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Blue Quotes - Page 34

Sean Connery wasn't the Scottish James Bond, and Daniel Craig wasn't the blue-eyed James Bond. So if I played him, I don't want to be called the black James Bond.

Sean Connery wasn't the Scottish James Bond, and Daniel Craig wasn't the blue-eyed James Bond. So if I played him, I don't want to be called the black James Bond.

"Idris Elba: The Man Who Is Luther, Was Stringer, And Could Be James Bond". "Morning Edition" with Steve Inskeep, www.npr.org. September 28, 2011.

In the 1960s, if you were a blue collar worker or uneducated, and you had an injury on the job, the company basically dismissed you.

"Starbucks' Howard Schultz on how he became coffee king". www.mirror.co.uk. August 5, 2010.

Business can talk itself into a blue funk.

"New Zealand Prime Minister Helen Clark: In Search of a Nation's Soul". Interview, content.time.com. August 14, 2000.

Winter, a bad guest, sitteth with me at home; blue are my hands with his friendly handshaking

Friedrich Nietzsche “Delphi Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche (Illustrated): Friedrich Nietzsche”, Delphi Classics

First, he realized that the sea was blue and that there was an enormous quantity of it, and that it roared and roared-really all the banalities about the ocean that one could realize, but if any one had told him then that these things were banalities, he would have gaped in wonder.

F. Scott Fitzgerald (2015). “The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald: Novels, Short Stories, Poetry, Articles, Letters, Plays & Screenplays: From the author of The Great Gatsby, The Side of Paradise, Tender Is the Night, The Beautiful and Damned, The Love of the Last Tycoon, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and many other notable works”, p.162, e-artnow

MY river runs to thee: Blue sea, wilt welcome me? My river waits reply. Oh sea, look graciously! I ’ll fetch thee brooks From spotted nooks,— Say, sea, Take me!

Emily Dickinson, Cristanne Miller (2016). “Emily Dickinson’s Poems: As She Preserved Them”, p.107, Harvard University Press

Never shall I forget the little faces of the children, whose bodies turned into wreaths of smoke beneath a silent blue sky.

Elie Wiesel, Robert Franciosi (2002). “Elie Wiesel: Conversations”, p.41, Univ. Press of Mississippi