Corn Quotes (page 5)
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How many a time have I stood watching the toads mating, or a pair of hares having a boxing match in the young corn, and thought of all the important persons who would stop me enjoying this if they could. But luckily they can't. So long as you are not actually ill, hungry, frightened or immured in a prison or a holiday camp, spring is still spring. The atom bombs are piling up in the factories, the police are prowling through the cities, the lies are streaming from the loudspeakers, but the...
George Orwell
Organic Oreos are not a health food. When Coca-Cola begins selling organic Coke, as it surely will, the company will have struck a blow for the environment perhaps, but not for our health. Most consumers automatically assume that the word "organic" is synomymous with health, but it makes no difference to your insulin metabolism if the high-fructose corn syrup in your soda is organic.
Michael Pollan
The children had had an argument once about whether there was more grass in the world or more sand, and Roger said that of course there must be more sand because of under the sea; in every ocean all over the world there would be sand, if you looked deep down. But there could be grass too, argued Deborah, a waving grass, a grass that nobody had ever seen, and the colour of that ocean grass would be darker than any grass on the surface of the world, in fields or prairies or people's gardens in...
Daphne du Maurier
This is the creature there has never been. They never knew it, and yet, none the less, they loved the way it moved, its suppleness, its neck, its very gaze, mild and serene. Not there, because they loved it, it behavedas though it were. They always left some space. And in that clear unpeopled space they savedit lightly reared its head, with scarce a traceof not being there. They fed it, not with corn, but only with the possibilityof being. And that was able to confersuch strength, its brow...
Rainer Maria Rilke
I saw old Autumn in the misty morn. Stand shadowless like silence, listening. To silence, for no lonely bird would sing. Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn, Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn; --Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright. With tangled gossamer that fell by night, Pearling his coronet of golden corn.
Thomas Hood
