When I talk to a man, I can always tell what he's thinking by where he is looking. If he is looking at my eyes, he is looking for intelligence. If he is looking at my mouth, he is looking for wisdom. But if he is looking anywhere else except my chest he's looking for another man.
And everyone is always saying that marriage is really hard and takes a lot of work. But the thing is, when you know that you love someone, those things don't matter. You have to push all the everyday things and the outside world away, and just enjoy knowing that this is the man who has the chest your head is meant to lie on.
It is a great art to succeed in having your soul sanctified. A person can become a saint anywhere. He can become a saint in Omonia Square, if he wants. At your work, whatever it may be, you can become a saint through meekness, patience, and love. Make a new start every day, with new resolution, with enthusiasm and love, prayer and silence - not with anxiety so that you get a pain in the chest.
Bypass surgery, angioplasty,and even diagnostic angiograms are so over used that, in my opinion, it constitutes criminal behaviour by the cardiologists and surgeons involved. Well controlled scientific studies have shown bypass surgery simply doesn't work, except to relieve severe chest pain. Those who have the surgery didn't even have a trend of longevity benefit compared to those treated without it. Yet, each year hundreds of thousands cave into the obvious fear tactics used by agressive heart doctors and submit to the bypass operation
For as long as I could push air in and out of my chest, I would remember this moment that could never be measured.
A sob caught in my chest. I didn't even know what a gray was, other than a drab color. All I knew was that I was hungry all the time. And I knew, deep down, that it wasn't just for food.
Where's my heart at? Aw. Um, in my chest. I think it's in there - on the right hand side. Sometimes it's in my mouth and sometimes I can feel it in my stomach, when I get really nervous. So it's pretty physical.
I fell in love. It felt exactly like a fall, a head-over-heels tumble into a state of unbearable lightness. The earth tilted on its axis. I did not believe in romantic love at the time, thinking it a human construct, an invention of fourteenth century Italian poets. I was as unprepared for love as I had been for goodness and beauty. Suddenly, my heart seemed swollen, too large for my chest.
I imagine a soul is a little perfect crystal egg floating in your chest. Somewhere deeper than where they put your heart. Somewhere so deep inside that the doctors can't find it with all their machines and microcameras.
If a man wanted to put the entire universe in his breast, he couldn't do it with his chest stuck out.
Practice, practice, practice. Practice until you get a guitar welt on your chest...if it makes you feel good, don't stop until you see the blood from your fingers. Then you'll know you're on to something!
Vegetarians, dropping meat, tend to fill up with too much starch. This leaves them no more healthy than meat-eaters, with constipation, indigestion, colds, catarrhs, coughs and chest complaints to plague them. Eating sparingly of breads, cakes, crackers, cookies, macaroni, spaghetti, anything largely starch, is a far step on the road to good health.
You don't let a guy put his hand on your chest, and put his foot on the ball and look into your eyes and tell you a bedtime story. No. sorry. He controlled the ball on his chest, step on it, look, see if someone was in the stands, take a coffee, turn, call his family, no one was answering, left a message, and then thought "Oh, I might cross the ball." He crossed it and they scored.
Even if it's such a lowly art as TV, you've got to get stuff off your chest, because that's what makes something different and original, your particular take on stuff.
You should only attempt to borrow from those who have but few of this world's goods, as their chests are not of iron, and they are, besides, anxious to appear wealthier than they really are.
When someone falls asleep on your chest, but the one really falling is you.
When I was five years old, my parents gave me a magic chest. I learned to cast spells, although of a childish kind, before I had learned to read and write.
If you want to hit a man in the chest, aim for his groin.
Play for one another, and play the right way. The right way is believing in what's on your chest and not what's on your back.
Think chest/hips/ push, or CHP, when it's time for uphill running. Chest up, hips forward, push strongly off each foot.
The bigness of the world is redemption. Despair compresses you into a small space, and a depression is literally a hollow in the ground. To dig deeper into the self, to go underground, is sometimes necessary, but so is the other route of getting out of yourself, into the larger world, into the openness in which you need not clutch your story and your troubles so tightly to your chest.
Stop the words now. Open the window in the center of your chest, and let the spirits fly in and out.
I do not know who lives here in my chest, or why the smile comes. I am not myself, more the bare green knob of a rose that lost every leaf and petal to the morning wind.
The designs and my credit have been stolen from me, since I alone have designed the Alien. So why does Fox not give me the credit I rightfully earned? As for those responsible for this conspiracy: all I can wish them is an Alien breeding inside their chests, which might just remind them that the Alien father is HR Giger.
First I took a crap on the hooker's chest, then I told her I'd pay her a thousand dollars to eat it. She was addicted to crack, so of course she did it. It was so gross, though, it made her throw up, so I said I'd pay her another thousand to lick all that up, too. She started to, but for some reason she started crying as she was doing it, saying, 'I went to college! I have a degree!' Oh man, it was hilarious. I don't know if it was technically sex because I just beat off on her face, but definitely one of my most intense orgasms.
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