Quotes 5201 till 5220 of 5709.
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Well, everybody faces the fact there really aren't many records stores around to just go and browse. Maybe browse online, yet that tactile feel of flipping through a stack of vinyl remains one of life's simple pleasures.
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Well, I don't know, but I've been told the streets in heaven are lined with gold. I ask you how things could get much worse if the Russians happen to get up there first; Wowee! pretty scary!
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Well, now there's a remedy for everything except death.
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Well, the first thing that clued me in to the fact that there was something really scary about breast cancer, way beyond the thought of dying, was coming across an ad in the newspaper for pink breast cancer teddy bears. I am not that afraid of dying, but I am terrified of dying with a pink teddy bear under my arm.
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Well, the teacher I studied with for nineteen and a half years was a man named Paul Gavert. He was a great lieder singer, so basically I'm a trained lieder singer because of that teacher. The teacher I currently study with - since 1995 - is Joan Lader, who also studied with Gavert.
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Well, there are conjoined twins in real life and we can tell a story about them so long as they're not the brunt of the jokes. In this, they're the heroes of this story; we love these guys.
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Well, there IS a good deal to be said for blushing, if one can do it at the proper moment.
A Woman of No Importance (1893) -
Well, there's a remedy for all things but death, which will be sure to lay us flat one time or other.
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Were there none who were discontented with what they have, the world would never reach anything better.
Florence Nightingale
English social reformer, founder of modern nursing and statistician (1820 - 1910) -
What a strange thing is the propagation of life! A bubble of seed which may be spilt in a whore's lap, or in the orgasm of a voluptuous dream, might (for aught we know) have formed a Caesar or a Bonaparte - there is nothing remarkable recorded of their sires, that I know of.
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What are you going to do with astronauts who first reach the surface of Mars and then turn around and rocket back home-ward? What are they going to do, write their memoirs? Would they go again? Having them repeat the voyage, in my view, is dim-witted. Why don't they stay there on Mars?
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What better is there to sigh for than happiness, yesterday's or tomorrow's.
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What breadth, what beauty and power of human nature and development there must be in a woman to get over all the palisades, all the fences, within which she is held captive!
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What childishness is it that while there's breath of life in our bodies, we are determined to rush to see the sun the other way around?
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What difference is there between us, save a restless dream that follows my soul but fears to come near you?
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What difference is there, do you think, between those in Plato's cave who can only marvel at the shadows and images of various objects, provided they are content and don't know what they miss, and the philosopher who has emerged from the cave and sees the real things?
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What happiness is there which is not purchased with more or less of pain?
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What I am interested in now is the landscape. Pictures without people. I wouldn't be surprised if eventually there are no people in my pictures. It is so emotional.
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