For me success was always going to be a Lamborghini. But now I've got it, it just sits on my drive.
The artist, like the idiot or clown, sits on the edge of the world, and a push may send him over it.
She thinks that happiness is a mat that sits on her doorway.
She sits up. I can’t read her expression, but her cheeks look a little pink. “I didn’t think you were going to be here. ” “I live here.
No matter how high or great the throne, What sits on it is the same as your own.
I write so much because my cat sits on my lap. She purrs so I don't want to get up. She's so much more calming than my husband.
My souls sits in silence, and then asks again, where are you in all of this?
This knowledge sits in my heart, heavy as a paperweight.
The old doctrine that God wanted man to do something for him, and that he kept a watchful eye upon all the children of men; that he rewarded the virtuous and punished the wicked, is gradually fading from the mind. We know that some of the worst men have what the world calls success. We know that some of the best men lie upon the straw of failure. We know that honesty goes hungry, while larceny sits at the banquet. We know that the vicious have every physical comfort, while the virtuous are often clad in rags.
Truth sits upon the lips of dying men.
Maybe happiness is like a virus. Maybe it's one of those bugs that sits for a long time, so we don't even know that we are infected.
The caucus is a sort of representative meeting which sits voting and voting till they have cut out all the known men against whom much is to be said, and agreed on some unknown man against whom there is nothing known, and therefore nothing to be alleged.
One sits more comfortably on a colour that one likes.
wherever the TV glows, there sits someone who isn't reading.
I’ve seen far too many Christians who are more than willing to travel halfway around the world to volunteer for a week in an orphanage, but who cannot bring themselves to take the personal risk of sharing Jesus with the co-worker who sits day after day in the cubicle right next to them.
The muse is not an angelic voice that sits on your shoulder and sings sweetly. The muse is the most annoying whine. The muse isn't hard to find, just hard to like - she follows you everywhere, tapping you on the shoulder, demanding that you stop doing whatever else you might be doing and pay attention to her.
The great soul that sits on the throne of the universe is not, never was, and never will be, in a hurry.
The ignorant soul bride wanders in delusion, in the love of duality, she sits like a widow. She sits like a widow, in the love of duality, infatuated with Maya, she suffers in pain. She grows old, and her body withers away.
For three months, a person sits and looks at you, imagining a kiss.
There's a hidden sweetness in the stomach's emptiness. We are lutes, no more, no less. If the soundbox is stuffed full of anything, no music. . . . When you're full of food and drink, Satan sits where your spirit should.