Lungwort Quotes & Sayings

A great measure of a man is how he reacts to a midnight awakening when there's no fire or burglar in sight. — Kate Jacobs

If I said that I couldn't live without Tom, it wouldn't be true. Of course I can live without him. It's just that it isn't going to be much fun. — Anna Maxted

She had so much love to give - she had always felt that - and now there was somebody to whom she could give this love, and that, she knew, was good; for that is what redeems us, that is what makes our pain and sorrow bearable - this giving of love to others, this sharing of the heart. — Alexander McCall Smith

Everybody loves classical music they just don't know about it yet. — Benjamin Zander

I saw music as a way to entertain people and take them away from their daily lives and put smiles on their faces, as opposed to what I see it being now, which is a way for me to actually communicate, and a way for me to tap into my subconscious. — Alanis Morissette

Your mind is like a sponge, in the sense that it would come in handy when cleaning off a countertop or something like that. — Demetri Martin

Oh, to survive
thirty-seven years on just a particle of dew!
To need exactly nothing. To sprout
weapons from your own fibrous flesh.
To bloody those
who hover in to feed you.

From, "Nature Conservancy, Spring — Kristen McHenry

The theologian can ask far profounder questions because he knows more about God; by that same knowledge he knows that there are depths that he will never know. But to see why one cannot know more is itself a real seeing; there is a way of seeing the darkness which is a kind of light. — Frank Sheed

My mother always said that if you do the right thing, the universe comes to your aid, — Richard Paul Evans

Why wear white? It's like, forget about dropping something on it. I don't understand how anybody wears white. — Mindy Kaling

Take from my palms, to soothe your heart,
a little honey, a little sun,
in obedience to Persephone's bees.
You can't untie a boat that was never moored,
nor hear a shadow in its furs,
nor move through thick life without fear.
For us, all that's left is kisses
tattered as the little bees
that die when they leave the hive.
Deep in the transparent night they're still humming,
at home in the dark wood on the mountain,
in the mint and lungwort and the past.
But lay to your heart my rough gift,
this unlovely dry necklace of dead bees
that once made a sun out of honey. — Osip Mandelstam

I don't allow myself to doubt myself even for a moment. — Leo Tolstoy