A Quote by Ann Burton
Sloths actually are like furry living ecosystems all by themselves! Algae grows on their fur and they are also home to "sloth moths" who call them home and drink their tears.
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Moss grows where nothing else can grow. It grows on bricks. It grows on tree bark and roofing slate. It grows in the Arctic Circle and in the balmiest tropics; it also grows on the fur of sloths, on the backs of snails, on decaying human bones. ... It is a resurrection engine. A single clump of mosses can lie dormant and dry for forty years at a stretch, and then vault back again into life with a mere soaking of water.
One of my favorite Finals was actually Detroit vs. Los Angeles, because it was home and home for me, personally. It was like my childhood home and my second home.
Home sweet home. No place like home. Take me home, country roads. Home is where the heart is. But my heart is here. So I must be home. Clare sighs, turns her head, and is quiet. Hi, honey. I'm home. I'm home.
I have time only for cricket, and when I am not playing, I love to be at home, chat with my family, do puja with them, call for some yummy paani puri, etc. Also I love to cook. I can make dal, sabji and chicken! But, at home everybody's a vegetarian, so I can't cook non-veg at home!
I'd love sloth. I wish sloth would come home and visit me once in a while. I don't consider laziness a sin at all.
I call Iran home because no matter how long I live in France, and despite the fact that I feel also French after all these years, to me the word 'home' has only one meaning: Iran. I suppose it's that way for everyone: Home is the place where one is born and raised.
I like living at home: I've been making films since I was 12, when I played Sam in 'Love Actually', and if you spend as much time away on set as I have done, you get your independence young, so it's nice to come back home.
You know, my parents had a restaurant. And I left home, actually, in 1949, when I was 13 years old, to go into apprenticeship. And actually when I left home, home was a restaurant - like I said, my mother was a chef. So I can't remember any time in my life, from age 5, 6, that I wasn't in a kitchen.
Are you there vodka? It's me, Chelsea. Please get me out of jail and I promise I will never drink again. Drink and drive. I will never drink and drive again. I may even start my own group fashioned after MADD, Mothers Against Drunk Driving, but I'll call it AWLTDASH, Alcoholics Who Like to Drink and Stay Home.
I stalk certain words... I catch them in mid-flight, as they buzz past, I trap them, clean them, peel them, I set myself in front of the dish, they have a crystalline texture to me, vibrant, ivory, vegetable, oily, like fruit, like algae, like agates, like olives... I stir them, I shake them, I drink them, I gulp them down, I mash them, I garnish them... I leave them in my poem like stalactites, like slivers of polished wood, like coals, like pickings from a shipwreck, gifts from the waves... Everything exists in the word.
If you chose to live in a home that is living on intersecting laylines, and you're living on an Indian burial ground and having paranormal experiences that are bothersome, you're not going to get rid of them. They've taken ownership of that home and that area.
So if I see what I will call like a beautiful match, if I watch it at home by myself, I'll have a hard time not in tears watching these matches.
Whether rich or poor, a home is not a home unless the roots of love are ever striking deeper through the crust of the earthly and the conventional, into the very realities of being, not consciously always; seldom, perhaps; the simplicity of loving grows by living simply near nature and God.
Where is home? Home is where the heart can laugh without shyness. Home is where the heart's tears can dry at their own pace.
I like to go to London to eat something or have a drink with my friends. However, I am a very home-loving person, and I spend a lot of time at home.
You'll wrest a burning sword from an angel, but you're afraid of bats?" "I'm not afraid of them. I just don't like them. They're...furry. Flying things shouldn't be furry. It's not right. And if I ever meet the Creator, I'm taking that one up with him." "That I'd like to see. Your one and possible only chance to get the answer to every question in the universe, and you ask, 'Why are bats furry?'" "I will. You just wait.
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