Life is rather a short walk through eternity. Be they seeds, pups or infants, on the trek all pick up weight, sensitivity and awareness. Then, much before the end of the run, they deteriorate, head, legs and lungs. The tragicomedy of existence: the l...
No matter how many mistakes you make or how slow you progress, you are still way ahead of everyone who isn’t trying.
No matter how busy we may believe we are, we have the wonderful opportunity presently of investing time with loved ones. For those are the great investments we will be glad we made, when time begins to slow and the ability to tend turns tender.
I was begging you not to get married and if you do manage to talk some poor woman into marrying you, please pull out,” Paul said in a slow, condescending manner, raising his eyebrows in hopes of clarifying. “Sterilization should be a legal requir...
Do you feel like your action plans are stronger to than your capability? Just take a moment a draw a plan of how to deal with the difficult task with a single bite at each time. Go slow, but sure!
Just think of a safe location." "Are there tennis balls in the soup?" "Come on, be serious." "A pear camping highway fire mask," he said, more intensely. My heart rate, which had finally started slowing, sped up again.
I didn't know what to say. It kind of hurt just to look at her, in a way i'd forgotten. Sort of like a splinter - not when you first get it under your skin, but the slow ache after it has been taken out.
Life is a slope. As long as you're going up you're always looking towards the top and you feel happy, but when you reach it, suddenly you can see the road going downhill and death at the end of it all. It's slow going up and quick going down.
Soon shall thy arm, UNCONQUER'D STEAM! afar Drag the slow barge, or drive the rapid car; Or on wide-waving wings expanded bear The flying-chariot through the fields of air.
Getting fired, despite sometimes coming as a surprise and leaving you scrambling to recover, is often a godsend. Most people aren’t lucky enough to get fired and die a slow spiritual death over 30-40 years of tolerating the mediocre.
Eve continued with the inexorable process of dying, Zoe spent too much time with her grandparents, and Denny and I worked at slowing the beating of our hearts so we wouldn't feel so much pain.
She could not descend to an existence where her brain would explode under the pressure of forcing itself not to outdistance incompetence. She could not function to the rule of: Pipe down-keep down-slow down-don't do your best, it is not wanted!
Hey, Ms. P," Tad called, "what's going on?" She let out a slow breath before she answered. "You won't believe this... Brian Murrey tried to eat Scott Morgan." Nick's eyes widened at the unexpected explanation. Had he heard that right?
Experience hath shewn, that even under the best forms, those entrusted with power have, in time, and by slow operations, perverted it into tyranny; and it is believed that the most effectual means of preventing this would be, to illuminate, as far as...
Let's make this a slow ride, shall we?" The deep purr of her voice brought a sassy grin to his face. The long slant of his eyes grew languid. "You have the reins, cher. You can whip me with them if you like.
And yet it takes only the smallest pleasure or pain to teach us of time's malleability. Some emotions speed it up, others slow it down; occasionally, it seems to go missing - until the eventual point when it really does go missing, never to return.
He crooked a finger beneath her chin and lifted until she met his gaze. Her skin was just as soft as he remembered, and her lips just as full. Only the distress in her eyes was new. At least that was something he could fix
Harold had become, over the past week, a connoisseur of silences. He was an expert at differentiating the particulars; was this a Tranquil Silence, marked by slow sighs and peaceful smiles? Or was it a Tired Silence, marked by ornery chair shifting? ...
My hands felt electrically charged. My blood was ready to burst from my veins and my heart was beating a manic rhythm. I was frightened out of my wits but I was catching a familiar, addictive adrenaline wave. I was ready to taunt the reaper.
It might be high summer all about but inside me everything is fall. The lonesomeness of a sad, slow closing of days, knowing frost is nigh and wind needling through the cabin chinks is just around the bend. That's me, right now.
Claire coaxed free another loop of cloth. The slow side of cotton against cotton matched the soft tenor or her voice. 'I have lots of talents Mr. Ryland. Listening is only one of them.
