There is something about very cold weather that gives one an enormous appetite. Most of us find ourselves beginning to crave rich steaming stews and hot apple pies and all kinds of delicious warming dishes; and because we are all a great deal luckier than we realize, we usually get what we want""or near enough.
I feel very lucky. The older I get, the more I see how random everything is, the luckier I feel to have been born into this context; the more responsible I feel to be the best that I can be as a person and as a professional. That was a quality... of the men on my father's side of the family.
If you were born in a country or at a time not only when nobody comes to kill your wife and your children, but also nobody comes to ask you to kill the wives and children of others, then render thanks to God and go in peace. But always keep this thought in mind: you might be luckier than I, but you're not a better person.
A life isn't measured in hours or minutes. Its the quality not the length. All things considered I've been luckier than most. Almost sixteen years on Earth, and I've already had eight good ones here. I expect to have eight more before all's good said and done. Nearly thirty-two years total, and that's not too shabby
What do you think has become of the young and old men? And what do you think has become of the women and children? They are alive and well somewhere, The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceas'd the moment life appear'd. All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.
The relentless pull of love is a thousand times harder to fight than the tides. If you're lucky, you'll make it out before you drown. If you're even luckier, you're pulled under just long enough to wash away the sorrow. If you're really lucky, like me, you resurface just in time to find the one you love floating right beside you.
I am terribly glad to be alive and when I have wit enough to think about it, terribly proud to be a man and an American with all the rights and privileges that those words connote. And most of all I am humbled before the responsibilities that are also mine. For no right comes without a responsibility and being born luckier than most of the world's millions, I am also born more obligated.
My optimism and confidence come not from feeling I'm luckier than other mortals, and they sure don't come from visualizing victory. They're the result of a lifetime spent visualizing defeat and figuring out how to prevent it. Like most astronauts, I'm pretty sure that I can deal with what life throws at me because I've thought about what to do if things go wrong, as well as right. That's the power of negative thinking.
Hughes: (Talking for Mustang) 'I won't allow you to die under my jurisdiction because it'd be a pain to clean up the mess.' That's what he said. Edward: Fine. Tell him, 'Understood. I'll never die before you, colonel, you @#'$ idiot.' Hughes: Ha ha ha! They say the ruder you are, the luckier you are! In that case, you and Roy are gonna live forever!
We've gotten to play shows where I'm the headliner, so people are buying tickets to come see me, and that's when you really learn, 'Okay, who's listening to this music?' That and social media. But I couldn't feel luckier about the fan base that is starting to grow... People have just been super, super supportive and awesome.
This may not be the path for everyone. But the trust of which we speak is not an act of heroism. it is an act of surrender that makes the decision easier. It sounds unbelieveable, but I know it to be true. Leave the decision to God and you relieve yourself of the anxiety that comes from thinking that the choice is yours - the sneaking suspicion that you might have done better had you been a little more careful, a little luckier.
Do you believe in luck, Ludlow?" I had thought about this more than once in my life. "I believe some poeple are luckier than others."..."Which do you believe in, luck or Destiny?" Joe considered a moment befoe replying, "We make our own luck, Ludlow, by our actions and our state of mind. As such you control your own fate. Oney one thing is certain: None of us can escape the grave.
YOU CAN NEVER TAKE ME DOWN I CAME TOO FAR FOR YOU TO BREAK ME DOWN NOW IT AIN'T EVEN THE SAME SINCE YOU FOUND OUT SHIT BE GETTING DIRTIER THAN DOWN SOUTH MO MONEY MO PROBLEMS BIG SAID IT TRYING NOT TO LET THIS FAME GET ME BIG HEADED THEY SAY I'M LUCKIER THAN 6 7 TRYIN' TO TELL YOU MOTHERFUCKERS THAN THIS SHIT'S DESTINED AND I CAN LIVE ME LIFE I KNOW ITS HARD FOR YOU TO SEE ME THROUGH THE LIMELIGHT AND YOU CAN'T EVEN TELL ME WHY YOU MAD MADDER THAN THE HATTER ALWAYS SAYING SOMETHING BAD TELL ME DOES IT SHOCK YOU TO SEE ME CAUSE THESE PEOPLE PAID A LOT TO COME SEE ME NEVER CHANGE LIKE A HOSPITAL TV CAUSE THEY SMOKING LIKE THE TOP OF A TEEPEE.
(On the seeming futility of metaphysics) Why then has nature afflicted our reason with the restless striving for such a path, as if it were one of reason's most important occupations? Still more, how little cause have we to place trust in our reason if in one of the most important parts of our desire for knowledge it does not merely forsake us but even entices us with delusions and in the end betrays us! Or if the path has merely eluded us so far, what indications may we use that might lead us to hope that in renewed attempts we will be luckier than those who have gone before us?
George Jones has been a major part of my personal and professional life for a long time. I have been inspired by his music for the last 50 years and for 42 of those, I had the pleasure of knowing him personally and professionally. He was IT to me. George was and will always be my guy. I am luckier than a lot of people on this Earth because God let me be a part of George's life and him a part of mine. And on this day, his song couldn't be more true: 'He Stopped Loving Her Today.'
I used to think I knew everything. I was a "smart person" who "got things done, " and because of that, the higher I climbed, the more I could look down and scoff at what seemed silly or simple, even religion. But I realized something as I drove home that night: that I am neither better nor smarter, only luckier. And I should be ashamed of thinking I knew everything, because you can know the whole world and still feel lost in it. So many people are in pain-no matter how smart or accomplished-they cry, they yearn, they hurt.But instead of looking down on things, they look up, which is where I should have been looking, too. Because when the world quiets to the sound of your own breathing, we all want the same things:comfort, love, and a peaceful heart.
There are boys lying awake, hating themselves. There are boys screwing for the right reasons and boys screwing for the wrong ones. There are boys sleeping on benches and under bridges, and luckier unlucky boys sleeping in shelters, which feel like safety but not like home. There are boys so enraptured by love that they can't get their hearts to slow down enough to get some rest, and other boys so damaged by love that they can't stop picking at their pain. There are boys who clutch secrets at night in the same way they clutch denial in the day. There are boys who do not think of themselves at all when they dream. There are boys who will be woken in the night. There are boys who fall asleep with phones to their ears.
Tell me something, Mari-do you believe in reincarnation?' Mari shakes her head. 'No, I don't think so, ' she says. 'So you don't think there's a life to come?' 'I haven't thought much about it. But it seems to me there's no reason to believe in a life after this one.' 'So once you're dead there's just nothing?' 'Basically.' 'Well, I think there has to be something like reincarnation. Or maybe I should say I'm scared to think there isn't. I can't understand nothingness. I can't understand it and I can't imagine it.' 'Nothingness means there's absolutely nothing, so maybe there's no need to understand it or imagine it.' 'Yeah, but what if nothingness is not like that? What if it's the kind of thing that demands that you understand it or imagine it? I mean, you don't know what it's like to die, Mari. Maybe a person really has to die to understand what it's like.' 'Well, yeah... , ' says Mari. 'I get so scared when I start thinking about this stuff, ' Korogi says. 'I can hardly breathe, and my whole body wants to shrink into a corner. It's so much easier to just believe in reincarnation. You might be reborn as something awful, but at least you can imagine what you'd look like-a horse, say, or a snail. And even if it was something bad, you might be luckier next time.
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand... nor look through the eyes of the dead... nor feed on the spectres in books. I tramp a perpetual journey All goes onward and outward... and nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier. If no other in the world be aware I sit content, And if each and all be aware I sit content. The final three stanzas of 'Song of Myself" were also highlighted. I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles. You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to your nevertheless, And filter and fibre your blood. Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one places search another, I stop some where waiting for you It became a weekend of reading, of trying to see her in the fragments of the poem she'd left for me. I could never get anywhere with the lines, but I kepr thinking about them anyway, becase I didn't want to disappoint her. She wanted me to play out with the string, to find the place where she had stopped and was waiting for me, to follow the bread crumb trail until it dead-ended into her.
I know I want you, " he heard himself say, all his vows and his honor all forgotten. She stood before him naked as her name day, and he was as hard as the rock around them. He had been in her half a hundred times by now, but always beneath furs, with others all around them. He had never seeen how beautiful she was. Her legs were skinny and well muscled, the hair at the juncture of her thighs a brighter red than that on her head. Does that make it even luckier? He pulled her close. "I love the smell of you, " he said. "I love your red hair. I love your mouth, and the way you kiss me. I love your smile. I love your teats." He kissed them, one and then the other. "I love your skinny legs, and what's between them." He knelt to kiss her there, lightly on her mound at first, but Ygritte moved her legs apart a little, and he saw the pink inside and kissed that as well, and tasted her. She gave a little gasp. "If you love me all so much, why are you still dressed?" she whispered. "You know nothing, Jon Snow. Noth-oh. Oh. OHHH." Afterward, she was almost shy, or as shy as Ygritte ever got. "The thing you did, " she said, when they lay together on their piled clothes. "With your... mouth." She hesistated. "Is that... is it what lordss do to their ladies, down in the south?" "I don't think so." No one had ever told Jon just what lords did with their ladies. "I only... wanted to kiss you there, that's all. You seemed to like it." "Aye. I... I liked it some. No one taught you such?" "There's been no one, " he confessed. "Only you.
George R.R. Martin
A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose? Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation. Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, Growing among black folks as among white, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same. And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. Tenderly will I use you curling grass, It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers' laps, And here you are the mothers' laps. This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers, Darker than the colorless beards of old men, Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths. O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues, And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing... What do you think has become of the young and old men? And what do you think has become of the women and children? They are alive and well somewhere, The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceas'd the moment life appear'd. All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.