Materiales Del Quotes & Sayings

If they were starting their careers today, Rockwell and Picasso would probably both be painting on black velvet. — Brad Holland

When I get married, I want to be really married — Audrey Hepburn

In the past, people said I wasn't focused and didn't give it the time. That's a bunch of crap. I'm not doing anything different now than I did before. — Buddy Rice

Reason refuseth its homage to a God who can be fully understood. — Martin Farquhar Tupper

I hold the view that death is rather like changing one's clothes when they are torn and old. It is not an end in itself. Yet death is unpredictable-you do not know when and howT it will take place. — Dalai Lama

Pulped in his crushing strength, his hug is enough to smear me over his body like war paint. — Poppet

In ancient times before the divine sojourn of the Savior took place, even to the saints death was terrible; all wept for the dead as though they perished. But now that the Savior has raised his body, death is no longer terrible; for all who believe in Christ trample on it as it were nothing and choose rather to die than deny their faith in Christ. And that devil that once maliciously exulted in death, now that its pains were loosed, remained the only one truly dead. — Athanasius Of Alexandria

Whether you take a doughnut hole as a blank space or as an entity unto itself is a purely metaphysical question and does not affect the taste of the doughnut in the slightest bit. — Haruki Murakami

Tolstoy had 13 kids and still wrote War & Peace. — Steven Pressfield

When we attend to someone who greets us, it is not to require confirmation, attestation, certification of our identity. To respond to someone who greets us is to drop our concerns and thoughts, and expose ourselves to her. It is to expose ourselves to questioning and judgment. Simply responding to her greeting is to recognize her rights over us. Each time we enter into conversation we expose ourselves to being altered or emptied out, emptied of our convictions, our expectations, our memories. — Alphonso Lingis