Froemming Beer Quotes & Sayings

Learning history is easy; learning its lessons seems almost impossibly difficult. — Nicolas Bentley

True ahimsa lay in running into the mouth of himsa. — Mahatma Gandhi

There is only one way to come into this world; there are too many ways to leave it. — Donald Harington

Don't you think it astonishing that, at 58, I am still working at improving my career? — Placido Domingo

So good," he moans. "You feel so good. God, I love fucking you. Your body just begs to be fucked. — Karina Halle

We are betrayed by our maps of salience. They plot our narratives, identify our enemies and then coat them in distorting layer of loathing and dread. We feel that hunch - withdraw - and then conduct a post factum search for evidence that justifies it. We are motivated to fight our foes because we are emotional about them, but emotion is the territorial scent-mark of irrationality. — Will Storr

Senses disabled by fear. — Toba Beta

I sometimes wonder if our world leaders are very smart and just putting us on, or very stupid and mean it. — Mark Twain

My sexual nature is irrelevant. I'm an actor, I play roles, fragments of myself. — David Bowie

I do not tell you often enough, dear Mother, how very grateful I am that I am yours. It is a rare parent
who would offer a child such latitude and understanding. It is an even rarer one who calls a daughter
friend. I do love you, dear Mama. — Julia Quinn

Nothing in the world is so soft and pleasing to the touch, as the skin of a woman's thigh. No flower, feather or fabric, can match that velvet whisper of flesh. No matter how unequal they may be in any other ways, all women, old and young, fat and thin, beautiful and ugly, have that perfection. It's a great part of the reason why men hunger to possess women, and so often convince themselves that they do possess them: the thigh, that touch. — Gregory David Roberts

Her whole body tenses, heaves, tries to scream, and her eyes burn with tears of frustration and terror.
In the moonlit shadows of her bedroom, she hears a cat begin to purr.
Kara runs, shaking, out into the short corridor.
The cats are black and white, ginger and gray, fat and starved. They sit on tables, on chairs, on tatami mats. One sits so still beside a lamp that it looks carved from wood. She wants her father, wants to go into his room and wake him, but three of them sit, barring his door.
As one, they follow her with their eyes as Kara weaves through the living room.
As one, they hiss.
As one, they begin to follow, stalking her. — Thomas Randall