Umanesimo Integrale Quotes & Sayings

When Bruce had used the word "brilliant" about Uncle Monty, he meant "having a reputation for cleverness or intelligence." But when the children used the word - and when they thought of it now, staring at the Reptile Room glowing in the moonlight - it meant more than that. It meant that even in the bleak circumstances of their current situation, even throughout the series of unfortunate events that would happen to them for the rest of their lives, Uncle Monty and his kindness would shine in their memories. Uncle Monty was brilliant, and their time with him was brilliant. Bruce and his men from the Herpetological Society could dismantle Uncle Monty's collection, but nobody could ever dismantle the way the Baudelaires would think of him. — Lemony Snicket

Making money is art. And working is art. And good business is the best art. — Andy Warhol

A wicked curve appears on his lips. No, you're wrong. I'm allowed to say whatever I want. What I'm not allowed to do is what I want. — Alex Rosa

I don't think that they know fully what's happening with Miss Match so therefore I don't know how many more if any, if the show's even gonna keep going. — Charisma Carpenter

The wise are not so much wiser than others as respecters of their own wisdom. — Henry David Thoreau

Eleanor," he said, just because he liked saying it, "why do you like me?"
"I don't like you."
He waited. And waited ...
Then he started to laugh. "You're kind of mean," he said.
"Don't laugh. It just encourages me. — Rainbow Rowell

I consider myself as a singer first, but something that really helped me come into my own is that there's not a separation between me singing and me playing the guitar. The two fed off the other. — Shawn Colvin

Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it in summer school — Josh Stern

Let us guess that whenever we read a sentence & like it, we unconsciously store it away in our model-chamber; & it goes, with the myriad of its fellows, to the building, brick by brick, of the eventual edifice which we call our style. — Mark Twain

Then I catch myself and listlessly wonder again for which of my sins I am being punished. I am sick to death of this wound that will not close; of how my babyish heart mistakes any simple kindness from a woman for a breadcrumb trail leading to the soft love of a mother or the fond approval of a grandmother. I am tired of carrying this dull orphan-pain, for though it has lost its power to surprise, every season it still reaps its harvest of hurt. — Hope Jahren