When I was little, I wasn't so little. I had a big old round belly and I was really clumsy, but I was super confident.
I hate my stomach. It's impossible to get it flat, and the area around my belly button drives me crazy.
I'm hidden in the scream when the virgin dies, I'm the ache in the belly when your baby cries, and I'm the burning sensation when the convict fries.
In life's rich beauty pageant we put children on a stage, said flash your soft white belly child, but just don't act your age.
She barely understands her dreams of belly button rings and other kind of things. Symbolic of change, but the thing that is strange, it that the changes occur, and now she's just a part of the herd.
I'm up here in this womb, I'm looking all around. We'll, I'm looking out my belly button window and I see a whole lot of frowns.
I remember when you were born, it was dawn and the storm settled near my belly. And I rolled in the grass and spit out the gas, and I lit a match and the void went flash. And the sky split and the planets hit, balls of jade dropped and existence stopped.
Too many times I've heard records from bands who were obviously, like, 'Well, we're at least gonna do half as well as we did on our last record. At least we can count on that.' You really have to keep that initial hunger that made some of your first best songs your first best songs. You have to keep that fire in the belly.
Maybe I'll make a huge color tapestry from my belly button lint.
You put the life in your belly and you live.
A man can gasp out his life beside you-and you feel none of it. Pity, Sympathy, sure-but you don't feel the pain. Your belly is whole and that's what counts. A half-yard away someone's world is snuffled out in roaring agony-and you feel nothing. That's the misery of the world.
The truth seems to be that they [teachers of grammar] were victims of a mighty hoax, one of those true belly-rumbling impostures which a workaday world can but seldom afford.
Tis not the belly's hunger that costs so much, but its pride
Hungry bellies have no cars.
A man must go on a quest / to discover the sacred fire / in the sanctuary of his own belly / to ignite the flame in his heart / to fuel the blaze in the hearth / to rekindle his ardor for the earth
Most men worry about their own bellies and other people's souls, when we all ought to be worried about our own souls and other people's bellies.
The belly (i.e. necessity) is the teacher of art and the liberal bestower of wit.
Why are some people born with a fire in the belly, while others need something to get their pilot light lit?
The colours of insects and many smaller animals contribute to conceal them from the larger ones which prey upon them. Caterpillars which feed on leaves are generally green; and earth-worms the colour of the earth which they inhabit; butter-flies, which frequent flowers, are coloured like them; small birds which frequent hedges have greenish backs like the leaves, and light-coloured bellies like the sky, and are hence less visible to the hawk who passes under them or over them.
An army, like a serpent, travels on its belly.
We are a nation that has always gone in for the loud laugh, the wow, the yak, the belly laugh, and the dozen other labels for the roll- em-in-the-aisles gagerissimo. This is the kind of laugh that delights actors, directors, and producers, but dismays writers of comedy because it is the laugh that often dies in the lobby. The appreciative smile, the chuckle, the soundless mirth, so important to the success of comedy, cannot be understood unless one sits among the audience and feels the warmth created by the quality of laughter that the audience takes home with it.
For it is not possible to join serpentine wisdom with columbine innocence, except men know exactly all the conditions of the serpent: his baseness and going upon his belly, his volubility and lubricity, his envy and sting, and the rest; that is, all forms and natures of evil: for without this, virtue lieth open and unfenced.
Them belly full, but we hungry; A hungry mob is a angry mob.
I hate all virtues based on food and bloated bellies; though food and drink are good, I'm better slaked and fed by that inhuman flame which burns in our black bowels. I like to name that flame which burns within me God!
A full belly to the labourer was, in my opinion, the foundation of public morals and the only source of real public peace.
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