A Quote by Frank Herbert

My lungs taste the air of Time,Blown past falling sands.

Frank Herbert

Quote Topics

Air Blown Falling Lungs Past Sands Taste Time

Quote Author

Frank Herbert
American - Writer
October 8, 1920 - February 11, 1986

What would happen if history could be rewritten as casually as erasing a blackboard? Our past would be like the shifting sands at the seashore, constantly blown this way or that by the slightest breeze. History would be constantly changing every time someone spun the dial of a time machine and blundered his or her way into the past. History, as we know it, would be impossible. It would cease to exist.

Michio Kaku

We do not doubt to assert, that air does not serve for the motion of the lungs, but rather to communicate something to the blood ... It is very likely that it is the fine nitrous particles, with which the air abounds, that are communicated to the blood through the lungs.

John Mayow

There are atoms of air in your lungs that were once in the lungs of everyone who has ever lived. In essence, we are breathing (inspiring) one another.

Sharon Gannon

The feeling of it to my lungs was not sensibly different from that of common air; but I fancied that my breast felt peculiarly light and easy for some time afterwards. Who can tell but that, in time, this pure air may become a fashionable article in luxury. Hitherto only two mice and myself have had the privilege of breathing it.

Joseph Priestley

All my records feel like a diary of the time and headspace they were made in and 'Black Sands' documents this in real time for me. A transition of falling in love with beatmaking again. An appreciation of a place and time and an anticipation for what was going to happen next.

Bonobo

My body rises with the water. Instead of kicking my feet to stay abreast of it, I push all the air from my lungs and sink to the bottom. The water muffles my ears. I feel its movement over my face. I think about snorting the water into my lungs so it kills me faster, but I can't bring myself to do it. I blow bubbles from my mouth. Relax. I close my eyes. My lungs burn.

Veronica Roth

Life will hit you hard in the face, wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.

Sarah Kay

Sometimes I wish for falling Wish for the release Wish for falling through the air To give me some relief Because falling's not the problem When I'm falling I'm in peace It's only when I hit the ground It causes all the grief

Florence Welch

You must squeeze every atom of impure air from lungs until they are almost as free of air as a vacuum.

Joseph Pilates

In terms of my lungs, pot smoking is not like cigarette smoking. It doesn't affect the lungs as quickly, or as much over time. If I stopped pot smoking today, my lungs could heal probably 100 percent in a few years.

Doug Benson

Our lives are but specks of dust falling through the fingers of time. Like sands of the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.

Socrates

You taste of the cool water that hides deep in a stream. You taste of the night air, soft and scented and mysterious. The taste of you drives me wild. I want to be with you, be inside you, shout to the world that you are mine at the same time I want to keep you hidden where you will exist only for me. You make me feel invincible, little bird.

Katie MacAlister

Falling down ain't falling down, If you don't cry when you hit the floor, It's called the past cause I'm getting past, And I ain't nothing like I was before, You ought to see me now

Alicia Keys

taste governs every free - as opposed to rote - human response. Nothing is more decisive. There is taste in people, visual taste, taste in emotion - and there is taste in acts, taste in morality. Intelligence, as well, is really a kind of taste: taste in ideas.

Susan Sontag

How many mysteries have you seen in your lifetime? How many nets pulled full over the boat's side, each silver body ready or not falling into submission? How many roses in early summer uncurling above the pale sands then falling back in unfathomable willingness? And what can you say? Glory to the rose and the leaf, to the seed, to the silver fish. Glory to time and the wild fields, and to joy. And to grief's shock and torpor, its near swoon.