Ninguém é perfeito... Ou por outra, este tipo era mas nós matámo-lo.
("Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal")
More Quotes from Christopher Moore:
In fact, he sorely hoped that it would happen, because otherwise, the world made no sense, there was no justice, and life was just a tangled ball of chaos.Christopher Moore
Angels are just pretty insects.
Christopher Moore
The Emperor decided to make a proclamation to his troops about the importance of compassion in the face of the rising tide of heinous fuckery and political weaselocity in the nearby kingdom of the United States.
Christopher Moore
Little-boy love...the cleanest pain I've ever known. Love without desire, conditions, or limits - a pure and radiant glow in the heart that could make me giddy and sad and glorious all at once. Where does it go? Why, in all their experiments, did the Magi never try to capture that purity in a bottle? Perhaps they couldn't.
Christopher Moore
Charlie had Sophie strapped to his chest like a terrorist baby bomb when he came down the back steps. She had just gotten to the point where she could hold up her head, so he had strapped her in face-out so she could look around. The way her arms and legs waved around as Charlie walked, she looked as if she was skydiving and using a skinny nerd as a parachute.
Christopher Moore
The Sousa era was also the same time as the boarding-school era when the Oneidas were shipped off (to be educated in white ways, as opposed to the tribal ways). They learned the Sousa music and took it back with them when they were done with boarding school.
Christopher Moore
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Based on Keywords: este, mas, matámo-lo, ninguém, outra, perfeito, por, tipoIn America, music is more tightly categorized.
Ednita Nazario
I think we should look forward to death more than we do. Of course everybody hates to go to bed or miss anything, but dying is really the only chance we'll get to rest.
Florynce R. Kennedy
Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term Art, I should call it 'the reproduction of what the Senses perceive in Nature through the veil of the soul.' The mere imitation, however accurate, of what is in Nature, entitles no man to the sacred name of 'Artist.'
Edgar Allan Poe