We didn't start this war - the right wing did. We're tired of seeing good-paying jobs shipped overseas. This fight is about the economy, it's about jobs and it's about rebuilding America.
Socrates is flying. No, he is soaring. The wings behind him beat in a calming rhythm while the cool air rushes past. His wings are all that matter, snapping at the rushing wind like the sails of some great sea vessel, the feathery appendages all he i...
We got talking about how some people were selfish and some weren’t, and the difference between right-wing people and left-wing people. You said it all came down to imagination. Conversative people don’t usually have very much, so they find it har...
If about a dozen genera of birds had become extinct or were unknown, who would have ventured to have surmised that birds might have existed which used their wings solely as flappers, like the logger-headed duck (Micropterus of Eyton); as fins in the ...
Gold Two: [the Y-wings are running the gauntlet toward the Death Star reactor-port] The guns - they've stopped! Gold Five: [realizes why] Stabilize your rear deflectors... Watch for enemy fighters. Gold Leader: They're coming in! Three marks at 2-10!...
One single sentence, one frame of film, and abracadabra! the story’s wings would take her to another lost world, another magic realm that was ready to be explored.
The truth remains quiet inside us,floundering like a battered bird,desperately wanting to spread its wings and fly away. -TARA
And off in the far distance, the gold on the wings of the angel atop the bell tower of San Marco flashed in the sun, bathing the entire city in its glistening benediction.
Sometimes in life, dreams aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. When they’re not, though, there’s usually another dream—a better dream —waiting for you in the wings.
Hardly has the universe stretched its wings to span When it gathers to egg once more
It wasn’t every day a girl lost her virginity, not to mention to a delicious, perfect specimen of man. One who had wings, to boot.
My armor is like tenfold shields, my teeth are swords, my claws spears, the shock of my tail a thunderbolt, my wings a hurricane, and my breath death!
I was caged by him like a bird with clipped wings. I could flutter but I couldn’t escape though I’m not certain I’d want to even if I could.
. . . I suppose one starts out, as a child, being romantic and dreaming of adventure. Poetic. Then reality comes along, and with it, a whole lot of prose.
He was definitely taking his bodyguard duties seriously tonight. He gave off a take-one-step-closer-and-I-will-show-you-Armageddon vibe.
Love is like a buffalo with butterfly wings, and I’m just the humble man in the jetpack trying to shoot it down with a bow and arrow.
She listens to the delicate fluttering of sparrows' wings, tiny messengers. The sound reminds her of life - struggling, beating, rising, flying, and now dissolving into space.
I dream of flight, not to be as the angels are, but to rise above the smallness of it all. The smallnesss that I am. Against the daily death the iconography of wings.
There was nothing better than the feel of a book in your hand, listening to the crinkling sounds as you turned its pages and the smell of its crisp paper.
Psalm 57:1--Have mercy on me, my God, have mercy on me, for in you I take refuge. I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the disaster has passed.
My sister don't talk much. When she does, it's only to me, in moth-winged whispers, and only when we're alone.
