Ezards Lighting Quotes & Sayings

They were terrified out of their wits, the devil knows why: they take you for a brigand and a spy. And the prosecutor has died of fright; the funeral is to-morrow. Won't you be there? — Nikolai Gogol

Ty: Your duffelbag is probably full of things you stole from the Institute.
Kit: It ... might be. What's that got to do with you, anyway? None of it's yours.
Ty: I want to solve crimes. To be a detective. But nobody here cares about that sort of thing. — Cassandra Clare

One person looks around and sees a universe created by a god who watches over its long unfurling, marking the fall of sparrows and listening to the prayers of his finest creation. Another person believes that life, in all its baroque complexity, is a chemical aberration that will briefly decorate the surface of a ball of rock spinning somewhere among a billion galaxies. And the two of them could talk for hours and find no great difference between one another, for neither set of beliefs make us kinder or wiser. — Mark Haddon

I've always called myself a writer/performer, not an actor because I basically write what I perform. — John Cleese

I think we are realising that governments can't govern us any more. — Antonio Banderas

We both know it is too tempting
to leave a trail wherever you go:
an echo into the dark screaming
'I was here, I was here and I took in
as much as I could. — Schuyler Peck

Even if the right to vote brought to women no better work, no better pay, no better conditions in any way, she should have itfor her own self-respect and to compel man's respect for her. — Susan B. Anthony

Our animals don't do drugs. Instead, we move them almost daily in a tightly choreographed ballet from pasture spot to pasture spot. — Joel Salatin

Belgium! name unromantic and unpoetic, yet name that whenever uttered has in my ear a sound, in my heart an echo, such as no other assemblage of syllables, however sweet or classic, can produce. Belgium! I repeat the word, now as I sit alone near midnight. It stirs my world of the past like a summons to resurrection; the graves unclose, the dead are raised; thoughts, feelings, memories that slept, are seen by me ascending from the clods
haloed most of them
but while I gaze on their vapoury forms, and strive to ascertain definitely their outline, the sound which wakened them dies, and they sink, each and all, like a light wreath of mist, absorbed in the mould, recalled to urns, resealed in monuments. — Charlotte Bronte

It is a thing to be regretted (and prevented, if possible) that a whole nation should be ruined for the pride and obstinacy of its princes, — Matthew Henry