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There are people in the world, who are just wrong, and then there are the masses of population that are right, or at the very least they lie in the veil of between. I on the other hand, do not belong to any group. I don't exist. It's not that I don't have substance; I have a body like everyone else. I can feel the fire when it burns against my skin, the rain when it caresses my face and the breeze as it fingers my hair. I have all the senses that other people do. I am just empty, inside.
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.
The worst thing about talk ... is that there's no way to lay it to rest. Every fresh breeze brings a new speculation.
I feel like a violet standing alone in a vast meadow. When a cool, gentle breeze blows, I feel peaceful. If the wind turns strong and hot from the south, I plot suicide.
Smiles bloom when you feel the summer breeze, the rush and pause of heartbeats, and the cool grass caressing dancing feet.
"You don't need to be a fortress to be strong. You don't need to build walls to keep yourself safe. Open the windows and let the breeze breathe life into your bones. Go outside, touch the earth with your bare hands, and remind yourself how it feels to plant the seeds of love and watch them bloom into
"Children see God every day; they just don't call it that. It's the summer sky painted with cumulus clouds by day and sequined with a million stars by night. It's the sweet whispers of sweet gum trees and the sounds riding the tops of honeysuckle-scented breezes. Children feel God stuffed into brown fluffy dogs with stitches strong enough to withstand a good squeeze, and on the lips of round women who can't get enough sugar from Chocolate.
I once listened to an Indian on television say that God was in the wind and the water, and I wondered at how beautiful that was because it meant you could swim in Him or have Him brush your face in a breeze.
A breeze, a forgotten summer, a smile, all can fit into a storefront window.
"Breeze strolled over to the table and chose a seat with his characteristic decorum. The portly man raised his dueling cane, pointing it at Ham. 'I see that my period of intellectual respite has come to an end.'
There are no random acts...We are all connected...You can no more separate one life from another than you can separate a breeze from the wind...
And I learned what is obvious to a child. That life is simply a collection of little lives, each lived one day at a time. That each day should be spent finding beauty in flowers and poetry and talking to animals. That a day spent with dreaming and sunsets and refreshing breezes cannot be bettered. But most of all, I learned that life is about sitting on benches next to ancient creeks with my hand on her knee and sometimes, on good days, for falling in love.
To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else's heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter. He had not missed a single one of her gestures, not one of the indications of her character, but he did not dare approach her for fear of destroying the spell.
I seldom think about my limitations and they never make me sad. Perhaps there is just a touch of yearning at times but it is vague like a breeze among flowers.
Peace Train is a song I wrote the message of which continues to breeze thunderously through the hearts of millions of human beings.
I thought that once we were out of the baby stage parenting would be a breeze.
'Peace Train' is a song I wrote the message of which continues to breeze thunderously through the hearts of millions. There is a powerful need for people to feel that gust of hope rise up again.
A great wind swept over the ghetto carrying away shame invisibility and four centuries of humiliation. But when the wind dropped people saw it had been only a little breeze friendly almost gentle.
Plants that wake when others sleep. Timid jasmine buds that keep their fragrance to themselves all day but when the sunlight dies away let the delicious secret out to every breeze that roams about.
A new breeze is blowing and a world refreshed by freedom seems reborn for in man's heart if not in fact the day of the dictator is over. The totalitarian era is passing its old ideas blown away like leaves from an ancient lifeless tree.
There's always a period of curious fear between the first sweet-smelling breeze and the time when the rain comes cracking down.
There's no point in swanning through and being cool as a breeze in every scene. It's not really that interesting. Even if you're a superhero.
I shall go the way of the open sea to the lands I knew before you came and the cool ocean breezes shall blow from me the memory of your name.
Summer bachelors like summer breezes are never as cool as they pretend to be.
We tend to see individual differences instead of human universals. Thus, when someone says the word 'intelligence,' we think of Einstein instead of humans.
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