And of course most non-Catholics imagine that the Church is immensely rich, and that all Catholic institutions make money hand over fist, and that all the money is stored away somewhere to buy gold and silver dishes for the Pope and cigars for the College of Cardinals.
It takes a lot of nerve to bang your fist and demand tougher juvenile gun laws while doing nothing to enforce the ones that already exist. I must point out that doubling the size of the criminal code will not matter if the Clinton-Gore administration refuses to vigorously enforce these laws.
Eve talking to someone on her computer and having trouble with the language translator....."I have two like crimes. Your data and your input on Leclerk would be very helpful"Marie pursed her lips and humor danced in her eyes."It says you would like to have sex with me. I don't think that is correct""Oh, for Christ sake" Eve slammed a fist against the machine.
A team is a fist-not five fingers.
He was WBC champion, I was mandatory. He had his opportunity to earn big money and defend against me, and he chose not to. It's as simple as that. He did not want to fight 'The Cobra', cos he knew he was probably going to get one of these (his fists) on the chin and it was going to be all over.
My father told and taught me that the word, can hit harder than the fist.
If Chisora wants to kiss me, OK, if he likes me so much, but the best answer for him will be an answer with a fist in the ring.
He's earned all his money himself, with his fists. He didn't steal it like the rest of our politicians. And he'll be less tempted to steal if he gets in the chair.
But when Bumby nursed, his fist clutching the fabric of my robe, his eyes soft and bottomless and locked on mine, as if I were the very heart of his universe, I couldn't help but melt into him.
Bullying can be physical, verbal or emotional. Words and threats are just as painful as fists, especially with social media these days. For those of you who don't know, I was actually bullied as a young boy on one occasion.
Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrist? And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists? And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air? Oh they're taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.
This may sound funny, but as much as the 'Today' show matured me, it also was something of a cocoon. I'd been happy there. I never went into the boss's office and pounded my fist on the desk, saying, 'Give me more money! Give me a prime-time show!'
If I had a staff of even one person, or could tolerate a small amphetamine habit, or entertain the possibility of weekly blood transfusions, or had been married to Vera Nabokov, or had a housespouse of even minimal abilities, a literary life would be easier to bring about. (In my mind I see all your male readers rolling their eyes. But your female ones - what is that? Are they nodding in agreement? Are their fists in the air?)
I myself will perhaps cry out with all the rest, looking at the mother embracing her child's tormentor: 'Just art thou, O Lord!' but I do not want to cry out with them. While there's still time, I hasten to defend myself against it, and therefore I absolutely renounce all higher harmony. It is not worth one little tear of even that one tormented child who beat her chest with her little fist and prayed to 'dear God' in a stinking outhouse with her unredeemed tears!
I felt the crumpled paper that had taken the place of my lungs expand as if released from a fist.
Just tolerate my little fist tugging on your forest chest
My right to swing my fist ends where your nose begins.
Say That! is an iron fist upside the mushy head of smooth jazz, and Grant Geissman's defiant declaration of independence.
Sin is a clenched fist and a blow in the face of God.
Why do I dance? Dance is my medicine. It’s the scream which eases for a while the terrible frustration common to all human beings who because of race, creed, or color, are ‘invisible’. Dance is the fist with which I fight the sickening ignorance of prejudice.
This country will not be a peaceful place for us to live if we do not make it to be a peaceful place with our fists.
To pray with your fists closed means you're hanging onto something. Let it go. Open your hands to God.
My art school rejection letter arrived as a cold manila fist that closed around my fragile hopes ... The fear was practically edible. Nothing would happen unless I get out and make it happen. Then, as if handling me the keys to the jet pack, my dad bought me a typewriter and a taped message to the inside of its case: "Son - the world is waiting to hear from you".
Hate gets going, it goes round, it gets older and tighter and older and tighter, until it holds a person inside it like a fist holds a stick.
Where does my fist go when I open up my hand? Where does my lap go when I stand up?
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