Goldcamp Voortent Quotes & Sayings

How can you save the world you have not seen if you can't save the community you have seen? — Pete Seeger

History has shown that Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg did, in fact, dramatically change the balance of the court in many critical areas, such as abortion, the privacy debate expansion and child pornography. — Sam Brownback

Love is an ever-fixed mark. Be my ever-fixed mark. Be my north star. — C.D. Reiss

Seems like the only kind of job an American can get these days is committing suicide in some way. — Kurt Vonnegut

Sometimes I think together we are the worst kind of calamity." Thayer grinned back. Severine's lips burned. "Then I've never wanted to be destroyed so bad. — Calia Read

Dip a slice of bread in batter. That's September: yellow, gold, soft and sticky. Fry the bread. Now you have October: chewier, drier, streaked with browns. The day in question fell somewhere in the middle of the french toast process. — Tom Robbins

Love make us a liar. Jace Wayland/Herondale, City of Ashes — Cassandra Clare

That July, on a flight to the Republican convention in Detroit which nominated him as the party's presidential candidate, Ronald Reagan had chatted with his political guru, Stuart Spencer: 'Spencer asked the question all political pros learn to ask their candidates early on. "Why are you doing this, Ron? Why do you want to be President?" Without a moment's hesitation Reagan answered, "To end the Cold War. — Charles Moore

Why, if one wants to compare life to anything, one must liken it to being blown through the Tube at fifty miles an hour
landing at the other end without a single hairpin in one's hair! Shot out at the feet of God entirely naked! Tumbling head over heels in the asphodel meadows like brown paper parcels pitched down a shoot in the post office! With one's hair flying back like the tail of a race-horse. Yes, that seems to express the rapidity of life, the perpetual waste and repair; all so casual, all so haphazard ...
But after life. The slow pulling down of thick green stalks so that the cup of the flower, as it turns over, deluges one with purple and red light. Why, after all, should one not be born there as one is born here, helpless, speechless, unable to focus one's eyesight, groping at the roots of the grass, at the toes of the Giants? — Virginia Woolf