A Quote by Federico Garcia Lorca
My head is full of fire and grief and my tongue runs wild, pierced with shards of glass.
Related Quotes
My tongue is pierced with glass.
There are lots of things, including changing the kind of inner dialog, that can mitigate anxiety. And yes, there are people who have the glass half full and glass half empty, and I'm afraid the glass is going to break and I'll cut myself on the shards.
Rainstorms are incredible: falling shards of glass, the air full of diamonds.
What people need to realize is that when I was elected and put in this role, I was breaking a glass ceiling. What I didn't realize at the time was that I was breaking a glass ceiling that was going to fall on my head and leave a lot of shards of glass that I was going to have to crawl over throughout my time as a leader.
There are, it has been said, two types of people in the world. There are those who, when presented with a glass that is exactly half full, say: this glass is half full. And then there are those who say: this glass is half empty. The world belongs, however, to those who can look at the glass and say: What's up with this glass? Excuse me? Excuse me? This is my glass? I don't think so. My glass was full! And it was a bigger glass! Who's been pinching my beer?
-there was something in her, something that was...pure horror. Everything you were supposed to watch out for. Heights, fire, shards of glass, snakes, Everything that his mom tried so hard to keep him safe from.
I think I connect to people who could be written off as wild or dark, or who are just full of fire and looking for a place to put that fire. It's an important lesson to learn, and it's something I did learn: you live on behalf of others and you're happier and you have purpose. And you have a great excuse to have all that fire.
Are there glass shards in my anus?!
Shards of glass can cut and wound or magnify a vision.
The mob gets out of hand, runs wild, worse than raging fire, while the man who stands apart is called a coward.
Elvis!" Min shoved herself off the couch to shoo him away. "Stay away from there. There's broken glass." "He did that on purpose," David said, outraged. "Yes, David, the cat is plotting against you." Min fished the base out of the water and glass shards and put it on the table. Then she went to get her wastebasket and began to put the glass pieces in it.
Grief and guilt. A powerful combination. Guilt like a liquid, a thin liquor, seeping everywhere, informing everything, saturating the whole-corrosive, like seawater, scented with the rich stench of ordure and corruption, and carrying with it hard, abrasive shards of grief.
I hate how many people think "glass half-empty" when their glass is really four-fifths full. I'm grateful when I have one drop in the glass because I know exactly what to do with it.
A woodland in full color is awesome as a forest fire, in magnitude at least, but a single tree is like a dancing tongue of flame to warm the heart.
And at the other end of the bar the world is full of the other type of person, who has a broken glass, or a glass that has been carelessly knocked over (usually by one of the people calling for a larger glass) or who had no glass at all, because he was at the back of the crowd and had failed to catch the barman's eye.
Exercise, not philosophically and with religious gravity undertaken, but the wild romping activities of a spirited girl who runs up and down as though her veins were full of wine.
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