Quaking Trees Quotes & Sayings

I think remixes give songs more life. — Big Boi

He wanted to be respectable rather than powerful; he did not want the controversy that went with power. — David Halberstam

So now, how did God produce this world? ... The fable is that he breathed upon us. In his breath, his wind, came moisture and things began to grow ... a message of hope. Nothing physical. How do you intend for your breath to become a work of art? The only way I can see it is that you prevent your breath from becoming a structure. As soon as your breath takes on the form of a room, you are a carpenter; you're not God. — Milton Resnick

I have spoken to many parents who feared they were producing little hypocrites who were proud and self-righteous. Hypocrisy and self-righteousness is the result of giving children a keepable law and telling them to be good. To the extent they are successful, they become like the Pharisees ... The genius of Phariseeism was that it reduced the law to a keepable standard of externals that any self-disciplined person could do. In their pride and self-righteousness, they rejected Christ. — Tedd Tripp

A prig always finds a last refuge in responsibility. — Jean Cocteau

I spy something green," Sally announced.
"Trees," Crina hollered, while Mariana called out, "Grass,"
"Nope," Sally answered.
"What's the point of this game again?" Crina asked.
"Mindless entertainment," Jen announced. "It's what Americans are known for. — Quinn Loftis

I think I'm more prolific in the songwriting. — Ringo Starr

You ask yourself: where are your dreams now? And you shake your head and say how swiftly the years fly by! And you ask yourself again: what have you done with your best years, then? Where have you buried the best days of your life? Have you lived or not? Look, you tell yourself, look how cold the world is becoming. The years will pass and after them will come grim loneliness, and old age, quaking on its stick, and after them misery and despair. Your fantasy world will grow pale, your dreams will fade and die, falling away like the yellow leaves from the trees ... Ah, Nastenka! Will it not be miserable to be left alone, utterly alone, and have nothing even to regret - nothing, not a single thing ... because everything I have lost was nothing, stupid, a round zero, all dreaming and no more! — Fyodor Dostoyevsky

You don't see no city when you look at me cause country's all I am. I love runnin' barefoot through the old cornfields and I love that country ham. Well you say I'm made just to fit your plans but there's a barnyard shovel pick your hands. If your eyes are on me you're lookin' at country. — Loretta Lynn

I realized I was more convincing to myself and to the people who were listening when I actually said what I thought, versus what I thought people wanted to hear me say. — Ursula Burns

He's worked his entire life and he's never lived a single moment, I mean not a moment, in the real world. — Katharine Hepburn

She undoes a clasp on her golden gown and it falls to the floor. She's beautiful. The half of her that's covered in skin. The rest looks like Thanksgiving leftovers a couple of days past their prime. — Richard Kadrey

In other words, the process of observation determines the final state of the electron. — Michio Kaku

I think people who don't know the woods very well sometimes imagine it as a kind of undifferentiated mass of greenery, an endless continuation of the wall of trees they see lining the road. And I think they wonder how it could hold anyone's interest for very long, being all so much the same. But in truth I have a list of a hundred places in my own town I haven't been yet. Quaking bogs to walk on; ponds I've never seen in the fall (I've seen them in the summer - but that's a different pond). That list gets longer every year, the more I learn, and doubtless it will grow until the day I die. So many glades; so little time. — Bill McKibben

She believed in the miraculous. Or she had, until she reached an age when, all of a sudden, she realized that the life she was living, was in fact, her life. The clay of her being, so long infinitely malleable, had been formed, hardened into what now seemed a palpable, unchanging object. A shell she inhabited. It shocked her then. It shocked her now, like a slap in the face. — Robert Goolrick