Venus, when her son was lost, Cried him up and down the coast, In hamlets, palaces, and parks, And told the truant by his marks,- Golden curls, and quiver, and bow.
I watched as Humphrey Bogart’s character used beans as a metaphor for the relative unimportance in the wider world of his relationship with Ingrid Bergman’s character, and chose logic and decency ahead of his selfish emotional desires. The quandary and resulting decision made for an engrossing film. But this was not what people cried about. They were in love and could not be together. I repeated this statement to myself, trying to force an emotional reaction. I couldn’t. I didn’t care. I had enough problems of my own.
Then he rustled his feathers, curved his slender neck, and cried joyfully, from the depths of his heart, 'I never dreamed of such happiness as this, while I was an ugly duckling.
She was tired of being the one who cried.
Meg, I give you your faults." "My faults!" Meg cried. "Your faults." "But I'm always trying to get rid of my faults!" "Yes," Mrs. Whatsit said. "However, I think you'll find they'll come in very handy on Camazotz.
I am Persephone" she said, her voice thin and papery. "Welcome, demigods. Nico squashed a pomegranate under his boot. "Welcome? After last time, you've got the nerve to welcome me?" I shifted uneasily, because talking that way to a god can get you blasted into dust bunnies. "Um, Nico-" "It's all right," Persephone said coldly. "We had a little family spat." "Family spat?" Nico cried. "You turned me into a dandelion!
I had a cigarette for breakfast, just for beginners, Cried for my lunch, and sleep for dinner.
As she cried, I could feel growing there, as had once before, a presence between us: the tiny perfect form of Sherry nestled between her parents' bodies. Our bodies were shaped by her absence, by the almost unbearable weight of her loss.
I got a smile that'll make the mirror crack, And I seem to stay under clouds that's pitch black. So when it rains, it pours, and when it pours, I'm soaked. I contracted lung cancer from third hand smoke, And I'm like the frog that's dying to be a prince, The boy who cried wolf and no one was convinced. The man who hit lotto and lost his ticket, In a rainstorm...and struck by lightning trying to get it.
Inside that book, it's my life-all the places where I'm hurting or I laughed or I cried or I prayed. And I've had to pray a lot!
Time with his old flail Beat me full sore; Till: Hold, I cried, I'll stand no more. Then I heard a wail And looking spied How love's little bow Had laid time low.
However, every word she [Richelle Mead] wrote about Lissa in the book I highlighted and analyzed and interpreted until I felt like I’d completely absorbed her [Lissa]. So Richelle gave me insights through the pages of the book. I cried when I found out that she told the producers that I was her dream Lissa. It meant the world to me.
I cried at first, and then, it was such a beautiful day, that I forgot to be unhappy.
"Oh, you want too much!" she cried to Gatsby. "I love you now - isn't that enough? I can't help what's past." She began to sob helplessly. "I did love him once-but I loved you too." Gatsby's eyes opened and closed. "You loved me too?" he repeated. "Even that's a lie," said Tom savagely. "She didn't know you were alive. Why - there're things between Daisy and me that you'll never know, things that neither of us can ever forget."
If you haven't cried deeply a number of times, your meditation hasn't really begun.
For me the moment of death will be a moment of jubilation, not of fear. I cried when I was born and I shall die laughing.
The only day in your life.... Your mother smiled when you cried.
And ain't I a woman? I have borne thirteen children, and seen most all sold off to slavery, and when I cried out with my mother's grief, none but Jesus heard me! And ain't I a woman?
When you came into this world you cried, whereas everyone else rejoiced. During your lifetime, work and serve in such a way that when it is time for you to leave this world, you will smile at parting while the world cries for you. Hold this thought and you will always remember to consider others above yourself.
He cried that night for all that he had lost, but he would say it taught him a valuable lesson: that holding on to things "will only break your heart.
Fair and foul are near of kin And fair needs foul," I cried. "My friends are gone, but that's a truth Nor grave nor bed denied."
Nowhere in politics is there such a mismatch between public and private realm as in transport. Everyone on the M6 last weekend would have agreed with Transport Minister Alasdair Darling's reported hatred of cars. They too wanted drivers off the roads and on to public transport. Go to it, Mr Darling, they cried in unison, get rid of all those cars. Except, of course, their own. Other people's cars are traffic. My car is the outward essence of my being. It is my hat, stick and cane. It embodies my freedom as a citizen and my right as a democrat. My car is my soul in flight.
'It is my duty to warn you that it will be used against you,' cried the Inspector, with the magnificent fair play of the British criminal law.
Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance climbed up through my conscious mind as if suddenly the roots I had left behind cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood - and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.
Most of us, when asked to gauge the richness of our lives, think immediately of people. Those who have cried with us, laughed with us, and shaped who we are.
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