A drop of honey catches more flies than a gallon of gall. So with men. If you would win a man to your cause, first convince him that you are his sincere friend. Therein is a drop of honey which catches his heart, which, say what he will, is the highroad to his reason.
You and I cannot be useful if we want to be sweet as honey in the mouths of men. God will never bless us if we wish to please men, that they may think well of us. Are you willing to tell them what will break your own heart in the telling and break theirs in the hearing? If not, you are not fit to serve the Lord. You must be willing to go and speak for God, though you will be rejected.
. . . God is too busy making the sun come up and go down and watching so the moon floats just right in the sky to be concerned with color . . . only man wants always God should be there to condemn this one and save that one. Always it is man who wants to make heaven and hell. God is too busy training the bees to make honey and every morning opening up all the new flowers for business.
A field is the most just possession for men. For what nature requires it carefully bears: barley, oil, wine, figs, honey. Silver-plate and purple will do for the tragedians, not for life.
Today, together, let us repeat as our slogan that all trace of violence must disappear from this earth, then the sun will be honey-colored and music good to hear.
To love is to tilt with the lightning, two bodies routed by a single honey's sweet.
Donald Trump is the Honey Boo Boo of rich people.
May the honey-sweet flute music that flows from Lord Mukunda's lotus mouth fill me with bliss.
I know all we're doing is travelling without moving. Speed freak faster than a speedin' bullet, slow down. If I don't, I might just lose it, locked up. You've got me honey, locked up under heavy brakin', yeah. You know I've got to hang on, drive too fast, I might be last.
Shane, honey, in Morganville, friends are the only things that keep you alive.
When carrying a jar of honey to give to a friend for his birthday, don't stop and eat it along the way.
From his tongue flowed speech sweeter than honey.
If honey bees become extinct, human society will follow in four years.
I remember when I couldn't afford to eat like this. It was ramen noodles and the San Francisco Treat [Rice-A-Roni]. Dessert? Get you a honey bun and put a slice of cheese on it. Put it in the microwave for 45 seconds and you had the gift of a lifetime.
Good stories flow like honey but bad stories stick in the craw [gullet]. What is a bad story? It's a story that cannot be absorbed in the first time of reading. It's a story that leaves questions unanswered.
You don't just one day say, 'That's it, I'm doing this, I'm going to throw all my shoes out and I'm not eating honey and I won't drive my car because there are animal bones in the tires' because you'd drive yourself around the bend.
Lo! with a little rod I did but touch the honey of romance — And must I lose a soul's inheritance?
The good doctor put a spoon of tea into my honey." "You're drinking tea a honey badger made," Jim said. "What did you expect?
It's funny, most people can be around someone and they gradually begin to love them and never know exactly when it happened; but Ruth knew the very second it happened to her. When Idgie had grinned at her and tried to hand her that jar of honey, all these feelings that she had been trying to hold back came flooding through her, and it was at that second in time that she knew she loved Idgie with all her heart.
... That would be like stepping in front of a moving train and saying, 'Hey, honey, come stand next to me.'" I hopped off the wall and stood next to him. "Anytime." He just looked at me. "I've never killed a train before. It might be fun to try.
You mean you live down here?' Matilda asked. 'I do', Miss Honey replied, but she said no more. Matilda had never once stopped to think about where Miss Honey might be living. She had always regarded her purely as a teacher, a person who turned up out of nowhere and taught at school and then went away again.
I want to love you wildly. I don’t want words, but inarticulate cries, meaningless, from the bottom of my most primitive being, that flow from my belly like honey. A piercing joy, that leaves me empty, conquered, silenced.
She had brillant red hair, like honey and roses and the sun all together.
Honey, I've watched a lot of 90210. The parents weren't even on the show once Brandon and Brenda went to college. This is your time - you're supposed to going to frat parties and getting back together with Dylan." "Why does everybody want me to go to frat parties?" "Who wants you to go to frat parties? I was just kidding. Don't hang out with frat guys, Cath, they're terrible. All they do is get drunk and watch 90210.
That's my girl," he murmured. "I'm not your girl." "Well," he said not bothering to hide his smile from her sightless eyes, "the good news is that the honey gave you back your sparkling personality." "And the bad news?" "The honey gave you back your sparkling personality.
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