The reason why men do not obey us, is because they see the mud at the bottom of our eye.
I have become an adjective. There is something called a Rovian-style of campaigning and it's meant as an insult. One columnist said it consists mainly of throwing mud until it sticks. One prominent blogger described the elements of a textbook Rovian race as fear-based, smear-based and anything goes.
Of course, with agriculture came the first big civilizations, the first cities built of mud and brick, the first empires. And it was the administers of these empires who began hiring people to keep track of the wheat and sheep and wine that was owed and the taxes that was owed on them by making marks; marks on clay in that time.
Never blame others for tracking in mud, until you have checked your own feet.
I am a weak, ephemeral creature made of mud and dream. But I feel all the powers of the universe whirling within me.
Peaceful warriors have the patience to wait until the mud settles and the water clears. They remain unmoving until the right time, so the right action arises by itself. They do not seek fulfillment, but wait with open arms to welcome all things.
It should not be hard for you to stop sometimes and look into the stains of walls, or ashes of a fire, or clouds, or mud or like places, in which...you may find really marvellous ideas.
A pure drop of rain may fall on a beautiful water lily or on a dirty mud pond! This is exactly what happens when we are born!
A word does not say anything And at the same time it hides everything Just as the wind that hides the water Like the flowers that mud hides. A glance does not say anything And at the same time it says everything Like rain on your face Or an old treasure map A truth does not say anything And at the same time it hides everything Like a bonfire that does not go out Like a stone that is born dust. If one day you need me, I will be nothing And at the same time I will be everything Because in your eyes are my wings And the shore where I drown.
This magnificent butterfly finds a little heap of dirt and sits still on it; but man will never on his heap of mud keep still.
That man over there says that women need to be helped into carriages, and lifted over ditches, and to have the best place everywhere. Nobody ever helps me into carriages, or over mud-puddles, or gives me any best place! And ain't I a woman?
A sea-green sky: lamps blossoming white. This is marginal land: fields of strung wire, of treadless tyres in ditches, fridges dead on their backs, and starving ponies cropping the mud. It is a landscape running with outcasts and escapees, with Afghans, Turks and Kurds: with scapegoats, scarred with bottle and burn marks, limping from the cities with broken ribs. The life forms here are rejects, or anomalies: the cats tipped from speeding cars, and the Heathrow sheep, their fleece clotted with the stench of aviation fuel.
If you see a defense team with dirt and mud on their backs they've had a bad day.
Play fair, be prepared for others to play dirty, and don't let them drag you into the mud.
Ulysses ... is a dogged attempt to cover the universe with mud, an inverted Victorianism, an attempt to make crossness and dirt succeed where sweetness and light failed, a simplification of the human character in the interests of Hell.
Truth, which is important to a scholar, has to be concrete. And there is nothing more concrete than dealing with babies, burps and bottles, frogs and mud.
In 35 years of being in the media, I've had all this mud flung at me many, many times. It's not the first time. It's nothing unusual. I've been through it all before and the best way to deal with it is not to read them
Writing is like walking in a deserted street. Out of the dust in the street you make a mud pie.
Like the lotus which thrives in mud, the potential for realization grows in the rich soil of everyday life
Is a diamond less valuable because it is covered with mud? God sees the changeless beauty of our souls. He knows we are not our mistakes.
It's all right to pull the cow out of the mud on Sunday, provided that you don't push him in on Saturday night.
How can you defame mud when such a beautiful flower grows from it?
We must not stay as we are, doing always what was done last time; or we shall stick in the mud.
Environmental historians . . . insist that we have got to go . . . down to the earth itself as an agent and presence in history. Here we will discover even more fundamental forces at work over time. And to appreciate those forces we must now and then get out of parliamentary chambers, out of birthing rooms and factories, get out of doors altogether, and ramble into fields, woods, and the open air. It is time we bought a good set of walking shoes, and we cannot avoid getting some mud on them.
God made mud, God made dirt, God made boys so girls could flirt.
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