How many slams in an old screen door? Depends how loud you shut it. How many slices in a bread? Depends how thin you cut it. How much good inside a day? Depends how good you live 'em. How much love inside a friend? Depends how much you give 'em. ” ― How Many, How Much by Shel Silverstein “Tell the truth, or someone will tell it for you.
The fact that I was a junkie for a long time is only one slice of my own personal pie, which is made up of a lot of different slices.
I don't sleep. I hate those little slices of death.
No matter how I feel, I get up, dress up, and show up for life. When I do, the day always serves up more than I could have hoped for. Each day truly is a slice of heaven. Some days the slices are just smaller than others.
Different languages cut the world into different slices.
You realize the futility of worry. You learn to hate the small and the little. Life is a pie which you cut in large slices, not grudgingly, not sparingly. You know your limitations and proceed to eliminate them; your abilities, and proceed to develop them. You are free.
I take the good with the bad. I can't love people in slices.
I was writing everything. I grew up in Albany, New York, and I was never any farther west than Syracuse, and I wrote Westerns. I wrote tiny little slices of life, sent them off to The Sewanee Review, and they always sent them back. For the first 10 years I was published, I'd say, "I'm a writer disguised as a mystery writer. " But then I look back, and well, maybe I'm a mystery writer. You tend to go where you're liked, so when the mysteries were being published, I did more of them.
Aside from some extra fiber, eating two slices of whole wheat bread is really little different, and often worse, than drinking a can of sugar-sweetened soda or eating a sugary candy bar.
There's a pizza place near where I live that sells only slices. In the back, you can see a guy tossing a triangle in the air.
Sleep, those little slices of death — how I loathe them.
Cut that pizza into six slices instead of eight, I ain't that hungry.
I want everybody to go jump in the ocean to see for themselves how beautiful it is, how important it is to get acquainted with fish swimming in the ocean, rather than just swimming with lemon slices and butter.
My bitterness is not an abstract substance, it is as solid as a Christmas cake; I can cut it in slices and hand it round and there is still plenty left, for tomorrow.
When I'm writing, the romance is always the most important thing to me, but I really love adding in slices of real life, and for me that real life always includes animals.
I have a carbohydrate and protein-rich diet. For breakfast, I typically have two slices of bread with butter or jam, four to five eggs - boiled or fried - a few bananas and a glass of milk.
Collectivism doesn't work because it's based on a faulty economic premise. There is no such thing as a person's "fair share" of wealth. The gross national product is not a pizza that must be carefully divided because if I get too many slices, you have to eat the box. The economy is expandable and, in any practical sense, limitless.
Perfect sandwich? Two slices of white bread, mustard, mayo and a platinum American Express card.
