Sprite Drink Quotes & Sayings

There is always a way — Joe Abercrombie

I like Sprite a lot, but I try not to drink it. My mom doesn't want me to drink Sprite because it's unhealthy. So she always has me drink water, but it's hard not to! — Maddie Ziegler

We call ours a utilitarian age, and we do not know the uses of any single thing. We have forgotten that water can cleanse, that fire can purify, and that the Earth is mother to us all. — Oscar Wilde

It is a constant of history that nations which start wars find it very hard to stop them. — Max Hastings

Being in music forever, I have good pitch, so I know when I'm singing in or out of tune. But the key to really good singing is just relaxing and thinking about what the song is. — John Tesh

I consider myself a reasonable man. As such, I tend to expect others to behave with a modicum of reason and common sense. Especially those with power. — Peter Horton

On my days off, I love denim cut off shorts with gladiator sandals and crop tops. — Kat Graham

Pain, which is the feeling of our finiteness, is not a fixture in our life. It is not an end in itself, as joy is. To meet with it is to know that it has no part in the true permanence of creation. It is what error is in our intellectual life. To go through the history of the development of science is to go through the maze of mistakes it made current at different times. Yet no one really believes that science is the one perfect mode of disseminating mistakes. The progressive ascertainment of truth is the important thing to remember in the history of science, not its innumerable mistakes. Error, by its nature, cannot be stationary; it cannot remain with truth; like a tramp, it must quit its lodging as soon as it fails to pay its score to the full. — Rabindranath Tagore

Beer is fine," I said.
"For now." Adam waited as I put in my order. "You'll need something stiffer after Mike really starts getting to you."
"Oh, he's getting to me," I said, as the bartender brought my beer. "Usually, I drink Sprite. — Diana Peterfreund

Now shame is the only direct attack on conceit, the defensive image of oneself. Conceit is the common denominator of the Organization man, the hipster, and the juvenile delinquent-this is why I have been lumping them together. The conceited image of the self is usually not quite conscious, but it is instantly woundable; and people protect it with a conformity to their peers (oneself is superior). But the conceited groups differ in their methods of confirming and enhancing conceit: the juvenile delinquent by surly and mischievous destructiveness of the insulting privileged outgroup; the hipster by making fools of them with token performances; the Organization Man by status and salary. To his inner idol, they sacrifice the ingenuous exhibition and self-expression that could make them great, effective, or loved in the world; but that can also be shamed if it is mistaken, out of place, or disproportionate. — Paul Goodman

Nobody asks to be a hero, it just sometimes turns out that way. — Black Hawk

Come boy, and pour for me a cup
Of old Falernian. Fill it up
With wine, strong, sparkling, bright, and clear;
Our host decrees no water here.
Let dullards drink the Nymph's pale brew,
The sluggish thin their blood with dew.
For such pale stuff we have no use;
For us the purple grape's rich juice.
Begone, ye chilling water sprite;
Here burning Bacchus rules tonight! — Catullus

Reasonable and vicious are quite consistent with each other, in fact, only through their union are great and far-reaching crimes possible — Arthur Schopenhauer

She stopped for the duration of a glance around her, as if to recapture the place, but there was no recognition of persons in her eyes, the glance merely swept through the room, as if making a swift inventory of physical objects. — Ayn Rand

Two musicians could play the same notes and sound entirely different. Intonation was everything. — Liane Moriarty

A long suburb of red brick houses -some with patches of garden-ground, where coal-dust and factory smoke darkened the shrinking leaves, and coarse rank flowers, and where the struggling vegetation sickened and sank under the hot breath of kiln and furnace.
On mounds of ashes by the wayside, sheltered only by a few rough boards, or rotten pent-house roofs, strange engines spun and writhed like tortured creatures; clanking their iron chains, shrieking in their rapid whirl from time to time as though in torment unendurable, and making the ground tremble with their agonies.
Dismantled houses here and there appeared, tottering to the earth, propped up by fragments of others that had fallen down, unroofed, windowless, blackened, desolate, but yet inhabited. Men, women, children, wan in their looks and ragged in attire, tended the engines, fed their tributary fire, begged upon the road, or scowled half-naked from the doorless houses. — Charles Dickens

Do you always drink Sprite?" I asked.
"Yeah, why?"
"I want to buy some for when you visit my place."
Bailey grinned like I had told her she won the lottery. If she kept smiling at me that way, I didn't think my ego could fit into the restaurant much longer. — Bijou Hunter