Rosa Bianca Winery Quotes & Sayings

Between normality and madness, which are basically the same thing, there exists an intermediary stage: it is called "being different." And people were becoming more and more afraid of "being different. — Paulo Coelho

I wrote a song at age five about algae on the pond by our house, then the next 'real' song was in fifth grade about an unrequited crush. — Greta Salpeter

Three hundred and fifty years ago, Shulgin notes, the Church proclaimed, "The earth is the center of the universe, and anyone who says otherwise is a heretic." Today, the government proclaims, "All drugs that can expand consciousness are without medical or social justification, and anyone who uses them is a criminal." In Galileo's time, the authorities said, "We do not need to actually look through that mysterious contraption." Now the government says, "There is no need to actually taste those mysterious compounds." In the past, the Church said, "How dare you claim that the earth is not the center of the universe?" Today the government says, "How dare you claim that an understanding of God is to be found in a white powder? — Daniel Pinchbeck

When he was taken to the hospital in South Carolina, his blood sugar was 1,680 mg/dL. — Bob Halloran

I think that each character has fascinated and interested me enough to want to play him. — Derek Jacobi

You've got to have something to eat, and a little love in your life before you can hold still for any damn body's sermon on how to behave. — Billie Holiday

They are longing for a war with Iran. Iran is no more a harm to us than was Iraq or Afghanistan. They invented an enemy, they tell lies, lies, lies. The New York Times goes along with their lies, lies, lies. And they don't stop. When the public that's lied to 30 times a day it's apt to believe the lies, is not it? — Gore Vidal

Look at the four-spaced year
That imitates four seasons of our lives;
First Spring, that delicate season, bright with flowers,
Quickening, yet shy, and like a milk-fed child,
Its way unsteady while the countryman
Delights in promise of another year.
Green meadows wake to bloom, frail shoots and grasses,
And then Spring turns to Summer's hardiness,
The boy to manhood. There's no time of year
Of greater richness, warmth, and love of living,
New strength untried. And after Summer, Autumn,
First flushes gone, the temperate season here
Midway between quick youth and growing age,
And grey hair glinting when the head turns toward us,
Then senile Winter, bald or with white hair,
Terror in palsy as he walks alone. — Ovid