The key to liberation from the power of materialism is not an exodus from culture - abandoning Wall Street or leaving the wealth of the nation to others - but the grace of giving... Givers for God disarm the power of money. They invite God's grace to flow through them.
Jesus' life was a storm of controversy. The apostles, like the prophets before them, could hardly go a day without controversy. Paul said that he debated daily in the marketplace. To avoid controversy is to avoid Christ. We can have peace, but it is a servile and carnal peace where truth is slain in the streets.
Rather let us imagine the anima mundi as that particular soul-spark, that seminal image, which offers itself through each thing in its visible form. Then anima mundi indicates the animated possibilities presented by each new event as it is, its sensuous presentation as a face bespeaking its interior image - in short, its availability to imagination, its presence as psychic reality. Not only animals and plants ensouled as in the Romantic vision, but soul is given with each thing, God-given things of nature and man-made things of the street.
Every time I went away I was deceiving my mum. I'd tell her I was going to school but I'd be out on the street playing football. I always had a ball on my feet.
When you're directing you're kind of interested in the movie and the story and the characters. I just sort of prefer the really tough fighting and some of the other street fighting type moves. You know, where it's not just show. It's not dressing it up for the cameras too much. It's pretty down and dirty, the way it should be. That's something I like to do. I do that.
It's unnatural for people to run around the city streets unless they are thieves or victims. It makes people nervous to see someone running. I know that when I see someone running on my street, my instincts tell me to let the dog go after him.
People who inspire others are those who see invisible bridges at the end of dead-end streets
Paris was a universe whole and entire unto herself, hollowed and fashioned by history; so she seemed in this age of Napoleon III with her towering buildings, her massive cathedrals, her grand boulevards and ancient winding medieval streets - as vast and indestructible as nature itself.
The simplest act of surrealism is to walk out into the street, gun in hand, and shoot at random.
Back horses or go down to Throgmorton Street and try to take it away from the Rothschilds, and I will applaud you as a shrewd and cautious financier. But to bet at golf is pure gambling.
There was too much noise. Sirens from police cars and ambulances. Shouts from the crowd on the street eighteen floors below. Traffic from other streets and all of the noises of San Francisco. Mostly, though, there were the voices. Whispering to him. Reminding him of the dark things he had done - all of the little things he had forgotten, all of the big things he had tried to forget. Mostly they reminded him of his biggest secret, a betrayal of trust and friendship long ago. He squeezed his eyes shut as if that could somehow keep the voices away.
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing- Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! The palm and may make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay- Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, In every street these tunes our ears do greet- Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! Spring, the sweet Spring!
We are a country that prides itself on power and wealth, yet there are millions of children who go hungry every day. It is our responsibility, not only as a nation, but also as individuals, to get involved. So, next time you pass someone on the street who is in need, remember how lucky you are, and don't turn away.
Abraham Lincoln once walked down the street with his two sons, both of whom were crying. "What's the matter with you boys?" asked a passerby. "Exactly what is wrong with the whole world," said Lincoln. "I have three walnuts, and each boy wants two."
Wake up: all of that 'crack in the street' talk? It's made up, like 'Jack and the Beanstalk.'
Cynie Cory roams the outer reaches of the heart’s territory, from the snowy winter of family life to the tropical jungles of love. She wears her heart on her sleeve and it is as big as the country she writes about. Is she the quintessential American girl? You bet she is, part Annie Oakley, part Emily Dickinson—sharpshooting poet of wild nights. She zooms in on the detritus of love—the broken fragments, the fallen leaves—and puts together a collage that is as heartbreaking as it is beautiful. Watch out—she’s driving down your street.
That we need help is easy to see every time we walk down the street. The experts confirm what the obscured view in front of us tells us. They estimate that 64% of adults in the United States are obese and that this percentage is growing. Even our children are being affected, as nearly every one in three American children under the age of 18 is overweight.
The military ain't there for the people's protection, They're just there to protect an investment. That's why people get arrested, electrocuted, molested, Connected streets are infested with those tired of protesting. Traumatized children grown in guerrilla garrisons, 9/11 generations pale in comparison. And you will learn a lesson repeated through history: That no matter what you think, occupation is not victory.
It's only a wonderful world if you can make it that way. There are no street signs pointing to Paradise Road.
The streets of every city in America are filled with men who would pay all the money they could lay their hands on to be transformed, even for a day, into hairy, hard-fisted brutes who walk all over cops, extort drinks from terrified bartenders and roar out of town on big motorcycles after raping the banker's daughter.
You heard about, through word of mouth, Big Bird is out, he's in the house. He's turnin' up, with Snuffleup, They're really gettin' their hustle up. They stick together like Velcro, There Grover go, there's Elmo. And Cookie Monster there, look he likes To take selfies with his cell phone. They got a homegirl named Abby, Her last name is Cadabby, I showed her my report card, She said, 'Not too shabby!' They got all types of cool kids there, It's lots of fun if you live there, One thing I keep forgettin' about Sesame Street... How do you get there?
A pack of lemmings looks like a group of rugged individualists compared with Wall Street when it gets a concept in its teeth.
In a way, I'd rather ride down the street on a camel than give what is sometimes called an in-depth interview. I'd rather ride down the street on a camel nude. In a snowstorm. Backwards.
I get a lot of letters. Not only from children but from adults, too. Almost every week, every month, clippings come in from some part of the world where ducks are crossing the street.
If I wasn't in the rap game, I'd probably have a key knee-deep in the crack game. Because the streets is a short stop: Either you're slinging crack rock or you got a wicked jump shot.
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