A Quote by Elvis Costello
Though the passion still flutters and flickers, it never got into our knickers.
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In all that you are living... As the problem flickers, the solution flickers too.
I recently went mad and spent 1,000 in one afternoon on bras and knickers. I love classy, lacy stuff that makes you feel dead sexy knowing you've got it on. I've never worn stockings and suspenders, though. But I could imagine they'd make you feel really sexy worn under something formal. I think I'll save that experience and wear them under my wedding dress.
I like colourful knickers, but most importantly a great pair of knickers should be taken off with more joy than they were put on.
I find the way the left comes up with these analogies interesting. Trump is a child. We can't have a child run our country. The whole left has been turned into nothing but a bunch of people who never got out of day care, for crying out loud! They still live their lives as adults as though they're still in day care.
In the past there were two things that motivated me then: independence, and passion about what I was doing. And those are still the things that motivate me now. I still have that passion for creating a product. And I will never be dependent on a man. I will never be dependent on a husband or a boyfriend or a father. That's one thing that's really important to me.
Yet if we are to live fully, we must love as though we've never been hurt, dream as though our hopes have never been dashed, and take steps toward the future as though life has never given us pain.
I still love football, though, and I think cooking is like football. It's not a job, it's a passion. When you become good at it, it's a dream job and financially you need never to worry. Ever.
If you can find a passion at a young age, somewhere between fifteen and thirty, if you can find that passion, I can pretty much guarantee you that you can be sixty-five and still love that passion and still have a reason to dance out of bed and down the hall every morning.
Passion. It lies in all of us. Sleeping... waiting... and though unwanted, unbidden, it will stir... open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us... guides us. Passion rules us all. And we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion, maybe we'd know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow. Empty rooms, shuttered and dank. Without passion, we'd be truly dead.
The emotions of the spectator will still be very apt to fall short of the violence of what is felt by the sufferer. Mankind, though naturally sympathetic, never conceive, for what has befallen another, that degree of passion which naturally animates the person principally concerned.
Even though I'm very fortunate and grateful to have played Aladdin, there were still four, five casting directors who never gave me a shot in Toronto. They didn't give me the time of day. I never got to audition for them.
Thousands of people know my flannel knickers, and though I know this may seem flirtatious, it is not. I am a saint.
She had never realized any love save love as passion. Such love, though it expends itself in generosity and thoughtfulness, though it give birth to visions and to great poetry, remains among the sharpest expressions of self-interest. Not until it has passed though a long servitude, though its own self-hatred, though mockery, though great doubts, can it take its place among the loyalties. Many who have spent a lifetime in it can tell us less of love than the child that lost a dog yesterday.
Passion is what makes life interesting, what ignites our soul, drives our curiosity, fuels our love and carries our friendship, stimulates our intellect, and pushes our limit.... A passion for life is contagious and uplifting. Passion cuts both ways.... Those that make you feel on top of the world are equally able to turnit upside down.
I'm still there, watching those possessed children, as far away from the mystery now as I was then. I've never written, though I thought I wrote, never loved, though I thought I loved, never done anything but wait outside the closed door.
Our underclothes were woolen vests and knickers and an extraordinary, but apparently necessary, concoction called a liberty bodice, which had no freedom about it, so how it got its name I cannot imagine. It was made of some harsh stuff, with here and there straps and buttons that did nothing.
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