Ea Bucchianeri Quotes

So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.

Love, like everything else in life, should be a discovery, an adventure, and like most adventures, you don’t know you’re having one until you’re right in the middle of it.

An acquaintance merely enjoys your company, a fair-weather companion flatters when all is well, a true friend has your best interests at heart and the pluck to tell you what you need to hear.

Falling in love is very real, but I used to shake my head when people talked about soul mates, poor deluded individuals grasping at some supernatural ideal not intended for mortals but sounded pretty in a poetry book. Then, we met, and everything changed, the cynic has become the converted, the sceptic, an ardent zealot.

... it’s a blessed thing to love and feel loved in return.

Errors do not cease to be errors simply because they’re ratified into law.

I am an artist you know ... it is my right to be odd.

Poor God, how often He is blamed for all the suffering in the world. It’s like praising Satan for allowing all the good that happens.

It was only high school after all, definitely one of the most bizarre periods in a person’s life. How anyone can come through that time well adjusted on any level is an absolute miracle.

Weirdism is definitely the cornerstone of many an artist's career.

It’s the unknown that draws people.

... you’ll have to fall in love at least once in your life, or Paris has failed to rub off on you.

Well, if it can be thought, it can be done, a problem can be overcome,

...it’s just another one of those things I don’t understand: everyone impresses upon you how unique you are, encouraging you to cultivate your individuality while at the same time trying to squish you and everyone else into the same ridiculous mould. It’s an artist’s right to rebel against the world’s stupidity.

Be wise today so you don't cry tomorrow.

It’s not unpatriotic to denounce an injustice committed on our behalf, perhaps it’s the most patriotic thing we can do.

The most beautiful moments always seemed to accelerate and slip beyond one’s grasp just when you want to hold onto them for as long as possible.

Make your lives a masterpiece, you only get one canvas.

Sometimes, the simple things are more fun and meaningful than all the banquets in the world ...

Love, like Fortune, favours the bold.

There are times when wisdom cannot be found in the chambers of parliament or the halls of academia but at the unpretentious setting of the kitchen table.

It was not curiosity that killed the goose who laid the golden egg, but an insatiable greed that devoured common sense.

Love is supposed to be based on trust, and trust on love, it's something rare and beautiful when people can confide in each other without fearing what the other person will think.

No one messes around with a nerd’s computer and escapes unscathed.

... what you think is right isn't the same as knowing what is right.

You can’t enjoy art or books in a hurry.

If you boil it down, just because someone else does the wrong thing we are not exempt from doing what’s right.

Pops added,"you know, they say if you don't vote, you get the government you deserve." "And if you do, you never get the results you expected," (Katherine) replied.

... how terrible is the pain of the mind and heart when the freedom of mankind is suppressed!

... an artist should paint from the heart, and not always what people expect. Predictability often leads to the dullest work, in my opinion, and we have been bored stiff long enough I think.

Abortion should be listed as a weapon of mass destruction against the voiceless.

...they say if you don't vote, you get the government you deserve, and if you do, you never get the results you expected.

... a true friend has your best interests at heart and the pluck to tell you what you need to hear.

While she could hardly fathom what had just happened to her that night, she reached some conclusions before she fell asleep, certain things now made perfect sense; Moon River didn’t sound so syrupy, mistletoe wasn’t such a bad idea, and perhaps dating was not such a frivolous waste of time after all.

That's it. Love makes us all strong.

It’s an artist’s right to rebel against the world’s stupidity.

You cannot hinder someone’s free will, that’s the first law of the Universe, no matter what the decision.

Evil influence is like a nicotine patch, you cannot help but absorb what sticks to you.

Theatres are curious places, magician's trick-boxes where the golden memories of dramtic triumphs linger like nostalgic ghosts, and where the unexplainable, the fantastic, the tragic, the comic and the absurd are routine occurences on and off the stage. Murders, mayhem, politcal intrigue, lucrative business, secret assignations, and of course, dinner.

Socrates: Have you noticed on our journey how often the citizens of this new land remind each other it is a free country? Plato: I have, and think it odd they do this. Socrates: How so, Plato? Plato: It is like reminding a baker he is a baker, or a sculptor he is a sculptor. Socrates: You mean to say if someone is convinced of their trade, they have no need to be reminded. Plato: That is correct. Socrates: I agree. If these citizens were convinced of their freedom, they would not need reminders.

There are some things you can’t learn at any university, except for one, the University of Life... the only college where everyone is a permanent student.

While art thrives on the blazing colours of scandal, literature blossoms on the dark soil of tragedy.

There has to be a cut-off somewhere between the freedom of expression and a graphically explicit free-for-all.

If you are what you eat, you are what you see and hear.

Sweetheart, darling, dearest, it was funny to think that these endearments, which used to sound exceedingly sentimental in movies and books, now held great importance, simple but true verbal affirmations of how they felt for each other. They were words only the heart could hear and understand, words that could impart entire pentameter sonnets in their few, short syllables.

It is unfortunate that in most cases when the sins of the father fall on the son it is because unlike God, people refuse to forgive and forget and heap past wrongs upon innocent generations.

Art is in the eye of the beholder, and everyone will have their own interpretation.

If Christ is God, He cannot sin, and if suffering was a sin in and by itself, He could not have suffered and died for us. However, since He took the most horrific death to redeem us, He showed us in fact that suffering and pain have great power.

To be, or not to be: what a question!

Free time is a terrible thing to waste. Read a book.

Ah, the magic of music, with it, all things are possible.

... the vintage of history is forever repeating ~ same old vines, same old wines!

It's a shame there has to be a tragedy before the best in people will finally shine.

... food is not simply organic fuel to keep body and soul together, it is a perishable art that must be savoured at the peak of perfection.

You know how creative people are, we have to try everything until we find our niche.

It was exciting to be off on a journey she had looked forward to for months. Oddly, the billowing diesel fumes of the airport did not smell like suffocating effluence, it assumed a peculiar pungent scent that morning, like the beginning of a new adventure, if an adventure could exude a fragrance.

If you cannot judge a book by its cover, surely we should not judge an author by one book alone?

If on thoughts of death we are fed, Thus, a coffin, became my bed.

You staying home all alone on New Year's Eve? Unthinkable. Take my advice ... the countdown should be shared with someone, or it's just another set of numbers passing you by.

The devil has not vanished simply because people refuse to believe he exists, no more than God has...

God Is, Lucifer is a devil, and there is a Hell.

Democracy was supposed to champion freedom of speech, and yet the simple rules of table decorum could clamp down on the rights their forefathers had fought and died for.

If you want to find out if someone is a true bookworm or not, give them a thousand page novel and see what happens.

Righteous, I like that. Kinda fitting when you think about it. If we danced and shared music, we'd be too busy en-joy-in' life to start a war.

We are the sum total of the decisions we have made.

Since art is considered a noble field, art should be used to promote all that is good and noble, and in a noble fashion.

When in doubt, throw doubt out and have a little faith....

Thus, Marlowe posed the silent question: could aspiring Icarus be happy with a toilsome life on land managing a plough with plodding oxen having once tasted the weightless bliss of flight?

A mask you ask? Optional I find! Masks lend appeal of a mysterious kind.

... insanity is never reasonable.

... true evil needs no reason to exist, it simply is and feeds upon itself.

A new challenge keeps the brain kicking and the heart ticking.

... a man doesn't like to have his ego popped, especially when he prides himself on his sagacity, and then to be proved wrong by a man who claims he doesn't know anything.

There's nothing like a printed book; the weight, the woody scent, the feel, the look.

Ah college years, those were the days. Pure freedom ... leaving home for the first time…the parties…” "What about the tutorials, the lectures, the large building with all the books called the ‘library’?” “Is that what those were?” Gerry blithely replied.

If there are damned souls in Hell, it is because men blind themselves.

... the lofty mind of man can be imprisoned by the artifices of its own making.

One piece of wisdom a writer quickly learns ~ typos keep you humble.

... The Book is more important than your plans for it. You have to go with what works for The Book ~ if your ideas appear hollow or forced when they are put on paper, chop them, erase them, pulverise them and start again. Don't whine when things are not going your way, because they are going the right way for The Book, which is more important. The show must go on, and so must The Book.

#Twitter: proudly promoting ghastly grammar and silly misspelling since 2006.

There is much to discover that's not on the back cover!

The simple everyday experiences become the doorway to new thoughts and inspirations.

The gates of Hell are terrible to behold, are they not?

... love for our neighbours does not die the minute we enter heaven, it intensifies.

There are many forms of tyrants, but there are none so terrible as those stifling their own people in the name of freedom.

I believe books should be like a prime rib steak ~ good and thick.

There's something satisfying about getting your hands in the soil.

True beauty lies not upon gilded veneers, But found in the soul within.

You can kill a book quicker by your silence than by a bad review.

She preferred the quiet solitary atmosphere, to create in her own world of paint and colour, the thrill of anticipating how her works would turn out as she eyed the blank sheets of paper or canvas before starting her next masterpiece. How satisfying it was to mess around in paint gear, without having to worry about spills, starch or frills, that was the life!

Editors can be stupid at times. They just ignore that author’s intention. I always try to read unabridged editions, so much is lost with cut versions of classic literature, even movies don’t make sense when they are edited too much. I love the longueurs of a book even if they seem pointless because you can get a peek into the author’s mind, a glimpse of their creative soul. I mean, how would people like it if editors came along and said to an artist, ‘Whoops, you left just a tad too much space around that lily pad there, lets crop that a bit, shall we?’. Monet would be ripping his hair out.

There are so many problems to solve on this planet first before we begin to trash other worlds.

He offered his love ... she could not bother, She gives her love to the other! The other!

Speed is not always a constituent to great work, the process of creation should be given time and thought.

They lived off each other's hypocrisy, fuelling a worthless market of trash.

Stay away from the underground lake I implore, The Siren will see you are heard of no more.

When Hitler marched across the Rhine To take the land of France, La dame de fer decided, ‘Let’s make the tyrant dance.’ Let him take the land and city, The hills and every flower, One thing he will never have, The elegant Eiffel Tower. The French cut the cables, The elevators stood still, ‘If he wants to reach the top, Let him walk it, if he will.’ The invaders hung a swastika The largest ever seen. But a fresh breeze blew And away it flew, Never more to be seen. They hung up a second mark, Smaller than the first, But a patriot climbed With a thought in mind: ‘Never your duty shirk.’ Up the iron lady He stealthily made his way, Hanging the bright tricolour, He heroically saved the day. Then, for some strange reason, A mystery to this day, Hitler never climbed the tower, On the ground he had to stay. At last he ordered she be razed Down to a twisted pile. A futile attack, for still she stands Beaming her metallic smile.

Faustus, who embraced evil and shunned righteousness, became the foremost symbol of the misuse of free will, that sublime gift from God with its inherent opportunity to choose virtue and reject iniquity. “What shall a man gain if he has the whole world and lose his soul,” (Matt. 16: v. 26) - but for a notorious name, the ethereal shadow of a career, and a brief life of fleeting pleasure with no true peace? This was the blackest and most captivating tragedy of all, few could have remained indifferent to the growing intrigue of this individual who apparently shook hands with the devil and freely chose to descend to the molten, sulphuric chasm of Hell for all eternity for so little in exchange. It is a drama that continues to fascinate today as powerfully as when Faustus first disseminated his infamous card in the Heidelberg locale to the scandal of his generation. In fine, a life of good or evil, the hope of Heaven or the despair of Hell, Faustus stands as a reminder that the choice between these two absolutes also falls to us.

(The Mona Lisa), that really is the ugliest portrait I’ve seen, the only thing that supposedly makes it famous is the mystery behind it,” Katherine admitted as she remembered her trips to the Louvre and how she shook her head at the poor tourists crowding around to see a jaundiced, eyebrow-less lady that reminded her of tight-lipped Washington on the dollar bill. Surely, they could have chosen a better portrait of the First President for their currency?

Finding a taxi, she felt like a child pressing her nose to the window of a candy store as she watched the changing vista pass by while the twilight descended and the capital became bathed in a translucent misty lavender glow. Entering the city from that airport was truly unique. Charles de Gaulle, built nineteen miles north of the bustling metropolis, ensured that the final point of destination was veiled from the eyes of the traveller as they descended. No doubt, the officials scrupulously planned the airport’s location to prevent the incessant air traffic and roaring engines from visibly or audibly polluting the ambience of their beloved capital, and apparently, they succeeded. If one flew over during the summer months, the visitor would be visibly presented with beautifully managed quilt-like fields of alternating gold and green appearing as though they were tilled and clipped with the mathematical precision of a slide rule. The countryside was dotted with quaint villages and towns that were obviously under meticulous planning control. When the aircraft began to descend, this prevailing sense of exactitude and order made the visitor long for an aerial view of the capital city and its famous wonders, hoping they could see as many landmarks as they could before they touched ground, as was the usual case with other major international airports, but from this point of entry, one was denied a glimpse of the city below. Green fields, villages, more fields, the ground grew closer and closer, a runway appeared, a slight bump or two was felt as the craft landed, and they were surrounded by the steel and glass buildings of the airport. Slightly disappointed with this mysterious game of hide-and-seek, the voyager must continue on and collect their baggage, consoled by the reflection that they will see the metropolis as they make their way into town. For those travelling by road, the concrete motorway with its blue road signs, the underpasses and the typical traffic-logged hubbub of industrial areas were the first landmarks to greet the eye, without a doubt, it was a disheartening first impression. Then, the real introduction began. Quietly, and almost imperceptibly, the modern confusion of steel and asphalt was effaced little by little as the exquisite timelessness of Parisian heritage architecture was gradually unveiled. Popping up like mushrooms were cream sandstone edifices filigreed with curled, swirling carvings, gently sloping mansard roofs, elegant ironwork lanterns and wood doors that charmed the eye, until finally, the traveller was completely submerged in the glory of the Second Empire ala Baron Haussmann’s master plan of city design, the iconic grand mansions, tree-lined boulevards and avenues, the quaint gardens, the majestic churches with their towers and spires, the shops and cafés with their colourful awnings, all crowded and nestled together like jewels encrusted on a gold setting.