A guy walks into a bar, orders a drink, sees a girl that catches his eye. Asks her if she wants another, they fall for each other and end up lovers. They laugh, cry, hold on tight and make it work for a little while, then one night her taillights fade out into the dark. And a guy walks into a bar
My energy level rises but I get calmer, if that's possible. What a lot of people tend to do is get real tight and get all psyched up and take themselves out of their game.
Faith is a bluebird you see from afar, it's for real and as sure as the first evening star. You can't touch it or buy it or wrap it up tight, but it's there all the same, making things turn out right.
Better to be a spirit with the earth beneath you than a corpse pinned tight by the weight of the world.
I balled my hands into tight fists to keep them from wrapping around Mr. I-Know-Everything's superior neck.
Fright is something one can never get over. When a warrior is caught in such a tight spot he would simply turn his back to the ally without thinking twice. A warrior cannot indulge thus he cannot die of fright. A warrior allows the ally to come only when he is good and ready. When he is strong enough to grapple with the ally he opens up his gap and lurches out, grabs the ally, keeps him pinned down and maintains his stare on him for exactly the time he has to, then he moves his eyes away and releases the ally and lets him go. A warrior, my little friend, is the master at all times
I've been YouTube surfing a lot lately so I'll Shazam a song that I find or some s - - and type that in on YouTube and just go through all the relateds for it. So it's been a lot of random jazz s - - lately. Like I found Lonnie Liston Smith, and Ahmad Jamal, s - - like that. So that's been very tight.
Shame works like the zoom lens on a camera. When we are feeling shame, the camera is zoomed in tight and all we see is our flawed selves, alone and struggling. (page 68)
Writers who think THEY are being criticized when only that writing is being criticized are beyond a teacher's reach. Writing can only be learned when a writer coldly separates himself from what he has written and looks at it with the objectivity of a plumber examining a newly piped bathroom to see if he got all the joints tight.
Jason Witten will go down as one of the best tight ends in history.
But it's also another myth to think that you should be as tight as a drum and not have any frailties or fragilities.
I carefully lifted out of the pose and spoke up: Uh, Fran? When I'm doing the pose (camel), I have this feeling in my chest, kind of a scary, tight feeling. -Fran was adjusting someone across the room. She had a way of looking like a thoughtful seamstress when she made adjustments: an inch let out here, a seam straightened there, and everything would be just right. She might as well have had pins tucked between her lips and a tape measure around her neck. Without missing a beat or looking up she said, Oh, that's fear. Try the pose again. -Fear. I hadn't even known it was there.
I don't obsess about my weight. I just know I've got to watch it when my pants feel tight.
It is that holy poetry and singing we are after. . . . It is the wild singing we are after, our chance to use the wild language we are learning by heart under the sea. When a woman speaks her truth, fires up her intention and feeling, staying tight with the instinctive nature, she is singing, she is living in the wild breath-stream of the soul. To live this way is a cycle in itself, one meant to go on, go on, go on.
If i am ever given the captaincy, I will be very tight on my players to keep them in line.
I forced a smile. It was the one I'd been practicing all morning. It felt tight at the edges and brittle everywhere in between.
We begin to make the plan known to our children when we hold tight to the iron rod ourselves.
Throw your arms around the world and hold on tight. But not through fear. . . but because of your love.
late news was suicide of w:Jan Masaryk - In my view, Jan Masaryk was thoroughly corrupt, who bumped himself off because he saw at last where his moral cowardice and ideological 'Playboyery' had led him. I vividly remember visiting him in Washington, fat, slightly tight, coming into the room looking like a broken-down butler with his master, the little Communist, Clementis, [-] and saying in a loud voice -'Has anyone seen an Iron Curtain? I haven't. ' Well, he has now.
And always Melbourne, Melbourne, Melbourne, over and over the same photo in glaring greens and reds, of a tram, huffy, blunderous, manoeuvring itself with pole akimbo round the tight corner where Bourke Street enters Spring.