The glory of being a carrier pilot has certainly worn off.
If those who hold influence over others fail to lead toward the spiritual uplands, then surely the path to the lowlands will be well worn.
One vice worn out makes us wiser than fifty tutors.
Wrinkles ought to be worn as a badge of honour, as a mark of survival if not wisdom.
Siblings tend not to care much about boundaries and borders. Having worn each others' T-shirts, it's unlikely that they'd go to war over a border.
I just feel like there hasn't been enough time away from all this other stuff and into this new world or sort of big world that it hasn't worn off yet.
The soil of friendship is worn out with constant use. Habit may still attach us to each other, but we feel ourselves fettered by it. Old friends might be compared to old married people without the tie of children.
I've worn so many things, I've tried on so many things. . . I've spent probably thousand of hours in fittings. I can know so quickly how something's going to feel on me, look on me. It's a pretty fast courtship. I say yes or no pretty quickly.
It's no one's fault to be born ugly, but, honestly, must it be worn as a symbol of pride?
I believe that anything can be for men or women. I mean, I've worn a lace dress before!
Saying yes all the time won't make me Wonder Woman. It will make me a worn out woman.
I decided the moment I graduated from college that I would never wear blue jeans again. And I have never worn blue jeans again.
Makeup isn't something I've worn a lot of in my life.
Even stone can be worn down with enough rain.
I have put off the past like a worn-out cloak.
Randalf the Wise indeed!I've worn wiser pairs of underpants!
I had a vague memory of being that ridiculous at one time. Let he who hath never worn parachute pants cast the first stone.
To the eyes of a miser a guinea is more beautiful than the sun, and a bag worn with the use of money has more beautiful proportions than a vine filled with grapes.
Without reflecting that this is the only moment in which you can study character," said the count; "on the steps of the scaffold death tears off the mask that has been worn through life, and the real visage is disclosed.
Life is but a mask worn on the face of death. And is death, then, but another mask? 'How many can say,' asks the Aztec poet, 'that there is, or is not, a truth beyond?'