Delune Bags Quotes & Sayings

The Chin also had one of the first biological-poison gas weapons in history. They fired round projectiles bound in wax and paper of 70 pounds of dried human feces with ground up poisonous herbs, roots and beetles packed in gunpowder. The projectiles were lit from a fuse and fired from a trebuchet which created on impact a cloud of toxic fumes that killed or disabled the unfortunate persons that breathed in the poison dried feces into their lungs. — Steven M. Johnson

My mother always told me not to handle a buffalo by its tail, but always catch it by its horns. And I have used that lesson in everything in my life, including the Railways. — Lalu Prasad Yadav

Humanity's become a product and when humanity is a product, you get Auschwitz and you get Chair. — Edward Bond

Initially, all idols seem to deliver exactly this escape from mere goodness into transcendent greatness. Consider the weather. In our scientific age, amidst the technological achievements of modernity, we have lost much of our reverence for and sense of helpless dependence on the weather. But imagine the sense of mastery and awe that must have overwhelmed the first people who pounded out an exuberant and desperate dance, in hopes of cajoling the sky god into bringing rain, when they were rewarded by an unexpected cloudburst an hour or a day later. Or the sense of awed gratitude and newfound power when a libation poured out on the ground seemed to deliver an abundant harvest. There must have been some such moments - how else would the rituals have become credible? — Andy Crouch

I was willing to be rejected. That's what allows you to be a good salesperson. You have to be willing to be rejected. — Atul Gawande

Do not always prove yourself to be the one in the right. The right will appear. You need only give it a chance. — Charles Henry Fowler

I poured some coffee into a mug that read: "I'm not gay, but my ex-boyfriend is," compliments of Peyton — Sandi Lynn

A woman once of some height, she is bent small, and the lingering strands of black look dirty in her white hair. She carries a cane, but in forgetfulness, perhaps, hangs it over her forearm and totters along with it dangling loose like an outlandish bracelet. Her method of gripping her gardener is this: he crooks his right arm, pointing his elbow toward her shoulder, and she shakily brings her left forearm up within his and bears down heavily on his wrist with her lumpish freckled fingers. Her hold is like that of a vine to a wall; one good pull will destroy it, but otherwise it will survive all weathers. — John Updike