The Republican Party is bringing out here onto the floor of Congress an all-out assault on the protection of the rights of people who work in the fields of our country, in the factories of our country, in the offices of our country.
It's just impossible to ignore the activists in your party. These are the people who stuff the envelopes, and walk the precincts, and make the telephone calls, and do all the so-called grunt work that brings about a successful campaign.
If the Republican Party continues to take the view that there must be no tax increases, we're stuck. Capitalism can't work without safety nets or fiscal prudence, and we need both in a sustainable balance.
What practical conclusions may we now draw for our propaganda work among women? The task of this Party Congress must not be to issue detailed practical suggestions, but to draw up general directions for the proletarian women's movement.
After all, what is your host's purpose in having a party? Surely not for you to enjoy yourself; if that were their sole purpose, they'd have simply sent champagne and women over to your place by taxi.
Throughout the 20th century, the Republican Party benefited from a non-interventionist foreign policy. Think of how Eisenhower came in to stop the Korean War. Think of how Nixon was elected to stop the mess in Vietnam.
No matter which way you dice it, self-preservation is selfish.
Even in war there should be lines you didn't cross.
There's a book of poetry in the lines of my hands that no one wants to read
Was that all it took to be brave? Knowing that someone believed in you?
I have learned the art of filling in your lines with your visuals and your movies and your imagination.
A standard line, promoted by people like Clement Greenberg, is that politics contaminates art, and Manet is often cited as an example of art for art's sake.
The thin line between life and death is still under construction.
The line between spontaneity and stupidity can be very thin.
I make mistakes; I'll be the second to admit it.
All my life I dreamed of having someone think I was beautiful.
You could write a book about things that you can't find on-line.
When yellow lights struggle with blue shades in hairlike lines.
A line of perspiration slipped down my spine like a waterslide at an unamusement park.
What mortal knew the way their fate line would run?
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