Veneno De Abeja Quotes & Sayings

But the justifications of the family farm are not merely agricultural; they are political and cultural as well. The question of the survival of the family farm and the farm family is one version of the question of who will own the country, which is, ultimately, the question of who will own the people. Shall the usable property of our country be democratically divided, or not? Shall the power of property be a democratic power, or not? If many people do not own the usable property, then they must submit to the few who do own it. They cannot eat or be sheltered or clothed except in submission. They will find themselves entirely dependent on money; they will find costs always higher, and money always harder to get. To renounce the principle of democratic property, which is the only basis of democratic liberty, in exchange for specious notions of efficiency or the economics of the so-called free market is a tragic folly. There — Wendell Berry

Hulkamania is like a single grain of sand in the Sahara desert that is Macho Madness. — Randy Savage

We see the surface, blue or silver or gray, and waves hitting the shore. But we know there's so much we can't see, so what we love about it becomes in part what we imagine it is hiding. — Shannon Hale

I get the idea,' said Mark though with an inward reservation that his present instinctive desire to batter the Professor's face into jelly would take a good deal of destroying. — C.S. Lewis

What kind of city are we living in, if we encourage the development or ownership of large, expensive properties for investment and land banking ... while people are sleeping on the streets? — Jeremy Corbyn

Nothing can prevent us from another day and night, and the myth of perpetual flight. — Bertrand Piccard

He that is down needs fear no fall. He that is low, no pride; He that is humble, ever shall have God to be his Guide. — John Bunyan

He stares at the cellist, and feels himself relax as the music seeps into him. He watches as the cellist's hair smoothes itself out, his beard disappears. A dirty tuxedo becomes clean, shoes polished bright as mirrors ... The building behind the cellist repairs itself. The scars of bullets and shrapnel are covered by plaster and paint, and windows reassemble, clarify and sparkle as the sun reflects off glass. The cobblestones of the road set themselves straight. Around him people stand up taller, their faces put on weight and colour. Clothes gain lost thread, brighten, smooth out their wrinkles. Kenan watches as his city heals itself around him. The cellist continues to play ... — Steven Galloway