They fell, but o'er their glorious grave Floats free the banner of the cause they died to save.
Sometimes I think maybe they were right all along, the people on the other side in Zombieland. Maybe it would be better if we didn't love. If we didn't lose either. If we didn't get our hearts stomped on, shattered: if we didn't have to patch and repatch until we're like Frankenstein monsters, all sewn together and bound up by who knows what. If we could just float along, like snow. But how could anyone who's ever seen a summer - big explosions of green and skies lit up electric with splashy sunsets, a riot of flowers and wind that smells like honey - pick the snow?
Existing economics is a theoretical system which floats in the air and which bears little relation to what happens in the real world.
In San Francisco - life goes on. Hope rises and dreams flicker and die. Love plans for tomorrow and loneliness thinks of yesterday. Life is beautiful and living is pain. The sound of music floats down a dark street. A young girl looks out a window and wishes she were married. A drunk sleeps under a bridge. It is tomorrow.
When the polar ice caps melt, my recording studio will rise up like an ark, and I'll float off into the drowned world like a character from a J.G. Ballard novel.
On sorrow floats laughter.
I am not in the body of life. I hover on the extremities. I float.
Pity! The southerly trees have shed their leaves. Nobody comes to appreciate the mountain's beauty. Tomorrow I too will float away. My reflection gone from cool streams.
If cocaine were helium, the NBA would float away.
The Flag still floats unblotted with defeat! But ah the blood that keeps its ripples red, The starry lives that keep its field alight.
How do you recover from an extraordinary loss? Take stock of the loved ones around you. Hug them, love them, and cherish them. When you appreciate the joys in your life, it makes sorrow that much easier to swallow. Every day is a new day. Hope floats, so let it rise. God is love.
A little consideration of what takes place around us every day would show us that a higher law than that of our will regulates events; that our painful labors are unnecessary and fruitless; that only in our easy, simple, spontaneous action are we strong . . . . Place yourself in the middle of the stream of power and wisdom which animates all whom it floats, and you are without effort impelled to truth, to right, and a perfect contentment.
As I see it, I'm just getting better and better as a rider - physically and mentally. I'm as motivated as I ever was. I enjoy it as much as I ever did. When you're a good rider on a good day, the bike doesn't rattle and bounce. You're smooth. Even if it's rough you can find a way to make the bike float.
It is imperative to maintain portions of the wilderness untouched so that a tree will rot where it falls, a waterfall will pour its curve without generating electricity, a trumpeter swan may float on uncontaminated water - and moderns may at least see what their ancestors knew in their nerves and blood.
I don't speak, I float in the air wrapped in a sheet I'm not a real person, I'm a ghost trapped in a beat
Come with me, the river said, close your eyes and quiet your limbs and float with me into the wonder and mystery of the canyons, see the unknown and the little known, look upon the stone gods face to face, see Medusa, drink my waters, hear my song, feel my power, come along and drift with me toward the distant, ultimate and legendary sea.
You can lead a horse to water, but if you can get him to roll over and float on his back, then you got something!
Now shut the engines off. Come down and flatten out, feel the long float, and at the given moment pull the stick right home. She's down. Now taxi in. Switch off. It's over - but not quite, for the port engine, just as if it knew, as if reluctant at the last to let me go, kicked, kicked, and kicked again, as overheated engines will, then backfired with an angry snorting: Fool! The best is over ...But I did not hear.
Why am I using a new putter? Because the last one didn't float too well.
I'd been depressed before, of course. But I'm talking about really depressed. Not just feeling a bit down or sad, a depression that has something to do with biorhythms. I'm talking about the kind of depressed that floats in upon you like a fog. You can feel it coming and you can see where it is going to take you but you are powerless, utterly powerless to stop it. I know now.
Only the ship is made of books, its sails thousands of overlapping pages, and the sea it floats upon is dark black ink.
April's air stirs in Willow-leaves...a butterfly Floats and balances
We gon' float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. AH! Rumble, young man rumble! AH!
I am not a complete idiot, but whether from weakness or laziness have no talent for thinking. I know only how to reflect: I am a mirror. Logic does not exist for me. I float on the waves of art and life and never really know how to distinguish what belongs to the one or the other or what is common to both. Life unfolds for me like a theatre presenting a sequence of somewhat unreal sentiments; while the things of art are real to me and go straight to my heart.
I'm lucky because I have so many clashing cultural, racial things going on: black, Jewish, Irish, Portuguese, Cherokee. I can float and be part of any community I want. The thing is, I do identify with being black, and if people don't identify me that way that's their issue. I’m happy to challenge people's understanding of what it looks like to be biracial, because guess what? In the next 50 years, people will start looking more and more like me.
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