So we [with Chris Ellis] did [Fresh Hell], and we did the first five episodes as a lark, just to see if anybody would respond or be interested, and we got enough feedback that was positive that we thought, "Let's keep going with this and see if we can flesh it out a bit this season. " We've had 10 episodes, and they've been longer and a little more complete.
Jayne Anne Phillips. . . is at the height of her powers in Lark and Termite. . . . This is a major novel from one of America's finest writers.
What: is the jay more precious than the lark because his feathers are more beautiful?
Raising people is not some lark. It's serious work with serious repercussions. It's air-traffic control. You can't step out for a minute; you can barely pause to scratch your ankle.
We're alike, Jess would tell himself, me and Miss Edmunds. . . We don't belong at Lark Creek, Julia and me.
Smokey and The Bandit was just a lark. All we did was run up and down those Georgia roads wrecking cars and having the time of our life.
It was a bit of a lark when I agreed to do [Smokey and the Bandit], and I knew we'd have fun if we could get Jackie Gleason.
I might mention all the divine charms of a bright spring day, but if you had never in your life utterly forgotten yourself in straining your eyes after the mounting lark, or in wandering through the still lanes when the fresh-opened blossoms fill them with a sacred silent beauty like that of fretted aisles, where would be the use of my descriptive catalogue?
No more the mounting larks, while Daphne sings, Shall, list'ning, in mid-air suspend their wings.
Or maybe they were just doing it for fun. A lark. Their religion is tolerant of extreme forms of recreation. Boys will be boys, after all, and sociopathic boys will be sociopathic.
The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below
Crowds of bees are giddy with clover Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet, Crowds of larks at their matins hang over, Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet.
Teach me, O lark! with thee to greatly rise, to exalt my soul and lift it to the skies.
I'm just happy as a lark having a good health. People say are you thinking about retiring, I don't have time to think about retiring.
Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray, A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing, fond complaining.
Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!
And now the herald lark Left his ground-nest, high tow'ring to descry The morn's approach, and greet her with his song.
My curiosity sister of larks.
Like the lark that soars in the air, first singing, then silent, content with the last sweetness that satiates it, such seemed to me that image, the imprint of the Eternal Pleasure.
The music soars within the little lark, And the lark soars.
