Beer Cozy Quotes & Sayings

If you look through the history of wearables, I was named the father of wearable computing, or the world's first cyborg. But the definition of wearable computing can be kind of fuzzy itself. Thousands of years ago, in China, people would wear an abacus around their neck - that, in one sense, was a wearable computer. — Steve Mann

If you are going to go to Heaven, I'm going to Heaven. But I don't believe in Heaven. — Ariel Pink

We all have our secrets. — Leigh Bardugo

I wanted to watch her save the world, and feel on top of it. — Karen Marie Moning

I was born in Queens, New York, which is a suburb of New York City. — Peter Jurasik

I am still on stage. If you read Press ... you would believe that I should be gone. But here I am doing it and DOING IT WELL! — Rudolf Nureyev

The sweaty players in the game of life always have more fun than the supercilious spectators. — William Feather

When the prizes fall to the lot of the wicked, you will not find many who
are virtuous for virtue's sake. — Sallust

I have never been convinced there's anything inherently wrong in having fun. — George Plimpton

Once when I was lost I asked a policeman to help me find my parents. I said to him, 'Do you think we'll ever find them?' He answered, 'I don't know, kid. There are so many places they can hide. — Rodney Dangerfield

Commending a right thing is a cheap substitute for doing it, with which we are too apt to satisfy ourselves. — Hannah More

That's what life is, pretty much: full of holes and tangles and ways to get stuck. Uncomfortable and itchy. A present you never asked for, never wanted, never chose. A present you're supposed to be excited to wear, day after day, even when you'd rather stay in bed and do nothing. — Lauren Oliver

The guiding principle of my life, 'the means are the ends,' has taught me that our participation in a corrupt system facilitates it and corrupts and therefore defeats us. — Sonia Johnson

The next day was, for Emma, a dismal one. Everything seemed enveloped in a black atmosphere that hovered indistinctly over the exterior of things, and sorrow rushed into her soul, moaning softly like the winter wind in abandoned manor houses. It was the sort of reverie you sink into over something that will never return again, the lassitude that overcomes you with each thing that is finished, the pain you suffer when any habitual motion is stopped, when a prolonged vibration abruptly ceases. — Gustave Flaubert