A Quote by Moliere

He who follows his lessons tastes a profound peace, and looks upon everybody as a bunch of manure. — © Moliere
He who follows his lessons tastes a profound peace, and looks upon everybody as a bunch of manure.
Everybody was telling [the Democrats], the media, everybody telling them they're gonna win in a landslide, [Donald] Trump's a buffoon, look at his campaign staff, a bunch of nobody's and know-nothings. Looks at his supporters, a bunch of white supremacist goombahs. They're in utter denial.
Like a physically beautiful but otherwise rather dull person who trades on his or her looks, Southern California swings perpetually between a profound inferiority complex and an equally profound sense of entitlement.
A taste so profound and complex that it can't even be compared to other tastes, only to emotions. Cheesy waffles, I was thinking, tastes like love without the fear of love's dissolution.
It stank pretty bad, of course: manure was caked all over the wagon. But we were free. Right then I was elated with a sense of how faithful God is to his promises; I was free, and I was smiling joyfully on a manure wagon. As we ambled along, I laughed to myself when I thought of God's sense of humor in delivering us that way. Even today, the smell of manure reminds me of freedom.
[When her daughter suggested the President refer in his conversation with foreign dignitaries about lawn care to 'fertilizer' instead of to 'manure':] But remember, it took me almost thirty years to get him to call it manure.
You can take lessons to become almost anything: flying lessons, piano lessons, skydiving lessons, acting lessons, race car driving lessons, singing lessons. But there's no class for comedy. You have to be born with it. God has to give you this gift.
Hold on to the great image, and the whole world follows, follows unharmed, content and completely at peace.
Intrinsic value follows meaning follows form follows economics follows function follows more economics follows market research.
Order, for a liberal, means only peace; and the hope of a profound peace was one of the chief motives in the liberal movement. Concessions and tolerance and equality would thus have really led to peace, and to peace of the most radical kind, the peace of moral extinction.
Of course, everybody says they're for peace. Hitler was for peace. Everybody is for peace. The question is: What kind of peace?
The Son of God goes forth to war,A kingly crown to gain;His blood red banner streams afar:Who follows in His train?Who best can drink his cup of woe,Triumphant over pain,Who patient bears his cross below,He follows in His train.
My wife, trying to be helpful, goes to the grocery store and buys this stuff called soy bacon. Let me tell you something: I know soy beans are good for a lot of things. Let's stay out of the bacon market! It says It looks and tastes like real bacon! No it doesn't! It tastes like somebody bacon-flavored a turd, that's what it tastes like!
Behold the difference between the Oriental and the Occidental. The former has nothing to do in this world; the latter is full of activity. The one looks in the sun until his eyes are put out; the other follows him prone in his westward course.
In the light of his vision that is the perspective that allows him to be grateful that things are not worse he has found his freedom and joy: his thoughts are peace, his words are peace and his work is peace.
The power of 'Madame Bovary' stems from Flaubert's determination to render each object of his scrutiny exactly as it looks, or sounds or smells or feels or tastes.
A pastry usually tastes better if it looks nice. A cream pastry, now that looks nice - in fact, there is nothing I mind as long as it looks nice.
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