I believe in living, I believe in birth, I believe in the sweat of love and in the fire of truth and I believe that a lost ship, steered by tired, sea sick sailors, can still be guided home to port
The cosmos doesn’t measure sweat and hours for reward. The cosmos deals in the currencies of joy and satisfaction.
I have a wife and child, and I guess that would constitute a family, and sometimes I watch shows where the people aren't related. And I don't get nervous, get the sweats, and have to run out of the room. I mean, I can handle it.
If you ever want to see heaven, watch a bunch of young girls play. They are all sweat and skinned knees. Energy and open faces.
I am a 21st century man. I don’t believe in magic. I believe in sweat, tears, life and death.
I just want to be in my sweats, walk my dog, watch TV and eat pizza.
My rule is to break one sweat a day.
Spiritual beings do not sweat life's small stuff. They also know that most of what drives us crazy in life is small stuff. The only thing that isn't small stuff is the reason you're on earth in the first place: to find that portion of the world's lost heart that only you can ransom with your love and authentic gifts and then return it, so that all of us can experience Wholeness.
What is nobler than a man wresting and wringing his bread from the stubborn soil by the sweat of his brow and the break of his back for his wife and children!
I play tennis five hours a week, from Monday to Friday, for one hour every day. I like to be fit. If I can't exercise, I feel bad - I need to sweat and run to feel like I'm in good shape.
Seek first the kingdom of wealth and you'll worry over every dollar. Seek first the kingdom of health and you'll sweat every blemish and bump. Seek first the kingdom of popularity, and you'll relive every conflict. Seek first the kingdom of safety, and you'll jump at every crack of the twig. But seek first His kingdom and you will find it. On that, we can depend and never worry.
I was very preppy in my childhood. I also went through an anti-clothing moment where I just wanted to wear sweats because I'd just moved to Canada. My mom was always trying to get me into proper clothes, but I never wanted to wear them, and now that's all I wear.
'Yea and I beheld Sisyphus in strong torment, grasping a monstrous stone with both his hands. He was pressing thereat with hands and feet, and trying to roll the stone upward toward the brow of the hill. But oft as he was about to hurl it over the top, the weight would drive him back, so once again to the plain rolled the stone, the shameless thing. And he once more kept heaving and straining, and the sweat the while was pouring down his limbs, and the dust rose upwards from his head.
I dismiss posts where one or other of the couple was wearing anything named by brand, or you know, baseball caps, or sweat pants, because I don't like drawing them, and I don't have to please anyone but myself.
Is it my sweat that's no longer sweet?
When we are constantly recreating our basic patterns of behavior and thought, we never have to leap into fresh air or onto fresh grass. Instead, we wrap ourselves in our own dark environment, where our only companion is the smell of our own sweat. In the cocoon, there is no dance, no walking or breathing. It is comfortable and sleepy, an intense and very familiar home.
In the cocoon, there is no idea of light at all, until we experience some longing for openness, some longing for something other than the smell of our own sweat. When we examine that comfortable darkness - look at it, smell it, feel it - we find it is claustrophobic.
The work ... was ... so blinding that I could scarcely see afterwards, and the difficulty was increased by the fact that my microscope was almost worn out, the screws being rusted with sweat from my hands and forehead, and my only remaining eye-piece being cracked... Fortunately invaluable oil-imraersion object-glass remained good.
After that, I specifically started writing lyrics. I would like sweat and think and get it all together.
Art is 110 percent sweat.
I still sweat bullets if I go on The Tonight Show, but I tell myself, You can either have fun tonight or you can be shy and miserable. You ask my friends or anyone I work with now - nobody would say I was shy.
The first day ofschool was always so exciting because you get new shoes and a new backpack, but by the last day of school, you're like, "I don't care. I will wear sweats. Am I done yet?"
Maybe I exclude myself from that genre by not getting dressed up often enough, by acting ghetto most of the time, and running around in sweats and Timberlands.
All night I have suffered; all night my flesh has trembled to bring forth its gift. The sweat of death is on my forehead; but it is not death, it is life!
I wanna be your t-shirt when it's wet, I wanna be your shower when you sweat.
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