Frederic Chopin Quotes
It's a huge Carthusian monastery, stuck down between rocks and sea, where you may imagine me, without white gloves or hair curling, as pale as ever, in a cell with such doors as Paris never had for gates. The cell is the shape of a tall coffin, with an enormous dusty vaulting, a small window... Bach, my scrawls and waste paper - silence - you could scream - there would still be silence. Indeed, I write to you from a strange place.
Quotes to Explore
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Growing up, I'd just be at home, playing tennis, spending my allowance on an ice-cream truck.
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'Bruce Lee' didn't work, and there were apprehensions about what the fans might say. People might have commented that Charan could have waited for some time before selecting me again. But that's what makes it a real achievement to me. People want to work with me because of the comfort level; nobody would work with you again otherwise.
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I knew on the day that I accepted my job at CNN that a ratings victory at 8 P.M. was going to be a formidable challenge. As I have been told over and over, this is the toughest time slot in cable news.
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It was a joy to be a part of the team that created Round The Horne. I was involved with the show at a time of my life when I was very happy., and that happiness overflowed into the scripts.
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If people want to find me, they can. They'll see a middle-aged woman wandering around the grocery store, looking to see what to buy for dinner.
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I think I might become a pescatarian. I love sushi, couldn't give it up.
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Democratic forms of government are vulnerable to mass prejudice, the so-called tyranny of the majority.
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Jazz infers a style, but creative music has a wider field and wider specification about it. We know it from people like Scott Joplin and on through Bessie Smith.
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Homicide is the best material I've had the chance to do.
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I don't think you can mix classical music and reggae. It's not possible. But some producer in, like, Norway is going to put it together.
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I remember hearing the song when I was 12 or 14 in - it must have been in Chicago, 'cause we didn't have a radio on the farm, and it was during the second World War. I had three brothers in that war who went overseas.
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To think is to destroy. The very process of thought indicates it for the same thought, as thinking is decomposing.
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Not a shred of evidence supports the existence of matriarchy anywhere in the world at any time. ... The matriarchy hypothesis, revived by American feminism, continues to flourish outside the university
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Many hooligans discover to their shame that they have scruples; they have roots and, greatest disadvantage of all, they have hope. The fathers superior of the order do not try to influence their children in Satan; they merely shake their heads in sorrow. They know that the apostate must work out his own damnation.
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In New Bethel, we take the word serious. We whip whores, we hang thieves, and we burn sorcerers.
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I believe that when Paul plants and Apollos waters, God gives the increase; and I have no patience with those who throw the blame on God when it belongs to themselves.
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People seem good while they are oppressed, but they only wish to become oppressors in their turn: life is nothing but a competition to be the criminal rather than the victim.
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Do you really want to be happy? You can begin by being appreciative of who you are and what you've got. Do you want to be really miserable? You can begin by being discontented.
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No hables mal de tus males a nadie, que hay culpas de tus males en todos.
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I hate a fellow whom pride or cowardice or laziness drives into a corner, and who does nothing when he is there but sit and growl. Let him come out as I do, and bark.
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shane: so is world war fifteen over out there? claire:i think so
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I lived in Paris for four years, so I am obsessed with pastries. Croissants, pain au chocolat, cakes, macarons, all of that!
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Look, stranger, on this island now The leaping light for your delight discovers, Stand stable here And silent be, That through the channels of the ear May wander like a river The swaying sound of the sea.
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It's a huge Carthusian monastery, stuck down between rocks and sea, where you may imagine me, without white gloves or hair curling, as pale as ever, in a cell with such doors as Paris never had for gates. The cell is the shape of a tall coffin, with an enormous dusty vaulting, a small window... Bach, my scrawls and waste paper - silence - you could scream - there would still be silence. Indeed, I write to you from a strange place.
