Bolls Quotes & Sayings

My next fight would not be measured in rounds, but throughout a lifetime. It would sustain and fulfill me longer than anything in the cage could. My opponent, my fight, would be against the slipping aspects of American society. — Cameron Conaway

The serious people have gone, I build my team again and again I just the un-sirious people if this is sirious let's see a bus which can be handled in the air by the weakest person on the Earth. — Deyth Banger

Because we all know that the books we've loved best are seldom the ones we esteem the most highly — Laura Miller

Poetry seems especially like nothing else so much as itself. Poetry is not like, it is the very lining of the inner life. — C.D. Wright

Historically, the minority party in Congress votes against raising the debt limit, forcing the majority party to whip its members into casting politically painful votes in favor. — Peter Welch

Different events teach us different truths and truth equips us for service. — Matthew John Slick

Behind every dark cloud there's usually rain — Michael Nesmith

The sounds proceeding from the instruments of symphonic music seem to be the very organs of the mysteries of creation; for they reveal, as it were, the primal stirrings of creation which brought order out of chaos long before the human heart was there to behold them. — Richard Wagner

Indeed, everything that could hum, or buzz, or sing, or bloom had a part in my education
noisy-throated frogs, katydids and crickets held in my hand until, forgetting their embarrassment, they trilled their reedy note, little downy chickens and wildflowers, the dogwood blossoms, meadow-violets and budding fruit trees. I felt the bursting cotton-bolls and fingered their soft fiber and fuzzy seeds; I felt the low soughing of the wind through the cornstalks, the silky rustling of the long leaves, and the indignant snort of my pony ... — Helen Keller

I think that David Stern is probably the greatest commissioner that any sport has ever had in the history of this country. — Bill Russell

At fourteen he runs away. He will not see again the freezing kitchenhouse in the predawn dark. The firewood, the washpots. He wanders west as far as Memphis, a solitary migrant upon that flat and pastoral landscape. Blacks in the fields, lank and stooped, their fingers spiderlike among the bolls of cotton. A shadowed agony in the garden. Against the sun's declining figures moving in the slower dusk across a paper skyline. A lone dark husbandman pursuing mule and harrow down the rainblown bottomland toward night. — Cormac McCarthy

O Hero, what a Hero hadst thou been. — William Shakespeare

Real love is sometimes painful. It isn't just the highest of the high - it's also the lowest of the low. It's being on that bottom rung, holding on with half a finger as you struggle to breathe through the pain. — Ella Fox

A great deal of stupidity has chipped away at the massive advantages of Western civilization, which could terminally decline if it remains on the current path. But these problems can be solved - and swiftly - if the right leaders emerge. — Paul Singer

I think; therefore, I am above average. — Michael Walton

It is only two hundred years ago that we had the invention of industrial agriculture. What did that revolution do to us? It brought us power. And freedom from a life spent kneeling in sodden rice paddies or struggling fourteen hours a day to collect cotton bolls or snap peas. Freedom, in short, from an existence governed by agony, injury, and pain - one that most farmers, and most humans, have always had to endure. — Michael Specter

Surely, that's what interns were invented for? — Paul Gillin

Burning logs can carry on quite a conversation! ... Have you ever heard apple wood talking? It's the most loquacious of all. You really can't get a word in edgeways. — Agnes Sligh Turnbull

The cotton was open and spilling into the fields; the very air smelled of it. In field after field as he passed along the pickers, arrested in stooping attitudes, seemed fixed amid the constant surf of bursting bolls like piles in surf, the long, partly-filled sacks streaming away behind them like rigid frozen flags. The air was hot, vivid and breathless
a final fierce concentration of the doomed and dying summer. — William Faulkner