You know that person on your left shoulder who tells you that you can't do it or that you're not good enough? Tell that person to GET LOST!
When everything else crumbles to dust, all we have left are the memories. I thought of Ophelia, wandering the theater, mind half gone...Never shall I cut from memory my sweet love's beauty.
He was afraid of touching his own wrist. He never attempted to sleep on his left side, even in those dismal hours of the night when the insomniac longs for a third side after trying the two he has.
Someday all the wilds will be razed, and we will be left with a concrete landscape, a land of pretty houses and trim gardens and planned parks and forests, and a world that works as smoothly as a clock, neatly wound: a world of metal and gears, and p...
Mrs. Sussex said Byron’s loss would grow more bearable. But here was the nub: he didn’t want to lose his loss. Loss was all he had left of his mother. If time healed the gap, it would be as if she’d never been there.
These days there seems to be nowhere left to explore, at least on the land area of the Earth. Victims of their very success, the explorers now pretty much stay home.
You cannot hide from the world. It will find you. It always does. And now it has found me. My split second of immortality is over. All that's left now is the end, which is all any of us ever has.
Lucian's father had warned him to fear idle men. Without the pride gained from a good day's work, they were left to their vices and the doubts that crowded their head. Their hatred. Their envy.
There is only one thing left for you to do,” John Sloan advised one artist. “Pull off your socks and try with your feet.
Dont ruin my balls!" She laughs as the words leave her mouth. Better yours than mine, chica." I toss the dough balls at her, one by one, until I've got none left.
A blanket (twin, full, or queen-sized) could be placed squarely over the state of Rhode Island, and there’d still be enough blanket space left over to keep an obese man warm through a blizzard.
He leaned toward me and delicately grazed my lips with his. The tease left me breathless, burning for more. “I keep having to remind myself that I can do that,” he smirked.
So I’m figuring this is death. The little air left in the cockpit is toxic with marthenine, and I can only wonder how much of it I have breathed in. Is my throat becoming raw hamburger? My lungs, oatmeal?
An ice sculpture in the Sahara makes about as much sense as donkey left open gaping wagon, Sergeant (add cream cheese sparingly).
I didn’t have time to bury the money. All my precious time was taken up burying the body. I should have left the body and hid the cash. Damn! Now I’ve got no body, but no money, and nobody to blame but myself.
I make an H2O alternative with my armpits. I left you a ten-gallon sample in your car, as a going away gift.
And out came an insult with the velocity of a whisper. But I could see I offended, so I zipped up my pants and left the wedding reception.
I won't discuss non-discussable things with her, like the sound of silence or the vertical dimensions of an awkward moment. Those sorts of things are best left unsaid, like the last time I told her I loved her.
Even if there were only seventeen syllables left in the universe, I still don’t think The Mythical Mr. Boo would write a haiku. Especially not if those syllables were groups of “oh,” “no,” “ah,” “ouch,” “ugh,” “eek,” and “...
Then he cocked his head to the side, arched his left eyebrow like a drawbridge, and said, “I am you in the future.” The only thing sillier than a clone, is a dream clone.
What are you willing to have left undone in your life? Don’t let yourself be another example of a life gambled but not lived. Do not waste another day! If not now, when?
