Quotes About California

They were standing at the top of a mountain, on a wide patch of flat land. Far below lay a vast swath of farmland, fields of green. Great rectangles of brown, newly tilled earth. "California," Ant said. Elsa had never seen land so beautiful. So fertile. So green. California. The Golden State.

Sixty miles north of Los Angeles.

The good, God-fearing folk of California don't care about a baby's life, I guess.

But what other place on Earth has been more congenial to believers and promoters of mad dreams and schemes of so many kinds? California is America squared.

One victim was sixteen-year-old John Steinbeck. The future author of The Grapes of Wrath returned home from his Californian school one day looking 'pale and dizzy

Snow White gets a Social Security card. She gets a job building houses out in California. Picks oranges.

April 21, 2007, at Duke University in Durham, North Carolina, at Electronic Techtonics: Thinking at the Interface, the first international HASTAC conference; and on May 11, 2007, at the University of California's Humanities Research Institute (UCHRI), in Irvine, California.

Miller University of California, Riverside, Professor and Chair, Media & Cultural Studies Christopher Newfield University of California, Santa Barbara, Professor, English Department, Innovation Working Group, Center for

In areas of California, once regarded as highly desirable, overcrowding has become so bad that in a recent survey about a third of the Californians said they'd rather be living in some other state.

Only the mascarpone and the ladyfingers in this lemony dessert give a nod to a traditional tiramisù, but my California spin on this beloved dessert is just as addictive. I think lemon makes everything taste a bit lighter (so I can eat more without feeling weighed down!), and the hazelnuts add a delicate flavor and lots of crunch. So while no one will mistake this for the original, I promise it will make anyone you serve it to very, very happy.

In 2006 I had begun the discernment process for locating my rightful geographic home. By the time my corporate pink slip arrived I had spent two years researching and taking recon trips to five different cities in southern California. Having crossed them off my list, in February 2008 I visited Sarasota, Florida, at the urging of a friend who winters in a neighboring town. Though Florida had never been on my radar, only minutes in Sarasota I knew I'd found home.

You know you live in Phoenix when you are willing to park three blocks away because you actually found shade from a palm tree imported 300 miles from California and nurtured with water piped 250 miles from Nevada.

Once, Colin Forbes went on the trail of a shadowy character who had trussed, robbed, then killed a Vine Street tailor, leaving behind only the heelprint of a cowboy's boot on his victim's forehead. It took him two years, but he traced the boot to Texas and then found the murderer in an Army camp right in California.

When I finally caught up with Abraham Trahearne, he was drinking beer with an alcoholic bulldog named Fireball Roberts in a ramshackle joint just outside of Sonoma, California, drinking the heart right out of a fine spring afternoon.

This was the place, the place I would have come on my own wandering binge, come here and lodged like a marble in a crack, this place, a haven for California Okies and exiled Texans, a home for country folk lately dispossessed, their eyes so empty of hope that they reflect hot, windy plains, spare, almost Biblical sweeps of horizon broken only by the spines of an orphaned rocking chair, and beyond this, clouded with rage, the reflections of orange groves and ax handles.

In 1935, the Los Angeles Police Department, via mayoral directive, sends a battalion of police officers to the Nevada border to stop hitchhikers, primarily Mexican nationals, from entering the state of California. They return after four days and report that they were unable to stem the flow of immigration.

By the time Carl was four, Feynman was actively lobbying against a first-grade science book proposed for California schools. It began with pictures of a mechanical wind-up dog, a real dog, and a motorcycle, and for each the same question: "What makes it move?" The proposed answer—"Energy makes it move"—enraged him.

My uncle who helped in a big part of raising me from when I was young, had moved from California, and would just tell me these legendary stories of these motorcycle clubs that he was around and that he used to ride with.

When I was a kid I had a ball in San Francisco because my Uncle Lou was a gripman on the California cable car line.

The uncomfortable reality we must face is that California, like the nation as a whole, has treated generations of African Americans and Latinos as largely disposable.

To say that people would cease to come to California if they would have to pay more taxes is to underestimate the advantages of being in California - mightily.

As an undergraduate at Columbia, I went to the engineering school. I had a great deal of training in engineering and mathematics as well as subdiversified training. And then I went to the California Institute of Technology to do my Ph.D. in applied math.

Most analysts would agree that if all the undocumented immigrants in California were deported in one day, our state would experience a severe economic downturn. This does not even consider the many cultural and spiritual gifts these immigrants bring to our state and nation.

I like owning dirt. You know, I spent a lot of time broke when I moved to California. So deep in my soul is still this idea of being unemployed. To me, owning land means you could sell it at some point and have money.