Habituales Sinonimos Quotes & Sayings

I'll come back to George Washington just long enough to say goodbye to him. He was a great man and a good man, and when his work was over as our great first president, he went back home to Virginia for his long-earned rest. Just three years later, on December 14, 1799, at the age of sixty-seven, he went to his final rest. As — Harry Truman

Science differs from politics or religion, in precisely this one discipline: we agree in advance to simply reject our own findings when they have been shown to be in error. — Robert Pollack

There is a sufficiency in the world for man's need but not for man's greed. — Mahatma Gandhi

We were jigsawed, meant to fit together, making a whole picture. — Alix Ohlin

I'm going to take myself somewhere my intellect is appreciated. Xbox Live. Goodnight, ladies. — Tessa Bailey

If you're somebody who writes songs or writes fiction, a writer that people pay for your opinion in any way, you shouldn't be the least bit uncomfortable giving it to them. People want songwriters to tell them how they think and how they feel. That's what a song is. That's what I want to hear in a song. — Jason Isbell

Never let something important become urgent — Eliyahu M. Goldratt

A great mix of tips, tricks, and anecdotes, All is Forgiven, Move On has excellent ideas for your weight loss journey and for improving your life along the way! — Judith S. Beck

A moment of anger can result in years of sorrow. — Matshona Dhliwayo

I don't just want
your heart
I want your flesh,
your skin
and blood and bones,
your voice, your thoughts
your pulse
and most of all your
fingerprints,
everywhere. — Isobel Thrilling

you're wrong, you will suffer for it. If you're right, you will find happiness. You have to be the one to decide. "Who are you to know?" It's your future at stake. You have to know. Freedom comes only from seeing the ignorance of your critics and discovering the emptiness of their virtue. - David Seabury — Harry Browne

Somewhere in the garden a nightingale was singing, and a little breeze touched her hair and stirred the leaves overhead. All the different bells of the city chimed, once each, this one high, that one low, some close by, others farther off, one cracked and peevish, another grave and sonorous, but agreeing in all their different voices on what the time was, even if some of them got to it a little more slowly than others. In that other Oxford where she and Will had kissed good-bye, the bells would be chiming, too, and a nightingale would be singing, and a little breeze would be stirring the leaves in the Botanic Garden ... — Philip Pullman