What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head; The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine; The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
whenever the literary german dives into a sentence, this is the last you are going to see of him till he emerges on the other side of his atlantic with his verb in his mouth.
Your mind is made up but your mouth is undone.
If he smiled much more, the ends of his mouth might meet behind, and then I don't know what would happen to his head! I'm afraid it would come off!
But when I got angry, my nerves sought an outlet, and my mouth didn't always guard the gates.
Just because you can thrill a toddler by chewing with your mouth open doesn’t mean you should.
You worry too much about what goes into your mouth and not enough about what comes out of it.
The link between my brain and my mouth is just not there anymore.
There are more quarrels smothered by just shutting your mouth, and holding it shut, than by all the wisdom in the world.
Give a moment or two to the angry young man with his foot in his mouth and his heart in his hand.
O, blackberry tart, with berries as big as your thumb, purple and black, and thick with juice, and a crust to endear them that will go to cream in your mouth, and both passing down with such a taste that will make you close your eyes and wish you might live forever in the wideness of that rich moment.
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, So I make an idle boast; Jesus of the twice-turned cheek Lamb of God, although I speak With my mouth thus, in my heart Do I play a double part.
Hey big mouth, how do you spell triple?
You keep runnin that mouth and I'm goin to take you back there and screw you.
You should never stick something that you are allergic to into your mouth, especially if that thing is cats.
. . . Bringing the very heavens close enough to touch. It was Zsadist. His eyes closed, his head back, his mouth wide open, he sang. The scarred one, the souless one, had the voice of an angel.
My mouth blooms like a cut.
No man ought to looke a given horse in the mouth.
As soon as you lay down, that's when the most bizarre things start coming out of her mouth. 'Goodnight, baby. ' 'Do you think we were together in a past life?' 'Yeah, and I died of sleep deprivation. Go to bed. ' 'Don't you feel like we're soul. . . '
I would say Pittsburgh softly each time before throwing him up. Whisper Pittsburgh with my mouth against the tiny ear and throw him higher. Pittsburgh and happiness high up. The only way to leave even the smallest trace. So that all his life her son would feel gladness unaccountably when anyone spoke of the ruined city of steel in America. Each time almost remembering something maybe important that got lost.