Quotes About Quote

Socialism is the epithet they have hurled at every advance the people have made," President Harry Truman observed. It was "what they called public power…

There is probably no more obnoxious class of citizen, taken end for end, than the returning vacationist.

So I had this problem -- work or starve. So I thought I'd combine the two and decided to become a writer.

I haven't had this much fun since the rats ate my baby sister

For Wales? Why Richard, it profit a man nothing to give his soul for the whole world. . . but for Wales!

Your taste in music is excellent. It exactly coinsides with my own!

Anyway, the above must serve as my explanation and apology for treating Thomas More, a Christian Saint, as a hero of selfhood.

Rose Goodhall is simply the sweetest, most down to Earth model I've ever had the joy of working with on any project.

Recalling days of sadness, memories haunt me. Recalling days of happiness, I haunt my memories.

We lack resolve and blame fate, mistaking the drift for the tides.

As I may or may not say to the Lord on Judgment Day, "You ask a lot of questions for someone who has so much explaining to do."

Nothing more inelegant and ineffective than an art conceived in another art's form.

The Savior at his sermon on the mount,Saint Praxed in a glory, and one PanReady to twitch the Nymph's last garment off.

Critics! Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame.

Lay the proud usurpers low!Tyrants fall in every foe!Liberty's in every blow!Let us do or die!

His locked, lettered, braw brass collarShowed him the gentleman an' scholar.

An' there began a lang digressionAbout the lords o' the creation.

He wales a portion with judicious care;And "Let us worship God" he says, with solemn air.

There's nought but care on ev'ry han',In every hour that passes, O:What signifies the life o' man,An' 't were nae for the lasses, O.

Before the morn ye'll work mischief:'' Indeed will I,'' quo' Findlay. -?? ??? ?? ???? ??????. -??? ???? - ???? ??????.

Critics! Appalled I ventured on the name. Those cutthroat bandits in the paths of fame.

I found that old Solomon proved it fair, That a big-belly'd bottle's a cure for all care.

A gaudy dress and gentle air May slightly touch the heart; But it's innocence and modesty That polishes the dart.

Here's freedom to him who would read; Here's freedom to him who would write; None ever feared that the truth should be heard, But them that the truth would indict.