Cold Quotes
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The '60s are my favorite decade - with the Cold War, the women's movement. And then there's the music, the fashion, the clothes, the hair.
Margot Robbie
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Where do those golden rainbows end? Why is this song so sad? Dreaming the dreams I've dreamed my friend Loving the love I love To love is just a word I've heard when things are being said Stories my poor head has told me cannot stand the cold And in between what might have been and what has come to pass A misbegotten guess alas and bits of broken glass…
James Taylor
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Suggested remedy for the common cold: A good gulp of whiskey at bedtime-it's not very scientific, but it helps.
Alexander Acosta
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Clear, unscaleable ahead, Rise the mountains of instead From whose cold, cascading streams None may drink except in dreams
W. H. Auden
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The Opera was a very cold film, a hopeless and dark film, no hope, no love.
Dario Argento
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When we speak of the commerce with our American colonies, fiction lags after truth, invention is unfruitful, and imagination cold and barren.
Edmund Burke
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Stop a minute, right where you are. Relax your shoulders, shake your head and spine like a dog shaking off cold water. Tell that imperious voice in your head to be still.
Barbara Kingsolver
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I’ve been walking my mind to an easy time,My back turned towards the sun.Lord knows the cold wind blows it’ll turn your head around.Well, there’s hours of time on the telephone line,To talk about things to come.Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground.
James Taylor
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You've just got to sing, do some kind of singing every day. Early mornings and cold weather can mess with that. I drink special teas with cayenne pepper, but I think you're psyching yourself out, really.
Aaron Neville
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Usurpers always bring about or select troublous times to get passed, under cover of the public terror, destructive laws, which the people would never adopt in cold blood. The moment chosen is one of the surest means of distinguishing the work of the legislator from that of the tyrant.
Jean-Jacques Rousseau
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For this is the truth about our soul, he thought, who fish-like inhabits deep seas and plies among obscurities threading her way between the boles of giant weeds, over sun-flickered spaces and on and on into gloom, cold, deep, inscrutable; suddenly she shoots to the surface and sports on the wind-wrinkled waves; that is, has a positive need to brush, scrape, kindle herself, gossiping.
Virginia Woolf
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Things as they are have been destroyed. Have I? Am I a man that is dead At a table on which the food is cold? Is my thought a memory, not alive? Is the spot on the floor, there, wine or blood And whichever it may be, is it mine?
Wallace Stevens