Kamyar Pahlavi Quotes & Sayings

Unfortunately, the mysterious gold does not come from the moon, but from the pocket of a blacksmith, or a nail-smith, or a cartwright, or a farrier, or a laborer, or a shipwright; in a word, from John Q. Citizen, who gives it now without receiving a grain more of iron than when he was paying ten francs. Thus, we can see at a glance that this very much alters the state of the case; for it is very evident that Mr. Protectionist's profit is compensated by John Q. Citizen's loss, and all that Mr. Protectionist can do with the pot of gold, for the encouragement of national labor, John Q. Citizen might have done himself. The stone has only been thrown upon one part of the lake, because the law has prevented it from being thrown upon another. — Frederic Bastiat

Viagra has instructions: 'Keep away from children' - what kind of man do you think I am? — Jimmy Carr

Every giver deserves a thank you for a big and small gift because giving is much more beyond friendship and relationship. — Euginia Herlihy

I dislike this waistcoat."
He raised his brows. "What's wrong with it?"
"You're still wearing it. — Erica Ridley

I will never sit down with Gerry Adams ... he'd sit with anyone. He'd sit down with the devil. In fact, Adams does sit down with the devil. — Ian Paisley

I like to use really basic or classic colors, things that people have seen over and over and over again. Primary colors, at least in photography, have been around a lot longer than neon colors and really vibrant purples, hot pinks. Red, blue, yellow, orange - because of Kodachrome and the way that things were produced I think that those colors stood out more than any others. — Alex Prager

Men come and go, but dust accumulates. — Terry Pratchett

No study is possible on the battlefield. — Ferdinand Foch

No sacred fane requires us to submit to insult. — Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

Then she did see it there - just a face, peering through the curtains, hanging in midair like a mask. A head-scarf concealed the hair and the glassy eyes stared inhumanly, but it wasn't a mask, it couldn't be. The skin had been powdered dead-white and two hectic spots of rouge centered on the cheekbones. It wasn't a mask. It was the face of a crazy old woman. Mary started to scream, and then the curtains parted further and a hand appeared, holding a butcher's knife. It was the knife that, a moment later, cut off her scream.
And her head. — Robert Bloch