Quotes About New Look At Vegetarianism
Enjoy collection of 38 New Look At Vegetarianism quotes. Download and share images of famous quotes about New Look At Vegetarianism. Righ click to see and save pictures of New Look At Vegetarianism quotes that you can use as your wallpaper for free.
In a vegetarian world no worry about Kosher, Halal, Mad Cow Disease. ~ Sukhraj S. Dhillon
With SPIRITUALITY and respecting life including helpless animals, come Morality and does what's right." A human can be healthy without killing them for food. ~ Sukhraj S. Dhillon
When your man is gone all the
time, sure, you miss him at first. Until you realize you hardly notice he's gone, except when he
calls to tell you all the fun he's having in a new place. You laugh and say nice things, but you
look around at the sameness that surrounds you. Over time, you begin to wonder why you're
waiting while he's out there living. And then one day you realize being alone is better than
waiting on someone to remember you're there. ~ Claire Ashby
You said I was pretty, before."
"Did I?" A new laugh escaped him, mirthless. "How unoriginal. I must be the master of understatement. I think you're goddamned radiant, and you know it. Sometimes I think if I look at you too long I'll go blind, like a lunatic staring straight into the sun. No," he said in a savage undertone, and let the gown fall back to the floor. "You're not pretty. ~ Shana Abe
Let mystery have its place in you; do not be always turning up your whole soil with the plowshare of self-examination, but leave a little fallow corner in your heart ready for any seed the winds may bring, and reserve a nook of shadow for the passing bird; keep a place in your heart for the unexpected guests, an altar for the unknown God. Then if a bird sing among your branches, do not be too eager to tame it. If you are conscious of something new - thought or feeling, wakening in the depths of your being - do not be in a hurry to let in light upon it, to look at it; let the springing germ have the protection of being forgotten, hedge it round with quiet, and do not break in upon its darkness. ~ Henri Frederic Amiel
Real life and fantasy intertwines themselves breathing life into the very characters I create. As I write you could hear the~~click tap of the keys on the keyboard resound off the walls. At times writers block hinder my way until by way of sound, light, or even look gives me a new insight to push forward... ~ Jacqueline Silva
This mobility [changing jobs and housing three times in 30 months in New York City] was made possible by a buoyant housing and job market, ensuring a low transaction cost of changing jobs and location. By contrast, in Paris (where we came from), housing mobility was hampered by 2-year leases that could not be broken without penalties. Additionally, job mobility was frowned on as a sign of instability-- changing jobs three times in 30 months would have resulted in a resume that raised a lot of eyebrows.
When-- after just 6 months with my first employer in New York-- I found a job that was a better fit with my long-term interests, I was terribly embarrassed by the prospect of telling my employer that I was quitting. My colleagues at work reassured me that this was done all the time in New York, and that a higher salary was a very honorable reason to change jobs. Indeed, my employer gave me a good luck party when I quit!
This is mobility. A flexible labor market, an open housing market-- the flophouse [urban housing] with its low standards but very low rent was essential to getting us started-- and a transport system that is fast, affordable, and extensive enough to allow individuals to look for jobs in an entire metropolitan area rather than just in limited locations. ~ Alain Bertaud
We're always doing a lot of user studies on health and safety. We take it super seriously. But if you look back at the history of most new big technology breakthroughs, there is some element of controversy around what impact is it going to have. ~ Brendan Iribe
Look at the earth crowded with growth, new and old bursting from their strong roots hidden in the silent, live ground, each seed according to its own kind ... each one knowing what to do, each one demanding its own rights on the earth. So artist, you too from the depths of your soul ... let your roots creep forth, gaining strength. ~ Emily Carr
The feminine way is to look at the potential that is available and the masculine way is to look at what is not working and to find a solution to change that. So when we balance these two energies together, the solution is to co-create a New Earth together with Nature where we look at the potential of each and everyone involved to make a difference. ~ Maurice Spees
To know Seattle one must know its waterfront. It is a good waterfront, not as busy as New York's, not as self-consciously colorful as San Francisco's, not as exotic as New Orleans, but a good, honest, working waterfront with big gray warehouses and trim fishing boats and docks that smell of creosote, and sea gulls and tugs and seafood restaurants and beer joints and fish stores--a waterfront where you can hear foreign languages and buy shrunken heads and genuine stuffed mermaids, where you can watch the seamen follow the streetwalkers and the shore patrol follow the sailors, where you can stand at an open-air bar and drink clam nectar, or sit on a deadhead and watch the water, or go to an aquarium and look at an octopus. ~ Murray Morgan
You okay?" I ask him.
He nods. "I'll live. Hey, it's your turn."
"My turn for what?"
"I told you my deepest, darkest secret." He tilts his head at me. "Now you've got to tell me one of yours."
"One of my secrets?"
"Yeah. C'mon, I know you've got a bunch of 'em."
"Oh, I do, huh?"
"You're too perfect not to be hiding something," he says, and my cheeks flood with heat.
Me, too perfect? He's got to be kidding. Only…he looks serious. And earnest. I look down at the camera in my hand, studying it, and then back up at him. I can't explain it, but I suddenly want to tell him. At least, I want to tell someone, and he's here, a captive audience. I hesitate a second or two, then blurt it out before I lose my nerve.
"I want to go to film school." I meet his gaze, his eyes round with surprise. "In New York. ~ Kristi Cook
I know I said this before, but it bears repeating. You know Tate won't like you staying with me."
"I don't care," she said bitterly. "I don't tell him where to sleep. It's none of his business what I do anymore."
He made a rough sound. "Would you like to guess what he's going to assume if you stay the night in my apartment?"
She drew in a long breath. "Okay. I don't want to cause problems between you, not after all the years you've been friends. Take me to a hotel instead."
He hesitated uncharacteristically. "I can take the heat, if you can."
"I don't know that I can. I've got enough turmoil in my life right now. Besides, he'll look for me at your place. I don't want to be found for a couple of days, until I can get used to my new situation and make some decisions about my future. I want to see Senator Holden and find another apartment. I can do all that from a hotel."
"Suit yourself."
"Make it a moderately priced one," she added with graveyard humor. "I'm no longer a woman of means. From now on, I'm going to have to be responsible for my own bills."
"You should have poured the soup in the right lap," he murmured.
"Which was?"
"Audrey Gannon's," he said curtly. "She had no right to tell you that Tate was your benefactor. She did it for pure spite, to drive a wedge between you and Tate. She's nothing but trouble. One day Tate is going to be sorry that he ever met her."
"She's lasted longer than the others."
"You haven ~ Diana Palmer
You're seeing someone else, aren't you?"
Seeing someone else? How on earth could that explain any of this? Why would seeing someone else necessitate bringing home a middle-aged woman, a teenaged punk and an American with a leather jacket and a Rod Stewart haircut? What would the story have been? But then, after reflection, I realised that Penny had probably been here before, and therefore knew that infidelity can usually provide the answer to any domestic mystery. If I had walked in with Sheena Easton and Donald Rumsfeld, Penny would probably have scratched her head for a few seconds before saying exactly the same thing.
In other circumstances, on other evenings, it would have been the right conclusion, too; I used to be pretty resourceful when I was being unfaithful to Cindy, even if I do say so myself. I once drove a new BMW into a wall, simply because I needed to explain a four-hour delay in getting home from work. Cindy came out into the street to inspect the crumpled bonnet, looked at me, and said, "You're seeing someone else, aren't you?" I denied it, of course.
But then, anything – smashing up a new car, persuading Donald Rumsfeld to come to an Islington flat in the early hours of New Year's Day – is easier than actually telling the truth. That look you get, the look which lets you see right through the eyes and down into the place where she keeps all the hurt and the rage and the loathing... Who wouldn't go that extra yard to avoid it? ~ Nick Hornby
New York City has too much light pollution. It blinds us to the stars, the satellites, the asteroids. Sometimes when we look up, we don't see anything at all.
But here is a true thing: Almost everything in the night sky gives off light. Even if we can't see it, the light is still there. ~ Nicola Yoon
If you look at any 15 pieces of mine, nobody does a piece like them. Totally new techniques. All the jugglers are stealing from me and claiming that they've done it. ~ Michael Moschen
Blake and Beckett touched tattoos in greeting. Beckett turned his other arm over to show Blake his bandage. Blake lifted one eyebrow, and Beckett peeled the tape back to reveal his new Sorry tattoo, a perfect replica of his brother's.
"Cole got one too," Beckett said.
Blake looked off in the distance as his eyes filled with emotion.
Beckett pulled Blake's face back to look at him and held it in his hand. "Never alone, bro. You're never alone as long as I live."
Blake nodded. "Thanks. ~ Debra Anastasia
Mom," Vaughn said. "I'm sure Sidney doesn't want to be interrogated about her personal life."
Deep down, Sidney knew that Vaughn - who'd obviously deduced that she'd been burned in the past - was only trying to be polite. But that was the problem, she didn't want him to be polite, as if she needed to be shielded from such questions. That wasn't any better than the damn "Poor Sidney" head-tilt.
"It's okay, I don't mind answering." She turned to Kathleen. "I was seeing someone in New York, but that relationship ended shortly before I moved to Chicago."
"So now that you're single again, what kind of man are you looking for? Vaughn?" Kathleen pointed. "Could you pass the creamer?"
He did so, then turned to look once again at Sidney. His lips curved at the corners, the barest hint of a smile. He was daring her, she knew, waiting for her to back away from his mother's questions.
She never had been very good at resisting his dares.
"Actually, I have a list of things I'm looking for." Sidney took a sip of her coffee.
Vaughn raised an eyebrow. "You have a list?"
"Yep."
"Of course you do."
Isabelle looked over, surprised. "You never told me about this."
"What kind of list?" Kathleen asked interestedly.
"It's a test, really," Sidney said. "A list of characteristics that indicate whether a man is ready for a serious relationship. It helps weed out the commit ~ Julie James
You know, Talon. Towels look really good on you. You go outside like that and you'll start a whole new fashion craze. (Sunshine) Do you always say everything that comes to your mind? (Talon) Mostly. I do have some thoughts I keep to myself. I used to not care and would say anything at all, but then one time my college roommate called the psycho unit on me. You know, they really do have white coats. (Sunshine) ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon
What is it?" I hissed at Kamala. "I thought you were going to talk right then and there and then we would've been thrown out."
Kamala wouldn't look at me. "It's the Dharma Raja."
I froze. "What about him?"
"I can sense him." The blue veins that once stood out so prominently on her skin had begun to sink beneath pearlescent hair. Even the garnet gaze of her eyes had receded into something bright and black. Thoroughly animal.
"And?"
"He was here, but only for a moment."
"Where did he go?"
"I couldn't tell you that, not for all the salk-skin in the world." Kamala sighed.
"Do you know where he was?"
"That's the thing I was trying to tell you, maybe-queen!" exclaimed Kamala, pawing at the ground. "He was at the Chakara Forest. You were right."
I was right. There was a soft glow of warmth in that knowledge, even if knowing that I had just missed him rent through me like a new wound. I had trusted my instinct and it had been right. ~ Roshani Chokshi
I confessed recently to an old friend, "I realized I was looking at you, in your visit, through old glasses. Speaking old words. Telling old stories. I realize that in my life I've made so many physical changes and I need to give my spirit time to catch up." Time for my spirit to look at my friend through the new glasses of current life experiences. Old friends are precious. They become even more treasured when they are wrapped in the currentness of life experiences and not relegated to the past in which they once lived. ~ Mary Anne Radmacher
The driver bumped his way through the door and plopped down Caitlyn's "luggage." Caitlyn watched Madame Snowe's eyes go to it, widening as
she took it in. Caitlyn's cheeks heated.
Her "luggage" was a Vietnam War-era army green duffel bag, bought for a dollar at a garage sale. Cloud-shaped moisture stains mottled its
faded surface, and jagged stitches of black carpet thread sealed a rip on one end, Caitlyn's clumsy needlework giving the mended hole the look of
one of Frankenstein's scars.
"Is that all you brought?" Greta asked.
Caitlyn nodded, wishing the floor would swallow her.
"Very good. You will have no trouble unpacking, and then you can burn your bag, heh?"
"Reduce, reuse, recycle!" Caitlyn said with false cheer. "We're very big on living green in Oregon. Why buy a new suitcase when someone else's
old duffel bag will do?"
"We'll see that it gets … disposed of properly, ~ Lisa Cach
I've loved him my whole life, and somewhere along the way, that love didn't change but grew. It grew to fill the parts of me that I did not have when I was a child. It grew with every new longing of my body and desire until there was not a piece of me that did not love him. And when I look at him, there is no other feeling in me. ~ Laura Nowlin
The advantages of a propaganda that constantly "adds the power of organization" to the feeble and unreliable voice of argument, and thereby realizes, so to speak, on the spur of the moment, whatever it says, are obvious beyond demonstration. Foolproof against arguments based on a reality which the movements promised to change, against a counterpropaganda disqualified by the mere fact that it belongs to or defends a world which the shiftless masses cannot and will not accept, it can be disproved only by another, a stronger or better, reality.
It is in the moment of defeat that the inherent weakness of totalitarian propaganda becomes visible. Without the force of the movement, its members cease at once to believe in the dogma for which yesterday they still were ready to sacrifice their lives. The moment the movement, that is, the fictitious world which sheltered them, is destroyed, the masses revert to their old status of isolated individuals who either happily accept a new function in a changed world or sink back into their old desperate superfluousness. The members of totalitarian movements, utterly fanatical as long as the movement exists, will not follow the example of religious fanatics and die the death of martyrs (even though they were only too willing to die the death of robots). Rather they will quietly give up the movement as a bad bet and look around for another promising fiction or wait until the former fiction regains enough strength to establish another ~ Hannah Arendt
But should we garner the courage and moral will to reject once and for all the fallacy of racial difference for the ideological conceit that it is, what will be the premise of our new national history, our new national story? Where will the frontiers of the new Malaysia be? And what will the new Malaysia look like?
None of us can answer these questions for certain, for any national narrative is forever a work in progress. Nations are constructs, based on the collective imagination and imaginary of their citizens. But as a nation in the making and under construction, we should at least have the courage to admit that some of our earlier premises were wrong (if not dangerous) and that the time has come to reinvent ourselves with some degree of hindsight and collective wisdom. One of the first steps that has to be taken is to recognise and accept that much of what we have been told as the first generation of postcolonial Malaysians was false, and that these instrumental fictions were tools to mentally bind us. ~ Farish A. Noor
If people refuse to look at you in a new light and they can only see you for what you were, only see you for the mistakes you've made, if they don't realize that you are not your mistakes, then they have to go. ~ Steve Maraboli
Dissent and dissidence are overwhelmingly the work of the young. It is not by chance that the men and women who initiated the French Revolution, like the reformers and planners of the New Deal and postwar Europe, were distinctly younger than those who had gone before. Rather than resign themselves, young people are more likely to look at a problem and demand that it be solved. ~ Tony Judt
We've seen how beautiful it can be to follow Jesus into this new way of being human. But one of the things I love most about Jesus is how much He loves humanity in its brokenness. If He was surrounded by fractured people then, why would we expect it to be any different now? I actually think it is a larger mistake when we Christians attempt to pretend that our lives are more together than they really are in order to "manage our image" before the broader culture. Come look at our perfect church and our perfect family. And if you join us, maybe one day you, too, can have a perfect life! That kind of spin is a breeding ground for disappointment. ~ Jonathan Martin
The Time Around Scars:
A girl whom I've not spoken to
or shared coffee with for several years
writes of an old scar.
On her wrist it sleeps, smooth and white,
the size of a leech.
I gave it to her
brandishing a new Italian penknife.
Look, I said turning,
and blood spat onto her shirt.
My wife has scars like spread raindrops
on knees and ankles,
she talks of broken greenhouse panes
and yet, apart from imagining red feet,
(a nymph out of Chagall)
I bring little to that scene.
We remember the time around scars,
they freeze irrelevant emotions
and divide us from present friends.
I remember this girl's face,
the widening rise of surprise.
And would she
moving with lover or husband
conceal or flaunt it,
or keep it at her wrist
a mysterious watch.
And this scar I then remember
is a medallion of no emotion.
I would meet you now
and I would wish this scar
to have been given with
all the love
that never occurred between us. ~ Michael Ondaatje
Now people look at 'The Scream' or Van Gogh's 'Irises' or a Picasso and see its new content: money. Auction houses inherently equate capital with value. ~ Jerry Saltz
I encounter forms of this attitude every day. The producers who work at the Ostankino channels might all be liberals in their private lives, holiday in Tuscany, and be completely European in their tastes. When I ask how they marry their professional and personal lives, they look at me as if I were a fool and answer: "Over the last twenty years we've lived through a communism we never believed in, democracy and defaults and mafia state and oligarchy, and we've realized they are illusions, that everything is PR." "Everything is PR" has become the favorite phrase of the new Russia; my Moscow peers are filled with a sense that they are both cynical and enlightened. When I ask them about Soviet-era dissidents, like my parents, who fought against communism, they dismiss them as naïve dreamers and my own Western attachment to such vague notions as "human rights" and "freedom" as a blunder. "Can't you see your own governments are just as bad as ours?" they ask me. I try to protest - but they just smile and pity me. To believe in something and stand by it in this world is derided, the ability to be a shape-shifter celebrated. Vladimir Nabokov once described a species of butterfly that at an early stage in its development had to learn how to change colors to hide from predators. The butterfly's predators had long died off, but still it changed its colors from the sheer pleasure of transformation. Something similar has happened to the Russian elites: during the Soviet period they learne ~ Peter Pomerantsev
Before I opened my computer in the parking lot today, I relived one of my favorite memories. It's the one with Woody and me sitting on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum after it's closed. We're watching people parade out of the museum in summer shorts and sandals. The trees to the south are planted in parallel lines. The water in the fountain shoots up with a mist that almost reaches the steps we sit on. We look at silver-haired ladies in red-and-white-print dresses. We separate the mice from the men, the tourists from the New Yorkers, the Upper East Siders from the West Siders. The hot-pretzel vendor sells us a wad of dough in knots with clumps of salt stuck on top. We make our usual remarks about the crazies and wonder what it would be like to live in a penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue overlooking the Met. We laugh and say the same things we always say. We hold hands and keep sitting, just sitting, as the sun beings to set. It's a perfect afternoon. ~ Diane Keaton
My new mistress proved to be all she appeared when I first met her at the door, - a woman of the kindest heart and finest feelings. She had never had a slave under her control previously to myself, and prior to her marriage she had been dependent upon her own industry for a living. She was by trade a weaver; and by constant application to her business, she had been in a good degree preserved from the blighting and dehumanizing effects of slavery. I was utterly astonished at her goodness. I scarcely knew how to behave towards her. She was entirely unlike any other white woman I had ever seen. I could not approach her as I was accustomed to approach other white ladies. My early instruction was all out of place. The crouching servility, usually so acceptable a quality in a slave, did not answer when manifested toward her. Her favor was not gained by it; she seemed to be disturbed by it. She did not deem it impudent or unmannerly for a slave to look her in the face. The meanest slave was put fully at ease in her presence, and none left without feeling better for having seen her. Her face was made of heavenly smiles, and her voice of tranquil music. ~ Frederick Douglass
Modernist literature with all its vast apparatus was an instrument, a form of perception, and once absorbed, the insights it brought could be rejected without its essence being lost, even the form endured, and it could be applied to your own life, your own fascinations, which could then suddenly appear in a new and significant light. Espen took that path, and I followed him like a brainless puppy, it was true, but I did follow him. I leafed through Adorno, read some passages of Benjamin, sat bowed over Blanchot for a few days, had a look at Derrida and Foucault, had a go at Kristeva, Lacan, Deleuze, while poems by Ekelöf, Björling, Pound, Mallarmé, Rilke, Trakl, Ashbery, Mandelstam, Lunden, Thomsen, and Hauge floated around, on which I spent more than a few minutes, I read them as prose, like a book by MacLean or Bagley, and learned nothing, understood nothing, but just having contact with them, having their books in the bookcase, led to a shifting of consciousness, just knowing they existed was an enrichment, and if they didn't furnish me with insights I became all the richer for intuitions and feelings. ~ Karl Ove Knausgaard
In Holland, every Monday evening my creative team meets to discuss fresh new ideas. We try to look at what's happening in the world. Are there trends? Are there new developments we should be aware of? And regularly we heard that people are uncertain about the future. People are sick and tired of the rules and regulations. ~ John De Mol, Jr.
Tom looked at St. Vincent. "I assume the editor at the Chronicle refused to divulge the writer's identity?"
St. Vincent looked rueful. "Categorically. I'll have to find a way to pry it out of him without bringing the entire British press to his defense."
"Yes," Tom mused, tapping his lower lip with a fingertip, "they tend to be so touchy about protecting their sources."
"Trenear," Lord Ripon said through gritted teeth, "will you kindly throw him out?"
"I'll see myself out," Tom said casually. He turned as if to leave, and paused as if something had just occurred to him. "Although … as your friend, Trenear, I find it disappointing that you haven't asked about my day. It makes me feel as if you don't care."
Before Devon could respond, Pandora jumped in. "I will," she volunteered eagerly. "How was your day, Mr. Severin?"
Tom sent her a brief grin. "Busy. After six tedious hours of business negotiations, I paid a call to the chief editor of the London Chronicle."
St. Vincent lifted his brows. "After I'd already met with him?"
Trying to look repentant, Tom replied, "I know you said not to. But I had a bit of leverage you didn't."
"Oh?"
"I told him the paper's owner would dismiss him and toss him out on the pavement if he didn't name the anonymous writer."
St. Vincent stared at him quizzically. "You bluffed?"
"No, that is what the business negotiations were about. I'm the new owner. And while the chief editor happens to be ~ Lisa Kleypas
CONFORMITY AND REVOLT Have you ever sat very quietly with closed eyes and watched the movement of your own thinking? Have you watched your mind working - or rather, has your mind watched itself in operation, just to see what your thoughts are, what your feelings are, how you look at the trees, at the flowers, at the birds, at people, how you respond to a suggestion or react to a new idea? Have you ever done this? If you have not, you are missing a ~ Jiddu Krishnamurti
Look at us. Amps. We're morons smarter than Lucifer. Cripples stronger than gravity. A bunch of broke-ass motherfuckers stinking rich with potential. This is our army. Our people. Strong and hurt. We're the wounded supermen of tomorrow, Gray. It's time you got yourself healed. New world ain't gonna build itself. And the old world don't want to go without a fight. ~ Daniel H. Wilson