A Quote by Al Gore

I put all my sighs in a lockbox — © Al Gore
I put all my sighs in a lockbox

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My plan to put Social Security in an ironclad lockbox has gotten a lot of attention recently, and I'm glad about that. But I'm afraid that it's overshadowing some vitally important proposals. For instance, I'll put Medicaid in a walk-in closet. I'll put the Community Reinvestment Act in a secured gym locker. I'll put NASA funding in a hermetically sealed Ziploc bag.
The Democrats are the people who willingly allow their testicles in a lockbox somewhere.
But for my sighs, I should be drowned by my tears; and but for my tears, I should be burned by my sighs.
Seniors are concerned about Medicare and Social Security. I advocated in Congress a separate and distinct lockbox fund for Social Security.
I love listening to music with my mate. We don't do it often, but when we do we'll just sit there and lose our heads in it. Sooner or later he'll start saying something to the effect of "Hey, Thom, can you put in something else now?" but I'll just nod coldly and respond "not just yet". But after awhile, I'll finally budge. And that's when I crack a big smile and take out The Bends and put in Kid A. My friend just sighs and leaves the room, and I can't blame him. He's not ready for that leap yet.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me; For now hath time made me his numbering clock: My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch, Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is Are clamorous goans, which strike upon my heart, Which is the bell: so sighs and tears and groans Show minutes, times, and hours.
I teach my sighs to lengthen into songs.
In rising sighs and falling tears.
Most of the sighs we hear have been edited.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
Pride sings and dances; humility sighs.
Life is but sighs; and, when they cease, 'tis over.
Out of the sighs of one generation are kneaded the hopes of the next.
... and the very folds of the curtains contained secrets and sighs.
Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs.
Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vexed, a sea nourished with loving tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. *Here’s what love is: a smoke made out of lovers' sighs. When the smoke clears, love is a fire burning in your lover’s eyes. If you frustrate love, you get an ocean made out of lovers' tears. What else is love? It’s a wise form of madness. It’s a sweet lozenge that you choke on.*
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