To me, it seems a dreadful indignity to have a soul controlled by geography.
Whatever deceives men seems to produce a magical enchantment.
Shirley Sherrod seems like a good and dedicated person.
This whole force is utterly demoralized by victory. There seems to be neither head nor tail.
It seems to be the fate of idealists to obtain what they have struggled for in a form which destroys their ideals.
Smallness in a great man seems smaller by its disproportion with all the rest.
It always seems impossible until it's done.
Each generation seems to invent its own reasons for war.
It seems that laughter needs an echo.
The elitist way of looking on the runway, frankly, seems old fashioned.
For me to think in terms of employing security seems ostentatious.
In fact, my popularity seems almost entirely a masculine phenomenon.
I'm so entranced by what unfolds in front of the camera. It seems wonderfully out of my control.
'Pleasantville' seems tonally ambitious, but it can handle a wide breadth of tone because it's so fanciful.
In psychoanalysis, only the fee is exactly what it seems to be.
Speed, it seems to me, provides the one genuinely modern pleasure.
That freedom that Picasso afforded himself, to be an artist in a huge number of ways, seems to be a huge psychological liberation.
Man seems to insist on ignoring the lessons available from history.
Happiness is a wine of the rarest vintage, and seems insipid to a vulgar taste.
More and more, journalism seems to have hopped out of Truth's pocket and crept into another.