I didn't squawk about the steak, dear. I merely said I didn't see that old horse that used to be tethered outside here.
The longer I lived, the more beautiful life became - despite my personal tragedies, the fire, despite my third wife and her dreadful taste. My dear Olgivanna, she insisted on replacing the lovely canvas and wooden trusses at Taliesin West with steel supports and pink frosted glass. Well, I was too old to care by then. What I decided early on was this: If you foolishly ignore beauty, you will soon find yourself without it. Your life will be impoverished. But if you invest in beauty, it will remain with you all the days of your life.
My religion? Well, my dear, I am a Millionaire. That is my religion.
Experience keeps a dear school, but fools will learn in no other, and scarce in that; for it is true we may give advice, but we cannot give conduct.
Dear Marco, how do i unwrite the past, how do i undo the mistakes, how do i unlove you?
So mayst thou live, dear! many years, In all the bliss that life endears
You see, dear, it is not true that woman was made from man's rib; she was made from his funny bone.
My disenchantment? Oh no, my dear, there are no disenchantments, merely progressions and styles of possession. To exist is to be spellbound.
England has never enjoyed a genuine social revolution. Maybe that's what's wrong with that dear, tepid, vapid, insipid, stuffy, little country.
Dear God, teach me to be careless.
Amongst other strange things said of me, I hear it is said by the deists that I am one of the number; and indeed, that some good people think I am no Christian. This thought gives me much more pain than the appellation of Tory; because I think religion of infinitely higher importance than politics; and I find much cause to reproach myself that I have lived so long, and have given no decided and public proofs of my being a Christian. But, indeed, my dear child, this is a character which I prize far above all this world has, or can boast.
My own dear mother was a martyr indeed, and it is not to everybody that God grants so easy a way to his great gifts as he did to Hilary and myself, giving us a mother who killed herself with labour and trouble to ensure us keeping the faith.
Poor, dear God. Playing Idiot's Delight. The game that never means anything, and never ends.
Now, said I aloud, My dear Father's Words are come to pass: God's Justice has overtaken me, and I have none to help or hear me: I rejected the Voice of Providence.
A heretic, my dear sir, is a fellow who disagrees with you regarding something neither of you knows anything about.
A sweet thing, for whatever time, to revisit in dreams the dear dad we have lost.
No author, without a trial, can conceive of the difficulty of writing a romance about a country where there is no shadow, no antiquity, no mystery, no picturesque and gloomy wrong, nor anything but a commonplace prosperity, in broad and simple daylight, as is happily the case with my dear native land.
And yet self-knowledge is thought by some not so easy. Who knows, my dear sir, but for a time you may have taken yourself for somebody else? Stranger things have happened.
Ever since I could remember anything, flowers have been like dear friends to me, comforters, inspirers, powers to uplift and to cheer.
What beauty. I saw clouds and their light shadows on the distant dear earth.... The water looked like darkish, slightly gleaming spots.... When I watched the horizon, I saw the abrupt, contrasting transition from the earth's light-colored surface to the absolutely black sky. I enjoyed the rich color spectrum of the earth. It is surrounded by a light blue aureole that gradually darkens, becoming turquiose, dark blue, violet, and finally coal black.
There are times when you have to obey a call which is the highest of all, i.e. the voice of conscience even though such obedience may cost many a bitter tear, and even more, separation from friends, from family, from the state, to which you may belong, from all that you have held as dear as life itself. For this obedience is the law of our being.
When we complain of having to do the same thing over and over, let us remember that God does not send new trees, strange flowers and different grasses every year. When the spring winds blow, they blow in the same way. In the same places the same dear blossoms lift up the same sweet faces, yet they never weary us. When it rains, it rains as it always has. Even so would the same tasks which fill our daily lives put on new meanings if we wrought them in the spirit of renewal from within--a spirit of growth and beauty.
If Thy dear home be fuller, Lord, For that a little emptier. My house on earth, what rich rewards. That guerdon were.
Satan hates God for His own sake, and everything that is dear to God he hates for the very reason that God loves it.
Went up from my feet to my head, With little chills after it stealing- And my hands got as numb as the dead. A moment, and then it was over: The diamond blazed up in my eyes, And I saw in the face of my lover A questioning, strange surprise. Maybe 'twas the scent of the flowers, That heavy with fragrance bloomed near, But I didn't feel natural for hours; It was odd now, wasn't it, dear? Write soon to your fortunate Clara Who has carried the prize away, And say you'll come on when I marry; I think it will happen in May.
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