I am quite a physical chap - I think that's why my waist and physique are pretty much the same as when I was a kid, although my chest is a lot bigger.
It is said that in life we must play with the cards we are dealt, but too often I have kept those cards too close to my chest.
The medium of poetry is not words, the medium of poetry is not lines-it is the motion of air inside the human body, coming out through the chest and the voice box and through the mouth to shape sounds that have meaning. It's bodily.
There is a double rhythm in all human beings. We are binary beings - two arms, two legs, two eyes, two ears. Two legs for walking. And the heartbeat thumping in our chest mirrors that.
In weightlessness, one of the physiological changes is a fluid shift. Your blood and fluid is equally distributed in your body. So that makes your calves and thighs and waist skinnier, and it makes your chest and women's breasts broader. The downside is your face is kind of puffy
It was an instant weight lifted off my chest - both literally and figuratively.
When you have children, it's like having your heart beating outside your chest. You can drive yourself crazy wanting to protect them and make sure that nothing harms them. It's a feeling of vulnerability that you can't get around sometimes.
If you have something to get off of your chest, there is a proper way to do it. Everybody has a bad day, and, for some people, you're under a microscope and you have to deal with the consequences of having a bad day in front of people. But everyone has them.
I'm a high-performance athlete: I'm running, I'm sprinting, I'm sliding, I'm doing pretty much everything and the last thing I want to worry about is my chest. I want to just worry about playing the sport at the highest level that I can.
The people we're related to are the ones we go to for comfort, support. We connect with kin when the rest of the world seems hostile. Within our family, we are free to be ourselves, to have bad mood days, say hurtful stuff, get it off our chests. We know we'll always be forgiven.
If you get a little kitty and he's down on the bottom, and he's laying on his chest, you know tucked up underneath, then that cat is not relaxed.
I mean, we'll be pounding on the guy's chest, you know, on the floor, and you know, he's not going to just jump up all of a sudden. So it makes it tough. I mean, it's tough to be in the legislature, you know, and vote for something and then people say, well, you voted all this money and you know, it's all getting spent. It isn't getting spent. It's getting invested. But it's all getting spent. Nothing's happening.
When I just want to be free, I'll wear the Banderas outfit and the mask and touch myself. On the chest. Only on the chest. I just want to feel the silky silks.
Cale is my signature character in the Forgotten Realms. The most popular character I've written. He's a thief, an assassin, and eventually, a priest who stabs his own god in the chest. Always trying to slip his past, but never succeeding. Dark dude. Brooding dude. Born killer. But honorable, still.
Keep compassion close to your chest at all times.
I'm just more content with myself. Like, if I've got something to say, I want to get it off of my chest.
Instead of physical objects, (in order to have faith in myself) I have my personal mottos/charms to keep myself motivated and then I smack my chest.
Me being from a Celtic culture that tends to emphasize directness, conflict, openness has a big effect on my living in Japan, which tends to focus on indirectness, avoidance of conflict and keeping things close to your chest. So that has led to quite a lot of cultural misunderstandings in dealing with this East Asian culture I live in.
I tend to feel really protective of songs, and if they aren't sitting well in a record, I'll pull them tight to my chest until I feel it's a better time.
One day, I went to a soba restaurant outside town, and while I was waiting for the zarusoba I opened an old graph magazine. There was a picture of an exhausted, lonely kneeling woman who wore a checked patterned yukata after the tradegy of a large earthquake. With the intensity of my chest ready to burn up, I fell in love with that poor woman. I also felt a horrifying desire for her. Maybe tragedy and desire are back to back to one another.
Homeopathy - an invention of the Father of Lies! I have tried it and found it wanting. I would swallow their whole doles medicine chest for sixpence, and be sure of finding myself neither better nor worse for it.
I felt that I could swim for miles, out into the ocean: a desire for freedom, an impulse to move, tugged at me as though it were a thread fastened to my chest. It was an impulse I knew well, and I had learned that it was not the summons from a larger world I used to believe it to be. It was simply a desire to escape from what I had.
And all the time - such is the tragic comedy of our situation - we continue to clamor for those very qualities we are rendering impossible. We make men without chests and expect of them virtue and enterprise. We laugh at honor and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful.
Candidates who win while spending less than their opponents still usually have to spend quite a lot. While not a surefire guarantor of victory, a large war chest -even if not the largest-is usually a necessary condition. Money may not guarantee victory, but the lack of it usually guarantees defeat. Without large sums, there is rarely much of a campaign, as poorly funded 'minor' candidates have repeatedly discovered.
And loneliness. I should say something of loneliness. The panic, the sweeping hysteria that comes not when you are without others, but when you are without yourself, adrift. I should describe the filthy province of mind, the blighted district inside, the place so crowded you cannot raise the eyelids of your eyes. Your shoulders are drawn and your head has fallen and your chest is bruised by the constant assault of your heart.
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