So I live among barbarous tribes, a stranger and exile for the love of God.
Or a way to stay on strangers couches, that just sounds terrible all around.
Whatever you may do for your brother, being hungry, and a stranger, and naked, not even the devil will be able to despoil, but it will be laid up in an inviolabe treasure.
Anyone who has invented a better mousetrap, or the contemporary equivalent, can expect to be harassed by strangers demanding that you read their unpublished manuscripts or undergo the humiliation of public speaking, usually on remote Midwestern campuses.
For me, there are no my people and strangers, no bad people and good people. All people are equal for me.
We can't all be friends and relatives as the world is; most of us have to be strangers.
We feel the love of strangers every day in the things they do that affect us without our knowledge.
Truth is not only stranger than fiction, it is more interesting.
A Literary Society is the most proper form for the introduction of our Order into any state where we are yet strangers.
We are not strangers to ourselves, we only try to be.
If you can get over this initial distrust that people have of strangers, you can do remarkable things.
Last night I danced with a stranger, but she just reminded me you were the one.
I like test screenings. I like to see a movie with an audience of strangers. I think it tells you a lot.
I feel really comfortable when the camera is rolling. I feel less comfortable in the moments before and after, like, "Okay, where do I sit now?" I find the social aspect of being on a project. . . it's just a lot. There are so many new people, and it's a lot of introducing the most charming, most engaging, funniest version of yourself to, essentially, a bunch of strangers you already know too many details about.
Dogs believe every stranger is a friend they haven't met yet. Cats wait for a proper invitation.
Don't talk to strangers. Sure, unless you want to meet anyone ever.
There are not unfrequently substantial reasons underneath for customs that appear to us absurd; and if I were ever again to find myself amongst strangers, I should be solicitous to examine before I condemned.
When I was ten, my pa told me never to talk to strangers. We haven't spoken since.
Instead, we just sat there, together but really apart, watching a show about a stranger and all her secrets, while keeping our own to ourselves, as always.
And what an example of the power of dress young Oliver Twist was! Wrapped in the blanket which had hitherto formed his only covering, he might have been the child of a nobleman or a beggar;—it would have been hard for the haughtiest stranger to have fixed his station in society. But now he was enveloped in the old calico robes, that had grown yellow in the same service; he was badged and ticketed, and fell into his place at once—a parish child—the orphan of a workhouse—the humble, half-starved drudge—to be cuffed and buffeted through the world, despised by all, and pitied by none.