When we forgive and let go, not only does a huge weight drop off your shoulders, but the doorway to your own self-love opens.
A Drop of the Ocean is still the Ocean.
Life is not orderly. No matter how we try to make it so, right in the middle of it we die, lose a leg, fall in love, or drop a jar of applesauce.
Had it pleas'd heaven To try me with affliction * * * I should have found in some place of my soul A drop of patience.
That's how it happens, livin life by the drop.
Drop that zero and get with the hero!
Send a drop of kindness, and see a happy face.
Most food you drop is still perfectly edible. If it was in your eyesight the whole time, you can pick it up and eat it.
One good test of whether an economy is humanistic or not is the plausibility of earning the ability to drop out of it for a while without incident or insult.
We do inherently know that poetry is about the way we speak. It's about where we pause, where we drop our words in the middle of a sentence. It's about the rhythm and the cadence of the way we speak. It's about putting that down at the end of the day.
His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy There's vomit on his sweater already: mom's spaghetti He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready To drop bombs, but he keeps on forgetting What he wrote down. The whole crowd goes so loud He opens his mouth but the words won't come out He's choking, how? Everybody's joking now The clock's run out, time's up, over - blaow!
My life amounts to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean. Yet what is any ocean, but a multitude of drops?
