Still falls the rain -- dark as the world of man, black as our loss -- blind as the nineteen hundred and forty nails upon the Cross.
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I'm never going to be famous. My name will never be writ large on the roster of Those Who Do Things. I don't do any thing. Not one single thing. I used to bite my nails, but I don't even do that any more.
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As she came up to the arch Elizabeth saw with a start that it was written on. She went closer. She peered at the stone. There were names on it. Every grain of the surface had been carved with British names; their chiselled capitals rose from the level of her ankles to the height of the great arch itself; on every surface of every column as far as her eyes eyes could see there were names teeming, reeling, over surfaces of yards, of hundreds of yards, over furlongs of stone. She moved through the space beneath the arch where the man was sweeping. She found the other pillas identically marked, their faces obliterated on all sides by the names that were carved on them. 'Who are these, these ...?; She gestured with her hand.' 'These?' The man with the brush sounded surprised. 'The lost.' 'Men who died in battle?' 'No. The lost, the ones they did not find. The others are in cemetries.' 'These are just the ... unfound?' She looked at the vault above her head and then around in panic at the endless writing, as though the surface of the sky had been papered in footnotes. When she could speak again, she said, 'from the whole war?' The man shook his head. 'Just these fields.' He gestured with his arm. Elizabeth went and sat on the steps on the other side of the monument. Beneath her was a formal garden with some rows of white headstones, each with a tended plant or flower at its base, each cleaned and beautiful in the weak winter sunlight. 'Nobody told me.' She ran her fingers with their red-painted nails back through her thick dark hair. 'My God, nobody told me.
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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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Appearance is something you should definitely consider when you're going out. Have your girlfriend clip your nails or something like that.
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It's no secret that a conscience can sometimes be a pest It's no secret ambition bites the nails of success Every artist is a cannibal, every poet is a thief All kill their inspiration and sing about the grief
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Men, like nails, lose their usefulness when they lose direction and begin to bend.
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People, like nails, lose their effectiveness when they lose direction and begin to bend.
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Time has an undertaking establishment on every block and drives his coffin nails faster than the steam riveters rivet or the stenographers typ...
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Though I still have no semblance of a life outside of Nine Inch Nails at the moment, I realize my goals have gone from getting a record deal or selling another record to being a better person, more well-rounded, . . . having friends, having a relationship with somebody.
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Eric Draven Jesus Christ Stop me if you heard this one Jesus Christ walks into a hotel. He hands the innkeeper three nails, and he asks... Can you put me up for the night
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Though they be mad and dead as nails, Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;...
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He sewed his eyes shut because he is afraid to see He tries to tell me what I put inside of me He's got the answers to easy my curiosity He dreamed a god up and called it christianity Your god is dead and no one cares If there is a hell I will see you there
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Man is a wingless animal with two feet and flat nails.
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He is to be educated not because he's to make shoes, nails, and pins, but because he is a man.
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I'm never going to be famous. My name will never be writ large on the roster of Those Who Do Things. I don't do any thing. Not one single thing. I used to bite my nails, but I don't even do that any more
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It takes many nails to build a crib, but only one screw to fill it
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Certain people in the United States are driving nails into this structure of our relationship, then cutting off the heads. So the Soviets must use their teeth to pull them out.
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Pithy sentences are like sharp nails which force truth upon our memory.
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A plumber never bites his nails.
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The wisdom of others remains dull till it is writ over with our own blood. We are essentially apart from the world; it bursts into our consciousness only when it sinks its teeth and nails into us.
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