A Quote by Jim Carroll

My voice has a quiver/ A quiver is where you keep arrows until you shoot them. — © Jim Carroll
My voice has a quiver/ A quiver is where you keep arrows until you shoot them.
There are many other arrows in our diplomatic quiver.
Children are arrows in a quiver, and they are to be trained as missionaries and shot at the Devil.
How blunt are all the arrows of thy quiver in comparison with those of guilt.
I tell you, brethren, if mercies and if judgments do not convert you, God has no other arrows in His quiver.
You don't want to put all your lead on the target. You want to leave some arrows in the quiver.
Jackson is the most consummate sketcher I have ever known. These little panels, handy on the trail, could be handled as easily as an expert marksman uses a quiver full of arrows.
Before Arthur, I'd dismissed altogether writing fiction. You only have so many semi-sharp arrows in your quiver, I'd told myself, and I was not going to be able to write a novel.
The sun doesn't shine at night, and wind power is highly variable. To meet our emissions goals, we're going to have to grasp every arrow in the quiver, and nuclear is one of those arrows.
The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.
Some of the worst writing around suffers from inert verbs and the unintended use of the passive voice. Yet the passive voice remains an important arrow in the rhetorical quiver. After all, it exists for a reason.
Tis chastity, my brother, chastity; She that has that is clad in complete steel, And, like a quiver'd nymph with arrows keen, May trace huge forests, and unharbour'd heaths, Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds; Where, through the sacred rays of chastity, No savage fierce, bandite, or mountaineer, Will dare to soil her virgin purity.
If you don't like it you can kiss my quiver
At least when somebody's suffocating, you can tell: you see their faces turn blue, their lips quiver, their eyes buck, and their throats jerk. But when a man is mentally packing his bags the suitcase is never out until he's already standing on the other side of the door.
The day is done; and slowly from the scene the stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, and puts them back into his golden quiver!
Books are living things and their task lies in their vows of silence. You touch them as they quiver with a divine pleasure. You read them and they fall asleep to happy dreams for the next 10 years. If you do them the favor of understanding them, of taking in their portions of grief and wisdom, then they settle down in contented residence in your heart.
I stand stark naked in front of the mirror and gaze directly into my own eyes. I utter 'Good morning, handsome' and my lips quiver as I stare at myown body. I don't break eye contact until I blow my load. Not once do I actually touch myself.
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