Music should elevate you. You can be raised, or left stranded. You can't be raised all the time, in my experience. This might be a rare moment. You might just go up to that level but that's always good.
I was stranded in Disco. I went to dozens of darkened places with enough flashing lights to drive the average person mad. I felt lost in the pulse of sheer panic.
A venturesome minority will always be eager to set off on their own, and no obstacles should be placed in their path; let them take risks, for godsake, let them get lost, sunburnt, stranded, drowned, eaten by bears, buried alive under avalanches - that is the right and privilege of any free American.
We need a ride. We're stranded." "We still have two legs, leftie and rightie. Mine are in the mood for exercise. They feel like a nice long walk--ARE YOU CRAZY?" she shrieked. I was standing with the tip of the beach umbrella aimed at the driver's-side window. "What?" I said. "We have to get in.
Remember all the movies, Terry, we'd go see? Trying to learn how to walk like the heroes we thought we had to be And after all this time to find we're just like all the rest Stranded in the park and forced to confess To hiding on the Backstreets.
There's the juiciest music that makes me so happy, music that I need on that deserted island when I'm stranded for the rest of my life, and nobody cares that it's there.
Polar bears can swim 100 miles. They aren't like us. We might be 'stranded' on an ice floe if there's no land nearby, and we had no helicopter and no jet ski. We might be in trouble, but they're polar bears, and they can live in icy cold water by design. They love it.
At one point, we were stuck at the border of Peru and Colombia and met this large Haitian population that was stranded there without passports and couldn't move. We had this revelation that, as tourists, we were so free to move, and here was this other population who couldn't cross borders.
We've looked at [Donald Trump's] tax proposals. I don't see changes in the corporate tax rates or the kinds of proposals you're referring to that would cause the repatriation, bringing back of money that's stranded overseas. I happen to support that.
I was watching the TV broadcasts interviewing people stranded at airports for days on end, losing their holidays, their important business meetings and the long-awaited ability to see their families... In short, suffering. No one complained, though! They kept repeating: we are so grateful for the care taken of our safety, for feeling. They were ready to surrender a good deal of their human dignity, individuality, freedom of choice.
I was once stranded on a broken-down boat in shark-infested waters in the middle of the Indian Ocean for five days before we were rescued while doing a 'Vogue' shoot.
Jesus is all we have; he is all we need and all we want. We are shipwrecked on God and stranded on omnipotence!
Day by day night after night Blinded by the neon lights Hurry here, hustlin' there No one's got the time to spare Money's tight, nothin' free Won't somebody come and rescue me? I am stranded, caught in the crossfire Stranded, caught in the crossfire! Tooth for tooth, eye for an eye Sell your soul just to buy, buy, buy Beggin' a dollar stealin' a dime Come on can't you see that I I am stranded, caught in the crossfire
I consider myself responsible to the coming generations, which are left stranded in a blitzed world, unaware of the soul trembling in awe before the mystery of life.
If Fobbit leaves a reader feeling stranded in some bland in-between territory, then I haven't done my job. But having said all that, I didn't consciously write the book with a particular moral intent. I took what I experienced and processed it through the sausage factory of fiction. It's up to readers to interpret what's on the page - as is the case with any novel.
Each time I wander into blogdom, I'm reminded of the savage children stranded on an island in William Golding's "Lord of the Flies." Without adult supervision, they organize themselves into rival tribes, learn to hunt and kill, and eventually become murderous barbarians in the absence of a civilizing structure.
When I stay focused and honest about who I am and the image that I hope to portray, then I won't find myself stranded in unfamiliar territory chasing money or popularity. If the work that you do is quality, then you'll be rewarded. It's also good to stretch musically within the realm of your ability, but not if it compromises your integrity.
Most of us stand poised at the edge of brilliance, haunted by the knowledge of our proximity, yet still demonstrably on the wrong side of the line, our dealings with reality undermined by a range of minor yet critical psychological flaws (a little too much optimism, an unprocessed rebelliousness, a fatal impatience or sentimentality). We are like an exquisite high-speed aircraft which for lack of a tiny part is left stranded beside the runway, rendered slower than a tractor or bicycle.
Art that means anything in the life of a community must bear some relation to current interpretations of the mystery of the universe. Our rigid separation of the humanities and the sciences has temporarily left our art stranded or stammering and incoherent. Both art and science ought to be blended in our early education of our children's emotions and powers of observation, and that harmony carried forward in later education.
Some drivers have already got out of their cars, prepared to push the stranded vehicle to a spot where it will not hold up the traffic, they beat furiously on the closed windows, the man inside turns his head in their direction, first to one side then to the other, he is clearly shouting something, to judge by the movements of his mouth he appears to be repeating some words, no one word but three, as turns out to be the case when someone finally manages to open the door, I am blind.
I know every numbskull will babble on about "black man," "maneater," "chance," and "retrospective interpretation," in order to banish something terribly inconvenient that might sully the familiar picture of childhood innocence. Ah, these good, efficient, healthy-minded people, they always remind me of those optimistic tadpoles who bask in a puddle in the sun, in the shallowest of waters, crowding together and amiably wriggling their tails, totally unaware that the next morning the puddle will have dried up and left them stranded.
Jane Kindred’s THE HOUSE OF ARKHANGEL'SK dazzles with its surreal blending of worlds. Lost angel Anazakia, last survivor of her murdered family, finds herself in the hands of demons with suspect motives, betrayed by her own kind, stranded in the world of Man—21st century St. Petersburg, Russia, to be exact. Weaving startling visuals with compelling characters, Kindred reveals parallels in the two worlds that are ‘neither haphazard chance nor calculated design.’ It’s a dizzying, vibrant read.
I begged her, 'Please don't leave me stranded in the middle of some primitive zarking forest with no medical help and a head injury. I could be in serious trouble and so could she.'" "What did she say?" "She hit me on the head with the rock again," Ford responded curtly. "I think i can confirm that was my daughter." "Sweet kid." "You have to get to know her," said Arthur. "She eases up, does she?" "No, but you get a better sense of when to duck.
Who else is going?" I asked. He shrugged. "Just you and me." My mood promptly shot up past 'cheerful' and went straight to 'estatic.' Me and Dimitri. Alone. In a car. This might very well be worth a surprise test. "How far is it?" Silently, I begged for it to be a really long drive. Like, one that would take a week. And would involve us staying overnight in luxury hotels. Maybe we'd get stranded in a snowbank, and only body heat would keep us alive. "Five hours" "Oh." A bit less than I'd hoped for. Still, five hours was better than nothing. It didn't rule out the snowbank possibility, either.
maggie and milly and molly and may went down to the beach (to play one day) and maggie discovered a shell that sang so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles, and milly befriended a stranded star whose rays five languid fingers were and molly was chased by a horrible thing which raced sideways while blowing bubbles and may come home with a smooth rounded stone as small as a world and as big as alone. for whatever we loose (like a you or a me) it is always ourselves we find in the sea.
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