I have no history but the length of my bones.
I want to be cremated so people won't come to worship at my bones.
We are born into this time and must bravely follow the path to the destined end. There is no other way. Our duty is to hold on to the lost position, without hope, without rescue, like that Roman soldier whose bones were found in front of a door in Pompeii, who, during the eruption of Vesuvius, died at his post because they forgot to relieve him. That is greatness. That is what it means to be a thoroughbred. The honorable end is the one thing that can not be taken from a man.
Death's a fierce meadowlark: but to die having made Something more equal to the centuries Than muscle and bone, is mostly to shed weakness.
He was in my nose, my mouth, on my skin, inside my cells, deep in the marrow of my bones. Just then, he was everything to me.
I have severe osteoporosis. Your bones start to collapse.
Shame weighs a lot more than flesh and bone.
Philosophy can be compared to some powders that are so corrosive that, after they have eaten away the infected flesh of a wound, they then devour the living flesh, rot the bones, and penetrate to the very marrow. Philosophy at first refutes errors. But if it is not stopped at this point, it goes on to attack truths. And when it is left on its own, it goes so far that it no longer knows where it is and can find no stopping place.
I still skate occasionally but last time I did, at our show in Hanford, I did a 360 frontside varial over our rolled-up banner and broke every damn bone in my body. Ok, I only broke one bone. Well, I didn't break any bones, but I could have!
It used to be on the Internet no one knew you were a dog. Now not only does everyone know that you are a dog, they know what kind of a dog you are, who you run with, where you hide your bones, the accidental piddle behind the couch, the fight you got into with the boxer, and your thoughts on the hot poodle down the street.
At the tips of the feathers there is air and at their base: blood. I hold up bones; I wish like broken glass they could court light. . . . still I try to place these pieces back together, to set them firm, to make murdered girls live again.
The bone won't come to the dog. It's the dog that goes to the bone.
Ask me if I sparkle and I’ll kill you where you stand. ” (Bones)
Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, I here, though there, yet both but one.
I tend to gravitate towards the great rock-and-roll front men, the guys that are very "bare bones. " I like Bono, I like Chris Martin(Coldplay) and I like the running around. I think they are amazing at it, but I think that there is something great about a guy that can captivate a room, and very little movement and running everywhere.
Science can reconstruct Tyrannosaurus Rex from a fossilized bone and a fancied footprint, but it can't reconstruct God from the whole of creation.
It will not out of the flesh that is bred in the bone.
In our large cities, the population is godless, materialized,--no bond, no fellow-feeling, no enthusiasm. These are not men, but hungers, thirsts, fevers, and appetites walking. How is it people manage to live on,--so aimless as they are? After their peppercorn aims are gained, it seems as if the lime in their bones alone held them together, and not any worthy purpose.
Bones tell me the story of a person's life - how old they were, what their gender was, their ancestral background.
Sticks and stones may break our bones, but names will break our spirit.