You can learn more about hunting deer with a bow and arrow in a week than a gun hunter will learn in his entire life
Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. They came through you but not from you and though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
The value of the myth is that it takes all the things we know and restores to them the rich significance which has been hidden by ‘the veil of familiarity.’ The child enjoys his cold meat, otherwise dull to him, by pretending it is buffalo, just killed with his own bow and arrow. And the child is wise. The real meat comes back to him more savory for having been dipped in a story…by putting bread, gold, horse, apple, or the very roads into a myth, we do not retreat from reality: we rediscover it.
If to chaffer and higgle are bad in trade, they are much worse in Love. It demands directness as of an arrow.
Unlike a bow and arrow, a camera by its nature ensures that some kind of target will always be hit, if not necessarily the intended target nor in the intended way.
William Tell's son, Telly, who said as his father was pointing the bow and arrow at the apple on his head, There's gotta be an easier way to kill worms. Never got a dinner!
I'm pretty outdoorsy. My family used to live in the hills in the middle of nowhere pretty much. We literally used to have bow and arrows and air rifles and were throwing knives.
In a hunting society, children play with bows and arrows. In an information society, children play with information
For life goes not backward, nor tarries with yesterday.
Cupid and my Campaspe play'd At cards for kisses - Cupid paid: He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, His mother's doves, and team of sparrows; Loses them too; then down he throws The coral of his lips, the rose Growing one's cheek (but none knows how); With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin: All these did my Campaspe win. At last he set her both his eyes - She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love! has she done this for thee? What shall, alas! become of me?
Patience is more than endurance. A saint's life is in the hands of God like a bow and arrow in the hands of an archer. God is aiming at something the saint cannot see, and He stretches and strains, and every now and again the saint says--'I cannot stand anymore.' God does not heed, He goes on stretching till His purpose is in sight, then He lets fly. Trust yourself in God's hands. Maintain your relationship to Jesus Christ by the patience of faith. 'Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.
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