To a Young Poet Time cannot break the bird's wing from the bird. Bird and wing together Go down, one feather. No thing that ever flew, Not the lark, not you, Can die as others do.
They are playing a game. They are playing at not playing a game. If I show them I see they are, I shall break the rules and they will punish me. I must play their game, of not seeing I see the game.
Go and play. Run around. Build something. Break something. Climb a tree. Get dirty. Get in some trouble. Have some fun.
You can take my life, but you'll never break me. So bring me your worst. . . And I will definitely give you mine.
the shell must break before the bird can fly.
I think I grew up really fast; I grew up in this really fast-paced business, and I never understood what it meant to take a break or take time off or recover, and I paid for it.
What are you gonna do if I break one of your *&^%$ing rules?
It's not Spring Break until somebody dies!
Each time I write, each time the authentic words break through, I am changed. The older order that I was collapses and dies. I lose control. I do not know exactly what words will appear on the page. I follow language. I follow the sound of the words, and I am surprised and transformed by what I record.
Sharp men, like sharp needles, break easy, though they pierce quick.
You'll never get to heaven, if you break my heart.
You have to believe what you're saying if you're going to convince me. I just can't break that rule, even if I want to.
I like to take a break, but at the same time, I think most actors are not very good at sitting around doing nothing because we like to work.
He said, You're so tiny, like a doll, you look like you might break. I wanted him to break me. Part of me did.
Never break or fold, that's what it takes to be major.
Reason cannot break out of its own loop.
What breaks your heart is part of a divine design to bring change!
We sleep to time's hurdy-gurdy; we wake, if ever we wake, to the silence of God. And then, when we wake to the deep shores of time uncreated, then when the dazzling dark breaks over the far slopes of time, then it's time to toss things, like our reason, and our will; then it's time to break our necks for home. There are no events but thoughts and the heart's hard turning, the heart's slow learning where to love and whom. The rest is merely gossip, and tales for other times.
According to The New York Times, the mob has now gotten into Medicare fraud. But the good news is, when they do break your legs there's a good chance you're covered.
Let my heart be broken with the things that break God's heart.