That everything in nature has “the appearance” of design is not exactly evidence against design. According to Dawkins, though, if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it is almost certainly something else.
Is it possible that that's all maturity is? Speaking better? Is it possible that everybody in the world, is just a dumb, stupid kid acting like a grown-up because they can sound like one and look like one? It almost seems easy.
He didn't like religion, hadn't liked it for years, but he adored churches, loved them like old scientific instruments whose time is long past but are nevertheless fascinating and strange.
Many a night I woke to the murmer of paper and knew (Dad) was up, sitting in the kitchen with frayed King James - oh, but he worked that book; he held to it like a rope ladder.
And I feel like a real Dad when I read to her at night. She won't sleep without one story, at least.
just a little bit longer, sing: like rain, like sand, like wind in the night, prickling" from the poem - STAY from the book "Riding the Escalator
I don’t like like like I love love, but I’ll bet we have that in common. You have so much love to give that I’m surprised I haven’t received any of it.
Sometimes I feel like this. Sometimes I feel like that. I wish I could be more specific, but that’s how I feel—vague.
Malibu: With sounds of waves crashing, and the ocean at the doorstep, you feel like you are hours away from civilization. And with L.A. traffic, YOU ARE.
You make me feel like I am everywhere when I am right here, completely still with you.
It's hard to say which I like more, the perfectly happy days or the hours right after we've ended a good fight.
These days, I'm finding it harder and harder to breathe. My chest pounds with every heart beat like you're here, again, standing in front of me, your two hands around my neck.
I'm offering you love on a stick. If you'd like, you can grab it to go. It’s like a popsicle, only it won’t melt if you put it through hell like you did with you last boyfriend.
I don't know why, it's the same reason why you like some music and you don't like others. There's something about it that you like. Ultimately I don't find it's in my best interests to try and analyze it, since it's fundamentally emotional.
Like the waters of the river, like the motorists on the highway, and like the yellow trains streaking down the Santa Fe tracks, drama, in the shape of exceptional happenings, had never stopped there.
I like these people swarming on the sidewalks, wedged into a little space of houses and canals, hemmed in by fogs, cold lands, and the sea streaming like a wet wash. I like them, for they are double. They are here and elsewhere.
It's about people who still are unaware. Therefore they strive to live by all means: love like no one before them loved, believe like no one ever believed, desire like no one else ever desired...
Once 9/11 happened, people who looked like me and whose children looked like us and whose husbands looked of a community, really were made to feel quite the other, and I thought that was impossible in a city like New York but I myself was witness to ...
If you like a wine that you drink, now with your phone, it's so easy. Just take a picture of the label. You learn about it. You learn where it comes from and what the soil is like and why you like it. And that'll lead you to another wine.
At times he could be very critical. He didn't like prints on me. He didn't like stripes. He didn't like boldness. He said I was petite and that was taking away from my looks.
A song she heard Of cold that gathers Like winter's tongue Among the shadows It rose like blackness In the sky That on volcano's Vomit rise A Stone of ruin From burn to chill Like black moonrise Her voice fell still...
