A Quote by Eugene Field
How gracious those dews of solace that over my senses fall At the clink of the ice in the pitcher the boy brings up the hall.
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It is no defense of superstition and pseudoscience to say that it brings solace and comfort to people. . . . If solace and comfort are how we judge the worth of something, then consider that tobacco brings solace and comfort to smokers; alcohol brings it to drinkers; drugs of all kinds bring it to addicts; the fall of cards and the run of horses bring it to gamblers; cruelty and violence bring it to sociopaths. Judge by solace and comfort only and there is no behavior we ought to interfere with.
We will live with racism for ever. But senses of self, senses of belonging, senses of us and of others? Those are up for grabs.
It should stimulate the mind as well as the appetite. The well made cocktail is one of the most gracious of drinks. It pleases the senses. The shared delight of those who partake in common of this refreshing nectar breaks the ice of formal reserve. Taut nerves relax, taut muscles relax, tired eyes brighten, tongues loosen, friendships deepen, the whole world becomes a better place in which to live.
When people ask me, "Who was the toughest pitcher you ever faced?", I have to say that there has never been a pitcher who over-impressed me. That's not meant to be a bragging statement. It's just that I get up for good pitchers.
Happy are those lovers who, when their senses require rest, can fall back upon the intellectual enjoyments afforded by the mind! Sweet sleep then comes, and lasts until the body has recovered its general harmony. On awaking, the senses are again active and always ready to resume their action.
Whatever I have up till now accepted as most true and assured I have gotten either from the senses or through the senses. But from time to time I have found that the senses deceive, and it is prudent never to trust completely those who have deceived us even once.
The rain washed away my pitcher's mound... I'm a pitcher without a mound... I'm a lost soul... I'm like a politician out of office." "Or a sailor without an ocean..." "Or a boy without a girl.
How strange it is, our little procession of life! The child says, "When I am a big boy." But what is that? The big boy says, "When I grow up." And then, grown up, he says, "When I get married." But to be married, what is that after all? The thought changes to "When I'm able to retire." And then, when retirement comes, he looks back over the landscape traversed; a cold wind seems to sweep over it; somehow he has missed it all, and it is gone.
I am already in a couple Hall of Fames, like the Michigan Hall of Fame and the Dan Gable Professional Wrestling Hall of Fame, so my accolades speak for themselves. Let's just say I'm not losing any sleep over any Hall of Fame induction.
She threw up her hands. "All right. Why not?" Why not?" Sure." His arms fell to his sides. "That's it? I pour my heart out. I love you so much I've got freakin' tears in my eyes. And all I get in return is 'Why not'?" What did you expect? Am I supposed to fall all over you just because you've finally come to your senses?" Would it be too much to ask?"...He'd begun to glare at her again, his eyes growing stormier by the minute."When do you think you might be ready? To fall all over me, that is.
Because I'm a good girl, I tend to fall for the bad boy persona, and it ends up biting me in the butt. They end up not knowing how to treat me, and I end up completely devastated.
Laughing, how can you fall asleep? It brings a state of no-mind and no-thought, and does not allow you to fall asleep.
A torn rotator cuff is a cancer for a pitcher and if a pitcher gets a badly torn one, he has to face the facts, it's all over baby.
If I'm a pitcher, my only point would be that if I'm a relief pitcher, I think I like the idea of warming up on the field.
Goose Gossage is a friend of mine, and he's definitely a Hall of Fame pitcher in my mind.
Okay, you were probably taught there are five senses," he said. "We see, hear, touch, smell and taste. But how do we know those are the only five? What are the senses that we don't have? What are we failing to perceive?
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