Clay... is my favorite surface.

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

“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 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

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

Was it for this the clay grew tall?

— Wilfred Owen

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

“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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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