Soul Sister Evoking all my inner goodness with bastions of time I cradle your heart sisterly into mine...
Cradle of Solitude For we know not why our tribulations are given as such our fragile forms created from the dust...
What character with any sense of aesthetics desires a cradle-to-grave account of himself? That’s so passé, so nineteenth-century.
We must remember that nature is the supreme cradle of life, and must be protected and treated with the highest respect and care.
Beware of the man who works hard to learn something, learns it, and finds himself no wiser than before.
If you give me any problem in America I can trace it down to domestic violence. It is the cradle of most of the problems, economic, psychological, educational.
I think actors always retain one foot in the cradle. We're switched on to our youth, to our childhood. We have to be because we're in the business of transferring emotions to other people.
Children change you. You have this overwhelming feeling of responsibility, of love - they're everything. They're yours. You know when you're cuddling them, cradling them, and you can smell their hair. I love that.
Jude has a very different character. It is not the cradle of Christianity, or of the assembly on earth: it is its decay and its death here below. It does not keep its first estate.
With longer life spans and better health and education, many feel that giving birth to a baby a mere couple of decades after they themselves were in the cradle is a little premature.
Human language is lit with animal life: we play cats-cradle or have hare-brained ideas; we speak of badgering, or outfoxing someone; to squirrel something away and to ferret it out.
The Past: Our cradle, not our prison; there is danger as well as appeal in its glamour. The past is for inspiration, not imitation, for continuation, not repetition.
I always figure from the cradle to the grave, we all have our individual journeys, and maybe my journey was a positive one and I accomplished certain things without stepping on too many toes.
My parents had a pub and each Sunday there was an accordionist. They have told me that when I was in my cradle, I already was imitating the gestures of the musician.
And to every man has been assigned a good and an evil angel; one assisting him and the other annoying him, from his cradle to his coffin.
The unity in every second of all time and all wandering mankind, all wandering womankind, all wandering children.
You'll forget it when you're dead, and so will I. When I'm dead, I'm going to forget everything–and I advise you to do the same.
She was a fool, and so am I, and so is anyone who thinks he sees what God is Doing, [writes Bokonon].
Nothing is generous. New knowledge is a valuable commodity. The more truth we have to work with, the richer we are.
Maturity,” Bokonon tells us, “is a bitter disappointment for which no remedy exists, unless laughter can be said to remedy anything.
Americans... are forever searching for love in forms it never takes, in places it can never be. It must have something to do with the vanished frontier.
