as they were.

At school I pretended I had a normal life, but I felt lonely all the time and different from everyone else. I never felt like I fit in, and I wasn’t allowed to participate in after-school activities, go to sports events or parties or date boys. Many times I had to make up stories about why I couldn’t do anything with my classmates.

My egotistical concern was less that I would fail to relate to my classmates than that they would know nothing of my uniquely tortured life’s course and, thus, me.

The first several years of my life were used to upload incredible amounts of fear, and I just became afraid of everything. I was afraid of my parents, afraid of my classmates, afraid of the streets of Washington, D.C. I would flinch at every gesture.

I have four daughters, with the two youngest being four years old and a year and a half. When one of my older daughters was in sixth grade, a classmate brought in their talking Winnie the Pooh doll for show and tell, so the next week my daughter one upped her classmates and brought me to school in for show and tell.