We have been friends together In sunshine and in shade.
A few years ago I lost one of my dearest friends. He died at age 53 - heart attack. David is gone, but he was one of my very special friends. I used to say of David that if I was stuck in a foreign jail somewhere accused unduly and if they would allow me one phone call, I would call David. Why? He would come and get me. That's a friend. Somebody who would come and get you.
Yes, we must ever be friends; and of all who offer you friendship Let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest.
Whither thou goest, I will go; Where thou diest, will I die And there will I be buried: The Angel do so to me, and more also, If aught but death part thee and me.
My best friend is the man who in wishing me well wishes it for my sake.
I would prefer not to be living with anyone, really. Like, as much as I care for my special friend, I don't want to live with her.
We'll be Friends Forever, won't we, Pooh?' asked Piglet. Even longer,' Pooh answered.
A friend knows the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails.
Friendship improves happiness and abates misery, by the doubling of our joy and the dividing of our grief.
My best friend is the one who brings out the best in me.
It's a saying they have, that a man has a false heart in his mouth for the world to see, another in his breast to show to his special friends and his family, and the real one, the true one, the secret one, which is never known to anyone except to himself alone, hidden only God knows where.
Let the surgeon take care to regulate the whole regimen of the patient's life for joy and happiness by promising that he will soon be well, by allowing his relatives and special friends to cheer him and by having someone tell him jokes, and let him be solaced also by music on the viol or psaltery. The surgeon must forbid anger, hatred, and sadness in the patient, and remind him that the body grows fat from joy and thin from sadness.
Alexander McQueen... The fashion world has not only lost an icon but we have also lost a very special friend.
The language of friendship is not words but meanings.
Thousands of volumes have been written about aviation, but we do not automatically have thousands of true and special friends in their authors. That rare writer who comes alive on a page does it by giving of himself, by writing of meanings, and not just of fact or of things that have happened to him. The writers of flight who have done this are usually found together in a special section on private bookshelves.
Milk?” Lady Bridgerton asked. “Thank you,” Gareth replied. “No sugar, if you please.” “Hyacinth takes hers with three,” Gregory said, reaching for a piece of shortbread. “Why,” Hyacinth ground out, “would he care?” “Well,” Gregory replied, taking a bite and chewing, “he is your special friend.
A true friend freely, advises justly, assists readily, adventures boldly, takes all patiently, defends courageously, and continues a friend unchangeably.
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