I'm standing on the outside of your shelter looking in, While the bombs around are falling everywhere, Inside you look so warm and safe and oh so happy, Have I ever told you that I care? Have I ever told you that you're wonderful? And it hurts me so that we have grown apart. I'm standing on the outside of your shelter, dear, But I hope I'm on the inside of your heart.
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I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart) I am never without it (anywhere I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling) I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you. Here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart. I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart).
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Simple, sincere people seldom speak much of their piety. It shows itself in acts rather than in words, and has more influence than homilies or protestations. Beth could not reason upon or explain the faith that gave her courage and patience to give up life, and cheerfully wait for death. Like a confiding child, she asked no questions, but left everything to God and nature, Father and Mother of us all, feeling sure that they, and they only, could teach and strengthen heart and spirit for this life and the life to come. She did not rebuke Jo with saintly speeches, only loved her better for her passionate affection, and clung more closely to the dear human love, from which our Father never means us to be weaned, but through which He draws us closer to Himself. She could not say, I'm glad to go, for life was very sweet for her. She could only sob out, I try to be willing, while she held fast to Jo, as the first bitter wave of this great sorrow broke over them together.
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Like dear St. Francis of Assisi I am wedded to Poverty: but in my case the marriage is not a success.
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My true-love hath my heart, and I have his, By just exchange, one for the other given: I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, There never was a better bargain driven.
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And I, Mr. Knightley, am equally stout in my confidence of its not doing them any harm. With all dear Emma's little faults, she is an excellent creature. Where shall we see a better daughter, or a kinder sister, or a truer friend? No, no; she has qualities which may be trusted; she will never lead any one really wrong; she will make no lasting blunder; where Emma errs once, she is in the right a hundred times.
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Be comforted, dear soul! There is always light behind the clouds.
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I never thought that heav'n would lose its blue And sullen storm-clouds mask the gentle sky; I never thought the rose's velvet hue Would pale and sicken, though we said good-by. I never dreamed the lark would hush its note As day succeeded ever-drearier day, Nor knew the song that swelled the robin's throat Would fade to silence, when you went away. I never knew the sun's irradiant beams Upon the brooding earth no more would shine, Nor thought that only in my mocking dreams Would happiness that once I knew be mine. I never thought the slim moon, mournfully, Would shroud her pallid self in murky night. Dear heart, I never thought these things would be- I never thought they would, and I was right.
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Think, In mounting higher, The angels would press on us, and aspire To drop some golden orb of perfect song Into our deep, dear silence.
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Dear Signore Direttore,
Now I am a-tella you a story wot I was a-treated at your hotella.
I am a-comma from Roma as tourist to London an stay as a-younga cristan man at your hotella.
When I comma in my room I see there is no shit in my bed - how can I sleep whit no shit i my bed? So I calla down to the receptione and tella: 'I wanta shit'. They tella me: 'Go to toilet'. I say: 'No,no I wanta shit in my bed'. They say: 'You better not shit in your bed, you sonna-wa-bitch'. What is sonna-wa-bitch?
I go down for breakfast into restorante. I order bacon and egga and two pissis of toast. I getta only one piss of toast. I tella waitress, and point at toast: 'I wanta piss'. She tella me: 'Go to toilet'. I say: 'I wata piss on my plate'. She then say to me: 'You'd bloody not piss on the plate, you sonna-wa-bitch'.
That is the second person who do not even know me calla me 'sonna-wa-bitch', an why is your staff replying 'Go to toilet', is that a modern tella? I do no understand, Please tella me!
Later I go for dinner in your restorante. Spoon and knife is laid out, but no fock. I tella waitress: 'I wanta fock'. And she tella me: 'Sure, everyone wanta fock'. I say: 'No,no you dont understanda me, I wanta fock on the table'. She tella me: So you sonna-wa-bitch wanta fock on the table? Get your ass out of here!
How comma this cristian hotel tella the guest in such bad manner?
So I go to receptioneand ask for bill, I no wanta stay in this hotel no more. When I have paid the a-billa the portier say to me: 'Thank you and piss on you'. I say: 'Piss on you too, you sonna-wa-bitch, I go back to Italy'.
Direttore, I never gonna stay in your hotella no more, you sonna-wa-bitch.
Sincerely
Dicci Elgre
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There is a time for all things—Except Marriage my dear.
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I firmly believe that any man's finest hour, the greatest fulfillment of all that he holds dear, is that moment when he has worked his heart out in a good cause and lies exhausted on the field of battle - victorious.
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An original something, dear maid, you would wish me to write; but how shall I begin? For I'm sure I have not original in me, Excepting Original Sin.
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He prayeth best who loveth best All things both great and small For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all.
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Experience is a dear teacher, but fools will learn at no other.
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The forward Youth that would appear Must now forsake his Muses dear, Nor in the Shadows sing His Numbers languishing.
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Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing.
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I've never known a man worth his salt who in the long run, deep down in his heart, didn't appreciate the grind, the discipline... I firmly believe that any man's finest hour-this greatest fulfillment to all he holds dear--is the moment when he has worked his heart out in a good cause and lies exhausted on the field of battle -- victorious.
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If yet I have not all thy love, / Dear, I shall never have it all.
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Celestial Cupid her fam'd son advanc't, Holds his dear Psyche sweet intranc't...
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Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains or slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take but as for me; give me liberty or give me death!
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All men are by nature equal, made all of the same earth by one Workman; and however we deceive ourselves, as dear unto God is the poor peasant as the mighty prince.
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You are my true and honorable wife, As dear to me as are the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart.
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I thank you God that I can be a father. I cherish the hug from my son or daughter. I pray my Dear Father that in some small way, You will feel my love as I hug you today.
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Life is a long Dardenelles, My Dear Madam, the shores whereof are bright with flowers, which we want to pluck, but the bank is too high; and so ...
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Life is a long Dardenelles, My Dear Madam, the shores whereof are bright with flowers, which we want to pluck, but the bank is too high; & so ...
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The word change, so dear to our Europe, has been given a new meaning: it no longer means a new stage of coherent development (as it was understood by Vico, Hegel or Marx), but a shift from one side to another, from front to back, from the back to the left, from the left to the front (as understood by designers dreaming up the fashion for the next season).
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Any coward can sit in his home and criticize a pilot for flying into a mountain in a fog. But I would rather, by far, die on a mountainside than in bed. What kind of man would live where there is no daring And is life so dear that we should blame men for dying in adventure Is there a better way to die
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What gift has providence bestowed on man that is so dear to him as his children?
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A sweet thing, for whatever time, to revisit in dreams the dear dad we have lost.
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