A Quote by Bob Marley
One bright morning when my work is over I will fly away home.
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'Longmire' is an incredibly hard shooting schedule because the locations are usually an hour away every morning, and I come home every weekend. I fly back to L.A. for about 26 hours a weekend, just to touch base back at home. It's a lot of work. It's four really intense months.
Trout fisherman often give away their presence to the fish by the equipment they are wearing. The yo-yo hanging on the fly fishing vest that attaches to the hemostats or line clippers is often plated with chrome, giving off flashes of light. Some fly boxes that you wear on the chest are also bright aluminum-not a good idea. I recently fished with a fellow who wore a bright yellow hat on a meadow stream in Pennsylvania. From 100 yards away you could see his every movement,-I'm sure that trout near him could, too.
Don't cry, you crybaby! When you think things are hard, that's the time you are maturing as a person. If you get over the darkness, a wonderful new day will come. The bright morning will be filled with light and the birds will be singing . There'll be white roses with a lovely fragrance.
Parents' work has shifted markedly around the world - and that goes for every region. Men in particular have been moving away from farmed-based work, and into industrial and post-industrial work - so they've moved away from the home. Women, likewise, have moved into the paid labor force and away from the home.
That luminous part of you that exists beyond personality - your soul, if you will - is as bright and shining as any that has ever been. Bright as Shakespeare’s, bright as Gandhi’s, bright as Mother Theresa’s. Clear away everything that keeps you separate from this secret luminous place. Believe it exists, come to know it better, nurture it, share its fruits tirelessly.
Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypres let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
I need a man who tells me the party's over, that it's time to go home, because [we] have to work in the morning.
If Heaven is up, I'm going. I know I'm right in my heart. This world is not my home. This life will soon be gone, and, one day, I'll spread my wings, as an angel, and fly away.
It was almost like I was in the army: school, work, homework, fly to New York, get in at 2 in the morning, do a morning show at 5 A.M., then another one at 7, then a radio interview at 10, you know?
At work you worry over the family at home. At home you fret over work left undone. Behold the working woman's stress.
A new word. Bright with possibilities. A flawless pearl to turn over and over in my hand, then put away for safekeeping.
You feel you are hedged in; you dream of escape; but beware of mirages. Do not run or fly away in order to get free: rather dig in the narrow place which has been given you; you will find God there and everything. God does not float on your horizon, he sleeps in your substance. Vanity runs, love digs. If you fly away from yourself, your prison will run with you and will close in because of the wind of your flight; if you go deep down into yourself it will disappear in paradise.
I have to remind myself that some birds aren't meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up does rejoice.
Not only after two or three centuries, but in a million years, life will still be as it was; life does not change, it remains for ever, following its own laws which do not concern us, or which, at any rate, you will never find out. Migrant birds, cranes for example, fly and fly, and whatever thoughts, high or low, enter their heads, they will still fly and not know why or where. They fly and will continue to fly, whatever philosophers come to life among them; they may philosophize as much as they like, only they will fly.
I've been offered TV things over the years, but usually, that's about that I don't want to be away from home for that long, because it's a long time to be away your home country and my family.
A fine morning's killing, ay! All their necks wrung - all dead birds! Once they could fly - fly and swim! Fly and swim! All dead now - and sold cheap in the open market!
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