While we breathe, we will hope.
No louder shrieks to pitying heaven are cast, When husbands or lap-dogs breathe their last.
I breathe deeply, taking in the fresh spring air. Though Beaufort has changed and I have changed, the air itself has not. It’s still the air of my childhood, the air of my seventeenth year, and when I finally exhale, I’m fifty-seven once more. But this is okay. I smile slightly, looking towards the sky, knowing there’s one thing I haven’t told you: I now believe, by the way, that miracles can happen.
As in an organ from one blast of wind To many a row of pipes the soundboard breathes.
God breathes through us so completely. . . So gently we hardly feel it. . . yet it is our everything.
Wealthy men can't live in an island that is encircled by poverty. We all breathe the same air. We must give a chance to everyone, at least a basic chance.
I write to breathe life back into memory.
Sometimes the Earth trembles; sometimes you can feel it breathe.
It was no big deal. It didn't affect my vision and I could breathe OK.
When you have no idea how to surrender and you're tied up in knots, JUST BREATHE!
I breathe, I sleep, I eat music. Music is what I wanted to do.
Who says I breathe music? Who says I even breathe?
Bright-eyed Fancy, hov'ring o'er, Scatters from her pictured urn Thoughts that breathe and words that burn.
Try and get out into nature for even 30 min. each day to clear your head + think + walk + breathe. Great daily practice.
I like a canvas to breathe and be alive. Be alive is the point. And, as the limitations are something called pigment and canvas, let's see if I can do it.
Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.
I collect flickering stars in old pickling jars, poking holes in the lids so they can breathe.
I love you, Dominique. As selfishly as the fact that I exist. As selfishly as my lungs breathe air. I breathe for my own necessity, for the fuel of my body, for my survival. I've given you, not my sacrifice or my pity, but my ego and my naked need. This is the only way I can want you to love me.
Learn to breathe, learn to speak , but first. . learn to feel
Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack, all dressed in black, black, black. She has a knife, knife, knife, stuck in her back, back, back. She cannot breathe, breathe, breathe. She cannot cry, cry, cry. Thats why she begs, begs, begs. She begs to die, die ,die. . .