I think that zinc white has a property of scaling and cracking.

It's a business. If I could make more money down in the zinc mines I'd be mining zinc.

Politicians wanted to mine the Grand Canyon for zinc and copper, and Theodore Roosevelt said no.

I take a multivitamin, vitamin D, and omega-3 oils every day, and if I'm stressed or run- down, I bulk up on vitamin C and zinc.

Too many multi-vitamins are packaged as one size fits all, but you should be more specific about what you need. When I was competing as a dancer, I took zinc for healthy skin and immune system.

I have pleasures, and passions, but the joy of life is gone. I am going under: the morgue yawns for me. I go and look at my zinc-bed there. After all, I had a wonderful life, which is, I fear, over.

What gives these corporations like CONOCO, SHELL, EXXON, DIASHAWA, ITT, RIO TINTO ZINC, and the WORLD BANK a right which supercedes or is superior to my human right to live on my land, or that of my family, my community, my nation, our nations, and to us as women?

I continue coupling a plate of silver with one of zinc, and always in the same order... and place between each of these couples a moistened disk. I continue to form a column. If the column contains about twenty of these couples of metal, it will be capable of giving to the fingers several small shocks.

I try to get seven to eight hours of sleep. Wash my hands a lot, take a few supplements, like omega-3 and vitamin D. When I feel a cold coming on, I pop some zinc. I do my best to eat a low-sodium, high-fiber diet. I drink mostly water or coconut water. I don't smoke, no drugs, and drink red wine occasionally.

Chocolate is an extraordinary source of key stress-fighting minerals including: magnesium, iron, chromium, vanadium, copper, zinc, manganese, and phosphorus. These minerals favorably influence a woman's hormone system, which explains why chocolate has always been considered important for a woman's monthly cycle.

Nothing that had ever happened to him, not the shooting of Oyster, or the piteous muttering expiration of John Wesley Shannenhouse, or the death of his father, or internment of his mother and grandfather, not even the drowning of his beloved brother, had ever broken his heart quite as terribly as the realization, when he was halfway to the rimed zinc hatch of the German station, that he was hauling a corpse behind him

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