Quotations, Proverbs & Sayings

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It is sometimes difficult to be inspired when trying to write a persuasive essay, book report or thoughtful research paper. Often of times, it is hard to find words that best describe your ideas. Paper-Research now provides a database of over 150,000 quotations and proverbs from the famous inventors, philosophers, sportsmen, artists, celebrities, business people, and authors that are aimed to enrich and strengthen your essay, term paper, book report, thesis or research paper.

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sings

«Our history sings of centuries Such varying songs it sings! It starts with winds, slow moving sails, It ends with skies and wings»
«The opera ain't over 'til the fat lady sings»
Author: Dan Cook | Keywords: opera, sings, Til
«Opera is when a guy gets stabbed in the back and, instead of bleeding, he sings»
Author: Ed Gardner | About: Opera | Keywords: bleeding, opera, sings, stabbed
«That man's best works should be such bungling imitations of Nature's infinite perfection, matters not much; but that he should make himself an imitation, this is the fact which Nature moans over, and deprecates beseechingly. Be spontaneous, be truthful, be free, and thus be individuals! is the song she sings through warbling birds, and whispering pines, and roaring waves, and screeching winds.»
«Opera is where a guy gets stabbed in the back, and instead of dying, he sings.»
Author: Robert Burns (Poet) | About: Opera | Keywords: opera, sings, stabbed
«Oh! `darkly, deeply, beautifully blue', / As someone somewhere sings about the sky.»
«Never be afraid of the moments - thus sings the voice of the ever-lasting.»
«Some men there are love not a gaping pig, some that are mad if they behold a cat, and others when the bagpipe sings I the nose cannot contain their urine.»
«She marking them begins a wailing note And sings extemporally a woeful ditty; How love makes young men thrall and old men dote; How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty: Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe, And still the choir of echoes answer so»
«Look, how the floor of heavenIs thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'stBut in his motion like an angel sings ...Such harmony is in immortal souls;But, whilst this muddy vesture of decayDoth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.»

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