The point is obvious. There is more than one way to burn a book. And the world is full of people running about with lit matches. Every minority, be it Baptist/Unitarian, Irish/Italian/Octogenarian/Zen Buddhist, Zionist/Seventhday Adventist, Women's Lib/Republican, Mattachine/Four Square Gospel feels it has the will, the right, the duty to douse the kerosene, light the fuse. Every dimwit editor whosees himself as the source of all dreary blanc-mange plain porridge unleavened literature, licks his guillotine and eyes the neck of any author who dares to speak above a whisper or write above a nursery rhyme.
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When a girl gets cut, it's not like we're being snobs or anything. The girls pick the sororities they want, the sororities list the girls they want, it all goes into a computer, and the computer matches everybody up, ... We're not sitting in a room, going down a list, and saying 'Oh, I hate her.' It's a mutual match. Kind of like online dating...but that's a really rough comparison.
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It’s cold in the room, Mommy. It’s cold and all I have to wear is a yucky-green smock that matches the yucky-green walls. All the walls are cold, the metal table is cold, and the doctor’s fingers are cold as they hold my hand and tell me not to worry. But I’m worried, mommy. The doctors say that I might not wake up…they’re saying that I have a ninety percent chance of dieing, and I’m scared: I don’t want to go away, mommy; I don’t want to leave you behind. There’s a big clock on the wall, and it says it’s 3:15 in the afternoon. Ms. Loughlin just let class out for the day…Billy and Jeff are probably wrestling just outside the classroom, waiting for their daddies to pick them up so they can go home and eat dinner and do their homework and sleep. I wish I was there, mommy…I wish I was anywhere but here. I’m crying, mommy. I promised you I wouldn’t, but I’m crying and I can’t stop. The doctors are going to give me the medicine now to make me sleep so I don’t feel anything, so you won’t have to worry about me hurting anymore. But mommy, they said they had to take Teddy from me…they had to give him to you…mommy, please, hold him, hold him, and promise me, mommy, promise me if I don’t wake up you’ll keep him for me: he’s going to miss me a lot, and he’ll need someone to hug. And mommy… Goodbye, mommy.
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Any moron with a pack of matches can start a fire. Raining down sulfur takes a huge level of endurance. Mass genocide is the most exhausting activity one can engage in, next to soccer.
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We treated it like other matches and went in with a workman's-like attitude. We knew what we had to do and feeling that we matched up pretty well with Maryland, we were confident going into the match.
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This is one of the best matches I've played for sure here so far, and I felt like I was really aggressive and yet I could move well. My back wasn't a problem. You know, I was consistent, hitting the ball hard, very excited about that.
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America is not only big and rich, it is mysterious and its capacity for the humorous or ironical concealment of its interests matches that of the legendary inscrutable Chinese.
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Most married couples, even though they love each other very much in theory, tend to view each other in practice as large teeming flaw colonies, the result being that they get on each other's nerves and regularly erupt into vicious emotional shouting matches over such issues as toaster settings.
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Since the peace process the integration and mix within the game has strengthened. There is no real tension about clubs playing each other or about supporters travelling to different areas to see matches.
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Leaders create an environment which everyone has the opportunity to do work which matches his potential capability and for which an equitable differential reward is provided.
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I guess I feel as good as I can feel, I fought my heart out. I had the crowd on my side for the first four matches unbelievably strong. To see how they reacted to him and see how much they wanted a champion like him to advance, it was great.
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I feel the happiest when I can light my American cigarettes with Soviet matches.
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Love matches are made by people who are content, for a month of honey, to condemn themselves to a life of vinegar.
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I did pretty well in my morning matches. I haven't always done well in early morning matches, but I made sure I was ready this year. I got a good night's sleep both nights and warmed up hard.
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He made me earn it today. He's gotten me in so many close matches and beaten me up so many times.
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That matches are made in heaven, may be, but my wife would have been just the wife for Peter the Great, or Peter Piper. How would she have set...
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Love matches, so called, have illusion for their father and need for their mother.
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It seemed like the girl's got better with each match. During some points of the matches the girls looked like different players. All the practice has definitely paid off.
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I can't remember the last time that we lost three past champions in four matches like that.
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Well, the memories were obviously - every match is important, every point counts, especially the last sort of 18, 20 years when the matches have been so tight.
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Marriages that made out of love (so-called 'love-matches') have error as their father and misery (necessity) as their mother.
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