Swathes Of Land Quotes & Sayings

Going to church doesn't change anything - Jesus does, and he works through his Word and his people. — J.A. Medders

I just figure if it has my name on it, and I want to make people feel good about wearing it, I can't pass it off. — Melissa McCarthy

Enough. Man is capable of reform once presented with the facts, and the fact is that bottling water and shipping it is a big waste of fuel, so stop already. — Garrison Keillor

It's the idea of a multi-sensory experience stemming from music that opened my interest into painting, to be honest. — Serj Tankian

People, in general, tend to project onto others their own state of mind. Well-meaning people inevitably assume other people are well meaning. People who cheat assume everyone cheats. People who deceive assume everybody deceives.
Confessions of a Whistle-Blower: Lessons Anna C. Salter. Ethics & Behavior, Volume 8, Issue 2 June 1998 — Anna C. Salter

The harder a man feels compelled to be, the weaker his ego is. And then we do a much greater disservice to girls, because we raise them to cater to the fragile egos of males. We — Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

I looked at myself in the mirror and didn't like what I saw. — Andre Gide

The reason the Forest Service builds these roads, quite apart from the deep pleasure of doing noisy things in the woods with big yellow machines, is to allow private timber companies to get to previously inaccessible stands of trees. Of the Forest Service's 150 million acres of loggable land, about two-thirds is held in store for the future. The remaining one-third - 49 million acres, or an area roughly twice the size of Ohio - is available for logging. It allows huge swathes of land to be clear-cut, — Bill Bryson

Everyone agrees.
The dead singers have the best voices.
At four o'clock in the morning
the dead singers have the best voices. — Franz Wright

Where shall he find, in foreign land,
So lone a lake, so sweet a strand!
There is no breeze upon the fern,
No ripple on the lake,
Upon her eyry nods the erne,
The deer has sought the brake;
The small birds will not sing aloud,
The springing trout lies still,
So darkly glooms yon thunder-cloud,
That swathes, as with a purple shroud — Walter Scott