Texting is a supremely secretive medium of communication - it's like passing a note - and this means we should be very careful what we use it for.

I despise the Lottery. There's less chance of you becoming a millionaire than there is of getting hit on the head by a passing asteroid.

Don't let the fear of the time it will take to accomplish something stand in the way of your doing it. The time will pass anyway; we might just as well put that passing time to the best possible use.

The ever-renewed instances of beauty and fairness passing over the faces of the beings in the universe show that they are shadows of the manifestations of an Eternal Beauteous One.

We were astonished by the beauty and refinement of the art displayed by the objects surpassing all we could have imagined - the impression was overwhelming.

The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mode but the true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It is the caring that she lovingly gives the passion that she shows. The beauty of a woman grows with the passing years.

Football is my profession now. I'm getting married in August... It's a new experience for me as someone just getting out of college. I still have the same attitude about football I always had. I play hard. I enjoy practice. I'd rather be throwing in passing drills than sitting around and watching TV.

Keep a good attitude and do the right thing even when it's hard. When you do that you are passing the test. And God promises you your marked moments are on their way.

I believe art is a connection, like passing on a flame.

Take care to sell your horse before he dies. The art of life is passing losses on.

The artist is a receptacle for emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider's web.

We're a family with a pretty light sense of humor but, still, on the anniversary of my mom's passing we don't feel like getting 'colorful' and remembering her favorite foods. Every March 5th, the anniversary of her passing, we go to church and are sad for pretty much the rest of the day.

A story is alive, as you and I are. It is rounded by muscle and sinew. Rushed with blood. Layered with skin, both rough and smooth. At its core lies soft marrow of hard, white bone. A story beats with the heart of every person who has ever strained ears to listen. On the breath of the storyteller, it soars. Until its images and deeds become so real you can see them in the air, shimmering like oases on the horizon line. A story can fly like a bee, so straight and swift you catch only the hum of its passing. Or move so slowly it seems motionless, curled in upon itself like a snake in the sun. It can vanish like smoke before the wind. Linger like perfume in the nose. Change with every telling, yet always remain the same.

Hunger was, after all, a passing phase which you got over if you ignored it.

"What is Life? But a fleeting moment of a passing dream, a dream that flows too swiftly, nimble and calm, yet all but a moment's walk, a mad jest of a thousand voices finding a harmony in a conundrum of Time.

We experience, while still young, our most thoroughly felt desires as a kind of horizon, see life as divided into what lies on this side of that horizon and what lies on the other, as if we only had to reach that horizon and fall into it in order for everything to change, in order to once and for all transcend the world as we have known it, though in the end this transcendence never actually comes, of course, a fact one began to appreciate only as one got older, when one realized there was always more life on the other side of desire's completion, that there was always waking up, working, eating, and sleeping, the slow passing of time that never ends, when one realized that one can never truly touch the horizon because life always goes on, because each moment bleeds into the next and whatever one considered the horizon of one's life turns out always to be yet another piece of earth.

I agree that one should spend more time with individuals that bring out the best not stress, and sometimes that includes surrounding yourself with #reading books that nurture #positivethinking, putting out daily reminders, like Post-it Notes that self-affirm your #goals & tenacity for surpassing them, and surrounding yourself with nature that allows you to be still and self-love!

My one small hope for you today is this: don't let life happen to you. What I mean by that is, don't just exist in the space you occupy - I hope you really, truly live. When you wake up, I hope that you are grateful for a fresh start. I hope you notice your breath go in and out, and I hope you feel lucky to be alive. And then I hope you step outside and notice the way saying hello to a stranger can make a smile reach their eyes. I hope that you actively choose, in every passing moment, to reach for what ignites a fire inside of you. If it is a dream: pursue it relentlessly. If it is a love: make sure they know you care. Whatever you're doing, wherever you are - I hope you do it with all of your heart.

"No Matter How Worst Your Life Is Passing

Swimming against a river is like fighting against the emotions from passing through you; allow your body to flow with the river.

One author said "I write because I want to live a footprint in the sands of history." It's hard to live a footprint in the sands of history when giants are passing through the same sands unless you are one of the giants

Wherever you may go; Life is a beautiful thing. Life is like a passing season. It comes and go. Whatever may come, it's better to enjoy the changing seasons.

God has prepared for Himself one great song of praise throughout eternity, and those who enter the community of God join in this song. It is the song that the "morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy" at the creation of the world. (Job 38:7). It is the victory song of the children of Israel after passing through the Red Sea, the Magnificat of Mary after the annunciation, the song of Paul and Silas in the night of prison, the song of the singers on the sea of glass after their rescue, the "song of Moses the servant of God, and the song of the Lamb" (Rev. 15:3) It is the song of the heavenly fellowship.

"The kind of poem I produced in those days was hardly anything more than a sign I made of being alive, of passing or having passed, or hoping to pass, through certain intense human emotions. It was a phenomenon of orientation rather than of art, thus comparable to stripes of paint on a roadside rock or to a pillared heap of stones marking a mountain trail.