Throw up into your typewriter every morning. Clean up every noon.

She walked to the door with her pile of laundry. "Oh, milord? Just in case my lady is too delicate to speak of such things, and since you'll be washing yourself. Do make sure to clean well under your foreskin. A lady's perfumed garden ought to be fragrant, but a gentleman's oak should smell only of soap.

"It is easy to clean our body

We are all victims of believing that our method of life is the best course of action. Life is trained fighter and if your method of life is keeping your guard down and leaving your face open, you are going to get your ass kicked. Keeping your guard up too much is no good either, because you can't get any shots in. The best way is to side-step the punches and wait for that one good, clean shot. I was the king of never taking my shots at life. It's so much easier to cover up. I had my opportunity to land the sweet knockout punch. I had my fist balled up and life's chin was fully exposed and I froze. It was in that moment that I stuck my chin out and let life knock me out for a long time.

Things can be cleaned and replaced. Great moments cannot afford to be lost.

Life's too short to walk around with your arms crossed and bottom lip poked out. Find a way to smile for yourself even if it's as simple as licking the spoon clean or putting clean sheets on your bed.

Neatness and cleanliness is not a function of how rich or poor you are but that of mentality and principle.

The little boy nodded at the peony and the peony seemed to nod back. The little boy was neat, clean and pretty. The peony was unchaste, dishevelled as peonies must be, and at the height of its beauty.(...) Every hour is filled with such moments, big with significance for someone.

Language imparts identity, meaning, and perspective to our human condition. Writers are either polluters or part of the cleanup.

I woke up early and took the first train to take me away from the city. The noise and all its people. I was alone on the train and had no idea where I was going, and that's why I went there. Two hours later we arrived in a small town, one of those towns with one single coffee shop and where everyone knows each other's name. I walked for a while until I found the water, the most peaceful place I know. There I sat and stayed the whole day, with nothing and everything on my mind, cleaning my head. Silence, I learned, is some times the most beautiful sound.

Her mind is a mess, and she has no intention of cleaning today.

I stalk certain words... I catch them in mid-flight, as they buzz past, I trap them, clean them, peel them, I set myself in front of the dish, they have a crystalline texture to me, vibrant, ivory, vegetable, oily, like fruit, like algae, like agates, like olives... I stir them, I shake them, I drink them, I gulp them down, I mash them, I garnish them... I leave them in my poem like stalactites, like slivers of polished wood, like coals, like pickings from a shipwreck, gifts from the waves... Everything exists in the word.

We may be sure that the characteristic blindness of the twentieth century - the blindness about which posterity will ask, "But how could they have thought that?" - lies where we have never suspected it... None of us can fully escape this blindness, but we shall certainly increase it, and weaken our guard against it, if we read only modern books. Where they are true they will give us truths which we half knew already. Where they are false they will aggravate the error with which we are already dangerously ill. The only palliative is to keep the clean sea breeze of the centuries blowing through our minds, and this can be done only by reading old books.

Dirty or clean, crumpled or finely creased, you are still priceless to those who Love you.

People just don't seem to get me. Don't understand that I need my space. Always telling me what to do. They think rules and routines and clean hands and your p's and q's will make everything all right. They haven't got a clue.

Today I hit rock bottom but didn't busy myself with activity to take my mind off it, like I usually do. I allowed myself to sink as deep as possible. It's like an infection: let it run its course and be done with it. Rising, I felt cleansed.

If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it is - infinite.

It's easy to talk big, but the important thing is whether or not you clean up the shit.

Simple can be harder than complex: You have to work hard to get your thinking clean to make it simple. But it's worth it in the end because once you get there, you can move mountains.

Motherland is a blessing, a gift, sometimes fatiguing, often strange and infuriating when politicians wipe their hands clean of any responsibility.

Without water, there is no life. Conservation is defined as the maintenance of a state of equilibrium between living things and the natural world. Let us live a cleaner life by making the world a more beautiful place.

Prince Wen-hui's cook, Ting, was cutting up an ox. Every touch of his hand, every ripple of his shoulders, every step of his feet, every thrust of his knees, every cut of his knife, was in perfect harmony, like the dance of the Mulberry Grove, like the chords of the Lynx Head music. Well done! said the prince. How did you gain such skill? Putting down his knife, Ting said, I follow the Tao, Your Highness, which goes beyond all skills. When I first began cutting up oxen, all I could see was the ox. After three years, I had learned to look beyond the ox. Nowadays I see with my whole being, not with my eyes. I sense the natural lines, and my knife slides through by itself, never touching a joint, much less a bone. A good cook changes knives once a year: he cuts. An ordinary cook changes knives once a month: he hacks. This knife of mine has lasted for nineteen years; it has cut up thousands of oxen, but its blade is as sharp as if it were new. Between the joints there are spaces, and the blade has no thickness. Having no thickness, it slips right through; there's more than enough room for it. And when I come to a difficult part, I slow down, I focus my attention, I barely move, the knife finds its way, until suddenly the flesh falls apart on its own. I stand there and let the joy of the work fill me. Then I wipe the blade clean and put it away. Bravo! cried the prince. From the words of this cook, I have learned how to live my life.

It's been my observation" I said, "that you humans are more than the sum of your history. You can choose how much of your ancestry to embrace. You can overcome the expectations of your family and your society. What you cannot do, and should never do, is try to be someone other than yourself?Piper McLean.

Because God is holiness itself, we cannot be united to Him unless we are clean of heart--a state implying a twofold condition: atonement for the past and detachment from sin and the occasions of sin for the future.