Powder Horn Quotes & Sayings

All this [Soviet labor camp for political prisoners] brings about one marked change in your physical appearance; by the end of your first year, you will have what are known as 'zek's eyes.' The look in a zek's eyes is impossible to describe, but once encountered, it is never forgotten. When you emerge, your friends, embracing you, will exclaim: 'Your eyes! Your eyes have changed!' And not one of your tormentors will be able to bear your scrutiny. They will turn away from it, like beaten dogs. — Irina Ratushinskaya

We ain't anything more than a name and some likes and some distastes, and a story we tell about ourselves.'
And what others say about us. — M T Anderson

Only buy something that you'd be perfectly happy to hold if the market shut down for 10 years. — Warren Buffett

If you're not adventurous,, you're not really living, I think ... especially in college. — Spencer Grammer

If we do not hang together, we shall surely hang separately. — Benjamin Franklin

If we can't alter the tide of events, at least we can be nearby with towels to mop up. — Peter David

Mindfulness is the ability to do physical things in a harmonious way; it is a way to remain centered in a physical world that is out of balance. — Frederick Lenz

If nothing else, now we knew where to find each other, even if only time would tell if either of us would ever come looking. — Sarah Dessen

A man who dies without adequate life insurance should
have to come back and see the mess he created. — Will Rogers

When you lose a person you love so much, surviving the loss is difficult. — Cristiano Ronaldo

I've had a life that has taken many interesting paths. I've learned a lot from mentors who were instrumental in shaping me, and I want to share what I've learned. — Herbie Hancock

It is notorious that the desire to live increases as life itself shortens. — Santiago Ramon Y Cajal

A huge fireplace and Dutch oven of fieldstone filled one wall. Over them hung a long muzzle-loading rifle, powder horn, and bullet pouch. On the mantel were candle molds, a coffee mill, an iron and trivet, and a rusty kettle. An iron cauldron, big enough to boil a missionary in, swung at the end of a long arm in the fireplace, and below it, like so many black offspring, were a cluster of small pots. A wooden butter churn held the door open, and clusters of Indian corn hung from the molding at aesthetic intervals. A colonial scythe stood in one corner, and two Boston rockers on a hooked rug faced the cold fireplace, where the unwatched pot never boiled. Paul — Kurt Vonnegut Jr.