I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please, for so fools have.
God provides the wind, Man must raise the sail.
Anyway, I'm doing my rave and this spittle comes out of my mouth and it winds its way very delicately through the wire fence that separates us and lands clear and bright on Denzel's lip. And we're at the beginning of the scene and I've got to do the rest of the scene, and the camera isn't on him, it's on me - and I'm fully aware that I've just spat on Denzel Washington!
Like I tell people they wind up having short term pleasure and long term pain. I'm a tell what Minister Louis Farrakhan said, "Black people ain't poor, they just don't spend wisely" and that's the truth.
There is tonic in the things that men do not love to hear. Free speech is to a great people what the winds are to oceans. . . and where free speech is stopped miasma is bred, and death comes fast.
I think that's probably the most devastating thing - when someone who is larger than life winds up a shadow of themselves in a hospital bed.
Like a feather in a dust storm, with no direction The Raven flies through life, helpless and omitted Until night declares and the wind expires. Then it flies to the land of stones and etchings And becomes an Ember, breaking away
What is more gentle than a wind is summer?
I know the past will drag you backward and down, have you snatching at whispers of wind and the gibberish of trees rubbing together, trying to decipher some code, trying to piece together what was broken. It's hopeless. The past is nothing but a weight. It will build inside you like a stone.
The films of The Caine Mutiny and Marjorie Morningstar always seemed to me mere thin skims of the story lines, and I never did see a meager Hollywood caper called Youngblood Hawke, vaguely based on my 800-page novel. So it was that I opted for television, with its much broader time limits, for The Winds of War.
I walked around as you do, investigating the endless star, and in my net, during the night, I woke up naked, the only thing caught, a fish trapped inside the wind.
Nothing easier. One step beyond the pole, you see, and the north wind becomes a south one.
Beautifully Bleak. I likened the hills encircling Canberra to the sea. They, like the sea, could be a sunny beguiling blue, or deep and inky. They could be distant and mysterious, or beautifully bleak as the wind tore across the plains from their snowy peaks. The hills were ever changing like the sea.
America is a hurricane, and the only people who do not hear the sound are those fortunate if incredibly stupid and smug White Protestants who live in the center, in the serene eye of the big wind.
I talk in subjects and verbs, and sort of wind around in concentric circles until I get far enough away from the beginning so that I can call it the end, and it ends.
Integrity is not a conditional word. It doesn't blow in the wind or change with the weather.
I am going a long way With these thou seëst-if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)- To the island-valley of Avilion, Where falls not hail or rain or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.
The human body is a machine that winds up its own springs: it is a living image of the perpetual motion.
The winds of God's grace are always blowing, it is for us to raise our sails.
It amazes me, and I know the wind will surely someday blow it all away It amazes me, and I'm so very grateful that You made the world this way
