The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don't turn against him, they crush those beneath them.
Lately, the world felt fragile, like a blown egg, as if it might shatter beneath a careless touch.
The most I would do was use the shadow tool in Photoshop to bring out the muscular rips in my stomach, which were honestly there. Beneath the fat.
Whoever finds love beneath hurt and grief disappears into emptiness with a thousand new disguises
Beneath the stains of time the feeling disappears, you are someone else I am still right here.
In sleep, fantasy takes the form of dreams. But in waking life, too, we continue to dream beneath the threshold of consciousness, especially when under the influence of repressed or other unconscious complexes.
Beneath all the rhetoric about relevance lies a profoundly disturbing possibility - that people may base their lives upon an illusion, upon a blatant lie. The attractiveness of a belief is all too often inversely proportional to its truth. . . To allow "relevance" to be given greater weight than truth is a mark of intellectual shallowness and moral irresponsibility.
There's a heart beneath the boobs and a brain beneath the wig.
Fairs are beneath the dignity of art. To stand there in a booth and hawk your wares - it is just not how you sell art.
Poverty is the openmouthed relentless hell which yawns beneath civilized society. And it is hell enough.
Less than the dust beneath thy chariot wheel, less than the weed that grows beside thy door.
Beneath every no lays a passion for yes that had never been broken.
Once upon a Lammas Night When corn rigs are bonny, Beneath the Moon's unclouded light, I held awhile to Annie. . . The time went by with careless heed Between the late and early, With small persuasion she agreed To see me through the barley. . . Corn rigs and barley rigs, Corn rigs are bonny! I'll not forget that happy night Among the rigs with Annie!
The path is always right beneath your feet.
I've always assumed there's a dark river flowing beneath my fans' desires.
He who steps on stones is glad to feel the smallest spray of moss beneath his feet.
The more congenial page of some tenth-rate poeticule worn out with failure after failure and now squat in his hole like the tailless fox, he is curled up to snarl and whimper beneath the inaccessible vine of song.
As you become more rooted inside -- as you drink from this silent stream of life that runs beneath the surface of everything -- as you live from that depth of your own being more and more, then you’ll be able to rise taller and stronger in this world; more than you may have ever thought possible.
It's like, imagine the ripples on top of an ocean. And I'm in a rowboat, reactively dealing with the waves and water coming into my boat. What I need to do is dive into the deeper solace, the calmness beneath the surface.
Like ice beneath the sun's rays - to such poverty did he fall. . . his fortune melted to water.