There is nothing more dread and more shameless than a woman who plans such deeds in her heart as the foul deed which she plotted when she contrived her husband's murder.
I will never play for the Miami Heat.
I haven't played defense in a couple years.
They talked about teamwork. That's all it is. It's about team effort. No particular player trying to outshine each other. Playing unselfishly and believe. Good things will come.
Can't pick and choose when you're gonna be a leader. If you're gonna be it - gotta do it every day.
I'm a point guard, so I want to see everybody else score and be happy. I don't necessarily need to score at all. I could be happy with zero points as long as it was a team game and everybody contributed.
I never doubted myself. It just didn't work.
We must make this an insecure and inhospitable place for capitalists and their projects. We must reclaim the roads and plowed land, halt dam constructions, tear down existing dams, free shackled rivers and return to wilderness millions of acres of previously settled land.
Everything that belonged to her husband made her weep again: his tasseled slippers, his pajamas under the pillow, the space of his absence in the dressing table mirror, his own odor on her skin. A vague thought made her shudder: "The people one loves should take all their things with them when they die.
If we are enforcing what should be the rules around Medicare and making sure the people are getting the bang for the buck, it's not going to be possible for insurance companies to simply pass on those costs to Medicare recipients, because ultimately it's Uncle Sam that's paying for those services anyway.
O teach me how I should forget to think (1. 1. 224)