Instead of passing blithely over into that Promised Land, flowing almost literally with milk and honey, it may be our destiny to wander a full 40 years or more in the wilderness of doubt and divided sentiments.
You risked your life, but what else have you ever risked? Have you risked disapproval? Have you ever risked economic security? Have you ever risked a belief? I see nothing particularly courageous about risking one's life. So you lose it, you go to your hero's heaven and everything is milk and honey 'til the end of time. Right? You get your reward and suffer no earthly consequences. That's not courage. Real courage is risking something that might force you to rethink your thoughts and suffer change and stretch consciousness. Real courage is risking one's clichés.
When I was living in Los Angeles, I always booked a moisturizing milk-and-honey massage the day before flying to Spain. It was heaven - I never got dry plane skin or felt stiff from sitting in one position.
Faith is like porridge. Better with milk and honey.
The land of milk and honey, they say it is the land of money.
In a world of smoke and ashes, you are milk and honey
Any land will flow with milk and honey if it is worked with honest hands!
blackmail. The age-old path to the land of milk and honey. The one sure way of being paid for doing nothing.
If others hurl their darts against you, offer them milk and honey in return; if they poison your lives, sweeten their souls.
I said, 'Oh, I know. If the white folks is in Heaven too, then the black angels were in the kitchen, preparing the milk and honey. '
Perfumed and gallant words make our ears belch.
Lotus-land as it appears in 'Free Will' is simply a metaphor for an idealized background, a 'land of milk and honey. ' It is sometimes also used as a pejorative name for Los Angeles, though that was not in my mind when I wrote it.
There is no food more satiating than milk and honey; and just as such foods produce disgust for the palate, so perfumed and gallant words make our ears belch.
In the valley of the giants where the stars and stripes explode, the peaches they were sweet and the milk and honey flowed.
The vision of milk and honey, it comes and goes. But the odor of cooking goes on forever.
Jerusalem the golden, with milk and honey blessed, beneath thy contemplation sink heart and voice oppressed.
O happy, golden age! Not for that rivers ran With streams of milk, and honey dropped from trees
