Nothing focuses the mind better than the constant sight of a competitor who wants to wipe you off the map.
But I think I see what these guys' problem is. You know... aside from the lack of a spine and the latent misogyny? As long as they continue to act like women are a separate species and, thus, not relate to us as HUMAN BEINGS, they'll continue to alienate the majority of us on sight or send those unfortunate souls who actually date them (Bleh!) screaming into the night.
The attack on youth is a national pathology, unwarranted by fact, smokescreen for the failure of adulthood and its leadership to confront larger predicaments. No rescue by the monied, governing, institutional, or otherwise privileged is in sight. It's up to the energy and inventiveness of the younger generation to pull the gated minds of millennium America toward acceptance of diversity, community, and fairness, and I hope they have as much fun as I did in my adolescences achieving what we Sixties kids only imagined.
In those same decades, most UFO sightings were made in the daytime and frequently at close range, when shapes and surface features could be distinguished, thus making positive identification of normal sights easier and the descriptions of unusual sights more detailed. When all normal explanations had been eliminated, the witnesses could concentrate on those aspects of the experience which were most abnormal.
For more than 50 years, men and women around the world have reported sights in the sky that are strange to their experience and understanding. Inasmuch as many of these sights appeared to be solid objects having impressive performance, they have become known as Unidentified Flying Objects (UFOs) or, colloquially, flying saucers. Their positive identification is one of the major public scientific challenges of the era, with a significant number of these sights so far defying all reasonable efforts at classification.
I wonder what my father saw in his most secret sight of the right life. It's my guess he wanted to live out his life surrounded by friends and children and fertile fields of his own designing. I tihnk he wanted to die believing he had been in one the creation of a good sweet place. Those old pilgrims believed stories in which the West was a promise, a far away place where decent people could escape the wreckage of the old world and start over. Come to me, the dream whispers, and you can have one more chance.
In a heated argument we are apt to lose sight of the truth.
When you really love someone, you think about him all the time. No matter where you are or what you're doing, he never completely leaves your thoughts. When you're apart, you want to be with him. When you're together, you're conscious of every move he makes, every word he says, and every breath he takes. Just the sight of him makes your heart race and your mouth go dry. And when he touches you, the rest of the world disappears.
First of all, who's your A&R? A mountain climber who plays an electric guitar? But he don't know the meaning of dope, When he's lookin for a suit and tie rap That's cleaner than a bar of soap! And I'm the dirtiest thing in sight, Matter of fact, bring out the girls and let's have a mud fight.
Nothing is more usual than the sight of old people who yearn for retirement: and nothing is so rare than those who have retired and do not regret it.
At first sight experience seems to bury us under a flood of external objects, pressing upon us with a sharp and importunate reality, calling us out of ourselves in a thousand forms of action.
To interpose the threat of physical destruction between a man and his perception of reality, is to negate and paralyze his means of survival to force him to act against his own judgment, is like forcing him to act against his own sight
I don't think we should speak so much. What if we were singing a song? We split, whilst singing.
But this is pretty new for me, both songwriting and singing.
I saw part of The Singing Detective on TV in New York. I said, Something is going on here.
The history of all big jazz bands shows was, first they played for dancing, and then they played for singing.
Mostly singing was cathartic, writing was cathartic, therapeutic. I don't think I had a goal, particularly, to sing or put it out there for anybody.
My singing is part of me, like my stoutness, or my light hair, or my poor eyesight.
I'm very soulful. I grew up singing in church. When I sing a song, I like to feel what I'm singing.
But I won't deprive myself of singing opera as long as my voice follows.
My energy to sing, I get it from my singing. Singing was not a reason to make a living. This is the only thing I wanted to do.
We should have a bond of sympathy for all sentient beings, knowing that only the depraved and base take pleasure in the sight of blood and suffering.
And now good morrow to our waking souls, Which watch not one another out of fear; For love, all love of other sights controls, And makes one little room, an everywhere. Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone, Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown, Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one.
By the time these students enter the workforce, many of the jobs they will apply for ill be in industries that don't even exist yet. That's a hard future to prepare someone for. Teachers have their sights set on the real goal: not to produce Ivy League graduates, but to encourage the development of naturally curious, confident, flexible, and happy learners who are ready for whatever the future has in store.
It is shameful that dancing should renounce the empire it might assert over the mind and only endeavor to please the sight.
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