Leonilda Deleon Quotes & Sayings

The authority of a belief imposed by religion surely destroys the discovery of reality.One relies on authority because one is afraid to stand alone. — Jiddu Krishnamurti

Ever since World War I, superior force is no longer measured in terms of men or horses, but in the means to wreak destruction. — Saul David

The attention is to be kept pure. — Nirmala Srivastava

Remember, Lady Godiva put all she had on a horse and she lost her shirt! — W.C. Fields

We roared. We were one big animal throat, roaring. — Cory Doctorow

I'd trusted in my own strength about so many things. I realized God delights in using the weak and fearful. — Colleen Coble

I got a poster from Columbia Records, and there's Miles Davis, Charlie Mingus, Ellington, Count Basie - everybody in that poster has died, I'm the only one left. And great players like Paul Desmond and Gerry Mulligan, it's hard to believe they're gone because we were all so close. But I believe in the future and the tradition will go on. — Dave Brubeck

I shall tell you a truth ... your lips taste of sweet ripened berries. I should be so forward as to take them in degust. And if it cannot be so, then I shall kneel until that day in purgatory. — Nely Cab

I return my tax bill without paying it. My reason for doing so is that women suffer taxation yet have not representation. — Lucy Stone

We cannot conceive of a greater difference than between the life of one man and that of another. — Henry David Thoreau

He'd unbuttoned his shirt so the night breeze would soothe him; his body always ran too hot. The blood. Too hot. The large, gold crucifix on his neck, dangling to his thick chest hairs, caught there, and winked in the candlelight. His childhood prayers. For food. Warmth. His beloved mother. That the cruelty of his father. Stop. No more. Beatings. He never. Stopped. Beating her. Mama. [...] Pompeii remembered - like tuning into a clear TV channel - his mother's gentle face. Her fingertips on his boy's face, calming him to sleep. The sound of his father's drunken entrance, when she would hold her breath, stop stroking his boy face. — Alma Luz Villanueva