I don't believe the half I hear, Nor the quarter of what I see! But I have one faith, sublime and true, That nothing can shake or slay; Each spring I firmly believe anew All the seed catalogues say!
Tears and fears and feeling proud To say I love you, right out loud Dreams and schemes and circus crowds I've looked at life that way. But now old friends are acting strange They shake their heads, they say I've changed Something's lost, but something's gained In living every day I've looked at life from both sides now From win and lose, and still somehow It's life's illusions I recall I really don't know life at all
But the memories that hang heaviest are the easiest to recall. They hold in their creases the ability to change one's life, organically, forever. Even when you shake them out, they've left permanent wrinkles in the fabric of your soul.
Postulates are based on assumption and adhered to by faith. Nothing in the Universe can shake them.
When I started really singing I was 17, 18 years old. I used to go around trying to be a singer in the Bronx. My knees would shake but I learned by doing.
At first, He shook us very tenderly but now His shaking has become violent, because He has not succeeded in awakening us. . . God is going to shake everything in sight so that He is revealed as the only unshakable power!
His eyes met mine at the soft touch, and a chime seemed to shake the ley line, realigning the universe. He was mine.
For by doing these things the gates of hell shall not prevail against you; yea, and the Lord God will disperse the powers of darkness from before you, and cause the heavens to shake for your good, and his name's glory
Added to their loveliness was a new mysterious suffering, perfectly silent, visible in the blue puffiness beneath their eyes or the way they would sometimes stop in mid-stride, look down, and shake their heads as though disagreeing with life.
John McEnroe's so good. Against him, all you can do is shake hands and take a shower.
Forgive me if I don't shake hands.
Either we shake one another's hands in joy at he victory of Islam in the world, or all of us will turn to eternal life, and martyrdom. In both cases, victory and success are hours.
If the world was an etch-a-sketch, glaciers are the big shake.
I'm a winner. . . I'm a competitor. That's what I do. It doesn't make sense for me to go over and shake somebody's hand.
Andrea stared at me. "You're not taking me seriously!" "That's probably because you're not excited enough," Derek said. "You should clench your fists like they do in the movies, shake them, and yell, 'This is bigger than any of us! It goes all the way to the top!
Shake your business up and pour it. I don't have all day.
HIV does not make people dangerous to know, so you can shake their hands and give them a hug: Heaven knows they need it.
As a writer you sometimes feel the need to shake things up.
Blay didn’t shake the hand that was offered. He reached over, took a hold of the fighter’s face, and drew Qhuinn in for a kiss. It was supposed to be only a split-seconder— like their lips were the ones doing the handshake thing. When he went to pull back, though, Qhuinn captured him, and held him in place. Their mouths met again… and again… and once more, their heads tilting to the sides, the contact lingering. “You’re welcome,” Blay said roughly. Then he smiled a little. “Can’t say it was all a pleasure, though.
I stalk certain words. . . I catch them in mid-flight, as they buzz past, I trap them, clean them, peel them, I set myself in front of the dish, they have a crystalline texture to me, vibrant, ivory, vegetable, oily, like fruit, like algae, like agates, like olives. . . I stir them, I shake them, I drink them, I gulp them down, I mash them, I garnish them. . . I leave them in my poem like stalactites, like slivers of polished wood, like coals, like pickings from a shipwreck, gifts from the waves. . . Everything exists in the word.
