My heart is a protest that I let rally against my ribs.
I think I had about a month off when I broke my rib in Australia, which was magnificent.
You'll find people who rib you about their age are petrified about getting old. It doesn't bother me.
Being brokenhearted is like having broken ribs. On the outside it looks like nothing's wrong, but every breath hurts.
I should be the reigning champion. I punch a guy 300 times, he punches me a couple and they call him the champion? In what parallel universe does that make you the winner? I am the champion. I’ve been the champion. Anderson’s ribs have the exact same problem that his hands and his feet have, they’re attached to a cowardly person.
Her heart ached as though a knife had quietly slipped between her ribs.
Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and Canada are the horns, the head, the neck, the shins, and the hoof of the ox, and the United States are the ribs, the sirloin, the kidneys, and the rest of the body.
We all know the moon isn't made out of green cheese. . . but if it was made out of barbeque spare ribs would you eat it?
I had a major motorcycle accident on CHIPs that gave me a 50-50 chance to live. I broke a lot of bones and fractured ribs and broken wrists.
If you try putting a woman on a horse when she does not want to go, she may put a knife in your ribs.
In India, it's the rich who have problems with obesity. And the poor are darker-skinned because they work outside and often work without their tops on so you can see their ribs.
I tried to pretend that I was sitting in the stands with a buddy watching the game - poking him in the ribs when something exciting happened.
When you love a woman, you love yourself, and it's terrible really, how it seems perfectly possible to swallow the other. With a man you want to join, you want your ribs to connect like handcuffs. But with a woman if you swallow, she becomes you.
There Adam slept, and God formed the body of woman from one of his ribs, signifying that she should stand at his side as a companion and never lie at his feet like a slave, and also that he should love her as his own flesh.
When he laces his fingers through mine, my heart does its now familiar panicked flight, bumping painfully against my ribs. My shoulder twitches as if to pull my hand back, but my heart overrules it.
I can be whatever it takes to be a folksinger. Folk music to me, if we had to have a definition, is portable music. A lot of what I do is flash, gesture, athletics, but what it comes down to is getting across a melody that will help it stick to your ribs, and being able to take it from town to town.
How are my ribs? They're so meaningless it's hard to believe.
I used to routinely break my ribs doing stupid things onstage, but I have a healthy fear of breaking my bones now.
Used to be that my whole body was my canvas-hot cuts licking my ribs, ladder rungs climbing my arms, thick milkweed stalks shooting up my thighs.
Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but backrout quite the wits.