I dream in fire but work in clay.

Black music has always known, and not been afraid to acknowledge just how high the stakes of Black thought are. To summarize the final…

— Frank B. Wilderson III

We are all potentially such sick men. The sanest and best of us are of one clay with lunatics and prison-inmates. And whenever we…

— William James

We have been playing every summer on clay since I was five years old, so it is an easy surface for us in Belgium.

— David Goffin

Our love was born outside the walls, in the wind, in the night, in the earth, and that's why the clay and the flower,…

— Pablo Neruda

I love doing features, but it's a very different ballgame. Sometimes I yearn for short films again, working with a small team, getting my…

— Nick Park

When a buddha is painted, not only a clay altar or lump of earth is used, but the thirty-two marks, a blade of grass,…

— Dogen

How much more of the mosque, of prayer and fasting? Better go drunk and begging round the taverns. Khayyam, drink wine, for soon this…

— Omar Khayyam

As long as I sit at Henry Clay's desk, I will remember his lifelong desire to forge agreement, but I will also keep close…

— Rand Paul

“Come, dry your eyes, for you are LIFE, rarer than a quark and unpredictable beyond the dreams of Heisenberg; the clay in which the…

— Alan Moore

I have but shadowed forth my intense longing to lose myself in the Eternal and become merely a lump of clay in the Potter's…

— Anonymous

Was it for this the clay grew tall?

— Wilfred Owen

Yet some can be patriotic who have no self-respect, and sacrifice the greater to the less. They love the soil which makes their graves,…

— Henry David Thoreau

I have never yet exercised the privilege of voting, but had I been called upon at the last presidential election to do so, I…

— Zachary Taylor

“She fucking turns me inside out." "Women who matter have a way of doing that." Lucas scowled. "We sound like a couple of women,…

— Nalini Singh

I culled poetry from odors, sounds, faces, and ordinary events occurring around me. Breezes bulged me as if I were cloth; sounds nicked their…

— Jimmy Santiago Baca