An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life: A fight is going on inside me, he said to the boy. It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil - he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is good - he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. This same fight is going on inside you - and inside every other person, too. The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather,Which wolf will win? The old Cherokee simply replied, The one you feed.
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Champions aren't made in gyms. Champions are made from something they have deep inside them A desire, a dream, a vision. They have to have last-minute stamina, they have to be a little faster, they have to have the skill and the will. But the will must be stronger than the skill.
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Years of love have been forgot, In the hatred of a minute.
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Love is agrowing, to full constant light; and his first minute, after noon, is night
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Here we sit in a branchy row, Thinking of beautiful things we know; Dreaming of deeds that we mean to do, All complete in a minute or two-- Something noble and grand and good, Won by merely wishing we could. Now we're going to -- never mind, Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!
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Fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds worth of distance run.
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The mystic prophets of the absolute cannot save us. Sustained by our history and traditions, we must save ourselves, at whatever risk of heresy or blasphemy. We can find solace in the memorable representation of the human struggle against the absolute in the finest scene in the greatest of American novels. I refer of course to the scene when Huckleberry Finn decides that the '' plain hand of Providence '' requires him to tell Miss Watson where her runaway slave Jim is to be found. Huck writes his letter of betrayal to Miss Watson and feels '' all washed clean of sin for the first time I had ever felt so in my life, and I knowed I could pray now. '' He sits there for a while thinking '' how good it was all this happened so, and how near I come to being lost and going to hell .'' Then Huck begins to think about Jim and the rush of the great river and the talking and the singing and the laughing and friendship. '' Then I happened to look around and see that paper. . . . I took it up, and held it in my hand. I was a-trembling because I'd got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself: 'All right, then, I'll go to hell' - and tore it up .''
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In a minute there is time for decision and revisions that a minute will reverse.
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Religion has actually convinced people that there's an invisible man living in the sky who watches everything you do, every minute of every day. And the invisible man has a special list of ten things he does not want you to do. And if you do any of these ten things, he has a special place, full of fire and smoke and burning and torture and anguish, where he will send you to live and suffer and burn and choke and scream and cry forever and ever 'til the end of time! But He loves you. He loves you, and He needs money! He always needs money! He's all-powerful, all-perfect, all-knowing, and all-wise, somehow just can't handle money! Religion takes in billions of dollars, they pay no taxes, and they always need a little more. Now, you talk about a good bullshit story. Holy Shit!
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'You cannot move a dead body whole. First of all you have to dice the body into six pieces and pile it up into a bag. Then you'll need to find a pig farm and starve the pigs for a couple of days. The pigs will be so hungry that the body will look like curry to them. They will go through bone like butter, that means that 40 pigs can digest 80 pounds of fat, that's 2 pounds every minute, hence the expression 'as greedy as a pig''.
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What are the best times to reflect on the course of your life? Whenever you are near water, such as the ocean, a quiet pond, or a small stream. Bodies of water, particularly if they are moving, help to stimulate your creative thought process. Similarly, if you are near a fireplace or even a candle, while the flames tend to have a calming effect, they also help you to reflect on what is really important and what you want to be doing more often. The brilliant, quiet stillness of a candle flame can have an anxiety-reducing effect on your entire being. Believe it or not, you can actually choose to feel comfortable about how you spend your time. Philosophically, but also practically speaking, up to this minute in your life, you did indeed have enough time to accomplish everything you accomplished. And that's been quite a lot. When you choose to feel comfortable about how you spend your time, it immediately helps to reduce anxiety. You can also choose to feel good about your accomplishments. To bemoan the fact that you have only accomplished so much by such and such a time or such and such an age is to remain in a perpetual state of discontent. Feel good about what you have accomplished and look forward to what you will accomplish, and you will have a greater sense of control of the time in your life.
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One writes of scars healed, a loose parallel to the pathology of the skin, but there is no such thing in the life of an individual. There are open wounds, shrunk sometimes to the size of a pin-prick but wounds still. The marks of suffering are more comparable to the loss of a finger, or the sight of an eye. We may not miss them, either, for one minute in a year, but if we should there is nothing to be done about it.
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The minute you decide to write a poem you are making artistic and technical decisions about rhyme and form and structure. Each one of those decisions pushes it away from the personal and makes it an artwork. If you were writing entirely personally, you would just write in that “Oh my god I’m so in love, I don’t know what to do with myself” voice. A poem moves away from you as you write it.
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The minute you or anybody else knows what you are you are not it, you are what you or anybody else knows you are and as everything in living is made up of finding out what you are it is extraordinarily difficult really not to know what you are and yet to be that thing.
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Humor is the great thing, the saving thing. The minute it crops up, all our irritation and resentments slip away, and a sunny spirit takes their place.
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I hated every minute of training, but I said, Don't quit. Suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion.
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Human consciousness arose but a minute before midnight on the geological clock. Yet we mayflies try to bend an ancient world to our purposes, ignorant perhaps of the messages buried in its long history. Let us hope that we are still in the early morning of our April day.
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'If'
If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too: If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream---and not make dreams your master; If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same: If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings, And never breathe a word about your loss: If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much: If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son!
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Maybe you're right, boss. It all depends on the way you look at it. Look, one day I had gone to a little village. An old grandfather of ninety was busy planting an almond tree. 'What, grandad' I exclaimed. 'Planting an almond tree' and he, bent as he was, turned round and said, 'My son, I carry on as if I should never die.' I replied, 'And I carry on as if I was going to die any minute.' Which of us was right, boss
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The minute you start talking about what you're going to do if you lose, you have lost.
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Um, not sure. I just had the most hilarious recollection of this episode on the Discovery Channel I saw with rabbits having sex. Truly a representation of the human experience, the male was humping away, about 300 strokes a minute, while the female had this look on her face that I can only equate with 'I wonder what shade I should get my nails done with tomorrow'. True to form, the male kept on going at it, even up until the point where he fell over to the side, losing penetration, yet still pumping away like mad.
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Up 50 or up 10 or two, we play the same way. The minute you change the way you play, the minute you get worse as a player. You don't get too many games in the Olympics. You have to take advantage of all of them.
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The minute you try to talk business with him he takes the attitude that he is a gentleman and a scholar, and the moment you try to approach him on the level of his moral integrity he starts to talk business.
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The reality is, just like with adult books, a big name makes for an easier booking. Any time you're booking an author for a four-and-a-half to five-minute segment, if you're dealing with someone who's done television or comes with a track record, they are a known quantity. They know they have to have a funny or a touching story.
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Life is not lost by dying; life is lost minute by minute, day by dragging day, in all the thousand small uncaring ways.
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I'd like to be the sort of friend that you have been to me, I'd like to be the help that you've been always glad to be I'd like to mean as much to you each minute of the day, as you have meant, old friend of mine, to me along the way.
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My opinion, my conviction, gains immensely in strength and sureness the minute a second mind as adopted it.
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Any attempt at a rational discussion of the economic realities of government-controlled medical care is almost certain to run up against the trump card of the political left: The Poor. The image that is often invoked is that of the elderly poor, forced to choose between food and medical treatment. Who could be so heartless as to abandon them to the vagaries of the free market? This has proved to be a very effective political strategy for extending government power, not only over medical care but also over housing and other sectors of the economy.The phoniness of this argument becomes apparent the moment you suggest that money be set aside specifically for dealing with the special problems of the poor, rather than bringing whole sectors of the economy under the dominance of politicians, bureaucrats and judges. The amount of money needed to take care of the poor is often some minute fraction of what sweeping new government programs cost. But, while big government liberals are willing to use the poor as human shields in their political battles, their more basic strategy is to proclaim that everyone has a right to some basic need that they want the government to provide. As a matter of practical politics, programs for the poor alone do not have as large a constituency as programs to give everybody some benefit, so that we can all have the illusion of getting something for nothing
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Life is not lost by dying life is lost minute by minute, day by dragging day, in all the thousand small uncaring ways.
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Haggis is a kind of stuff black pudding eaten by the Scots and considered by them to be not only a delicacy but fit for human consumption. The minced heart, liver and lungs of a sheep, calf or other animal's inner organs are mixed with oatmeal, sealed and boiled in maw in the sheep's intestinal stomach-bag and... [Excuse me a minute.]
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