Political campaigns are the graveyard of real ideas and the birthplace of empty promises.
Virtue is no empty echo.
Frank tugged again with no luck. Even Hazel was trying not to laugh. Frank grimaced with concentration. Suddenly, he disappeared. On the deck where he’d been standing, a green iguana crouched next to an empty set of Chinese handcuffs. “Well done, Frank Zhang,” Leo said dryly, doing his impression of Chiron the centaur. “That is exactly how people beat Chinese handcuffs. They turn into iguanas.
When I turned pro, Muhammad Ali was laying back, and I was able to fill up an area that was empty.
The God of the theologians is the creation of their empty heads.
You are beautiful, but you are empty,” he went on. “One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you--the rose that belongs to me.
I’m erased. I’m gone. I’m nothing. And then the world is free to flow into me like water into an empty bowl…. And… I see. I hear. But not with eyes and ears. I’m not outside my world anymore, and I’m not really inside it either. The thing is, there’s no difference between me and the universe. The boundary is gone. I am it and it is me. I am a stone, a cactus thorn. I am rain. I like that most of all, being rain.
Later as the day cools and they have gone in, the cry of the corncrake will carry across those same fields and over the lake to the blue-hazed mountain, such a lonely evening sound to it, like the lonely evening sound of the mothers, saying it is not our fault that we weep so, it is nature's fault that makes us first full, then empty.
An empty canvas is full only if you want it to be full.
A sacrifice to be real must cost, must hurt, must empty ourselves.
In the most complete friendship there is always a little empty space, like the space in an egg.
All our lives we are putting pennies — our most golden pennies — into penny-in-the-slot machines that are almost always empty.
When you're full of yourself, God can't fill you. But when you empty yourself, God has a useful vessel.
The miraculous is not extraordinary but the common mode of existence. It is our daily bread. Whoever really has considered the lilies of the field or the birds of the air and pondered the improbability of their existence in this warm world within the cold and empty stellar distances will hardly balk at the turning of water into wine which was, after all, a very small miracle. We forget the greater and still continuing miracle by which water (with soil and sunlight) is turned into grapes.
Everyone is in such a hurry. People haven’t found meaning in their lives, so they’re running all the time looking for it. They think the next car, the next house, the next job. Then they find those things are empty, too, and they keep running. Once you start running, it’s hard to slow yourself down.
All money does with an empty heart is allow you to be miserable in style.
I have always felt that violence was the last refuge of the incompetent, and empty threats the last sanctuary of the terminally inept.
I feel like when I was an adolescent, and felt so unworthy of love and so empty, I moved outside of myself.
Everything was coming my way, but I was going down. I was painfully empty.
And hate the bright stillness of the noon without wind, without motion. the only other living thing a hawk, hungry for prey, suspended in the blinding, sunlit blue. And yet how gentle it seems to someone raised in a landscape short of rain- the skyline of a hill broken by no more trees than one can count, the grass, the empty sky, the wish for water.