Wydarzenia Polsat Quotes & Sayings

Your cold blood cannot be worked into a fever; your veins are full of ice water; but mine are boiling, and the sight of such chillness makes them dance. — Emily Bronte

The goals of American Christianity are often a nice marriage, children who don't swear, and good church attendance. Taking the words of Christ literally and seriously is rarely considered. — Francis Chan

I wondered quickly if I'd give my life so that a dragon could live. If someone offered me that deal, your life for the existence of dragons.I thought maybe yes, maybe no. — Dave Eggers

But all good things come to an end, often a sad angry miserable end. The cause for such an end can usually be whittled down to one of three things: money, sickness, love lost. — James Frey

Why is it that man desires to be made sad, beholding doleful and tragical things, which yet himself would by no means suffer? — Saint Augustine

The day's at end and there's nowhere to go,
Draw to the fire, even this fire is dying;
Get up and once again politely lying
Invite the ladies toward the mistletoe ... — Allen Tate

You'll learn, honey. Love can be the best thing in life. And it can be the worst. The absolute worst. — Clive Barker

When I write after dark the shades of evening scatter their purple through my prose. — Cyril Connolly

I'm so critical of myself. I'm actually really, really proud of the film. It's really cool to see a movie at Sundance because everybody is so supportive. — Giovanni Ribisi

The factor most ignored in discussing interstellar flight is the kinetic energy that must be invested in the ship to make its tons of matter move at a substantial fraction of the speed of light. — Barney Oliver

Good God, is the man a heathen?'

'Worse, a capitalist with pretensions of culture. — Melanie Jackson

You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, As full of grief as age; wretched in both. — William Shakespeare

Trees, their incremental gymnastics and noisy silence, are another wonder of Outside to me. — David Mitchell

At the Arrivals gate, we are greeted by a small crowd, watching us with hungry eyes or eyesockets. We drop our cargo on the floor: two mostly intact men, a few meaty legs, and a dismembered torso, all still warm. Call it leftovers. Call it takeout. Our fellow Dead fall on them and feast right there on the floor like animals. The life remaining in those cells will keep them from full-dying, but the Dead who don't hunt will never quite be satisfied. Like men at sea deprived of fresh fruit, they will wither in their deficiencies, weak and perpetually empty, because the new hunger is a lonely monster. It grudgingly accepts the brown meat and lukewarm blood, but what it craves is closeness, that grim sense of connection that courses between their eyes and ours in those final moments, like some dark negative of love. — Isaac Marion