I know there's some poetry that sort of sounds like daisies, but most of the good poetry is also [political], you can feel the heartbeat; it's about some situation that concerns human beings under duress. It's suggesting a solution, or just acknowledging that [the situation] exists. Art does that.
Abraham Lincoln is resolute, honest, has the best interest of the nation at heart, and he's as ugly as homemade Sunday sin, so he is modest, too. I'd vote for that in an undead heartbeat.
Breath and brevity are sisters; the long-winded is an enemy who muffles your heartbeat.
Remember, we could solve this in a heartbeat with ranked-choice voting. The Democrats won't pass it. This allows you to rank your choices and eliminates the intimidation and the fear. They won't pass it; I know because I helped file the bill. Sixteen years ago in Massachusetts they could have solved the spoiler problem. They won't do it because they rely on fear. The fact that they rely on fear tells you something very important. They are not on your side. For that reason alone, they do not deserve your vote.
The more the ensemble, the duet or the forty piece orchestra, plays as one person, the more it makes people dance, because you're back in the womb. You feel mom's heartbeat. It makes you move. It reminds you of that warm, groovy space you were in.
I most resemble Benjamin Button. I evolve. I attach myself to the heartbeat of whatever is going on at that particular time, or I just chart a new path.
We are born to love as we are born to die, and between the heartbeats of these two great mysteries lies all the tangled undergrowth of our tiny lives. There is nowhere to go but through. And so we walk on, lost, and lost again, in the mapless wilderness of love.
Willpower is breath and heartbeat of life; Life blooms in the girdle of taut willpower.
The muse on my shoulder is very sensitive and does not abide claptrap of any kind... Only when I am totally immersed... absorbed in work... does she allow something magical to happen and I become aware of a faint heartbeat and gentle breath emanating from my brush.
God, I love the "fine morality" of the wealthy and powerful. You'll spill tears over your own, in a heartbeat. And then never even look twice at people below you, whose very lives are ground under every day, day after day, year after year.
You may think life is sweet now, but when death is a heartbeat away then life becomes unbearably desirable. And when you survive, everything you do will be enhanced and filled with greater joy: the sunlight, the breeze, a good wine, a woman's lips, a child's laughter.
How fragile life was, how fleeting their days on earth, and how fickle was Death, claiming the young as often as the old, the healthy as often as the ailing, cruelly stealing away a baby's first breath, a mother's fading heartbeat.
What do I want to express? The subject means little. The arrangement, the design, colour, shape, depth, light, space, mood, movement, balance, not one or all of these fills the bill. There is something additional, a breath that draws your breath into its breathing, a heartbeat that pounds on yours, a recognition of the oneness of all things.
If I heard someone else singing like me, I would buy it in a heartbeat.
Heartbeat, why do you skip when my baby's lips meet mine?
Every pulse of your heartbeat is one liquid moment that flows through the veins of your being. Like a river of life flowing on since creation, approaching the sea with each new generation.
Playing a bad guy would be fun, I'm not going to lie. I'd definitely do that in a heartbeat, because it's so out of my nature.
I sometimes say the conflict in the work is the conflict of my own thoughts and anxieties. It's a civil war in my head. The top part [of my artwork] is you letting go and floating. You become part of the air and you've tapped into the heartbeat of the universe. I guess that's what people do when they meditate.
What was time itself but the bloom, the sheath enfolding experience? Within time, and with time alone, there was life - the gleam, the quiver, the heartbeat, the immeasurable joy and anguish of being.
If you want to say something profound, writing from your heartbeat is different than writing from the loud voices you get from music. If they're rapping from noise, it's about robbing people. It's that simple.
I'm the ruler in my kingdom and my dark seat is hot. Step into my world and your heartbeat stop!
There's a kind of ear music . . . a rhythmic synchronicity which creates a kind of heartbeat on the page.
If we can take the time to mute the noise we've build around ourselves the rhythm of the heartbeats and the purpose may be clear.
It's not whether people like you but whether they share the bright dreams...and understand the heartbeat of the country.
I have an irregular heartbeat, so that means a fair amount of medication - and I have blood pressure pills, too, but no vitamins or supplements.
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