A Quote by Friedrich Nietzsche

What is happening to me happens to all fruits that grow ripe. It is the honey in my veins that makes my blood thicker, and my soul quieter. — © Friedrich Nietzsche
What is happening to me happens to all fruits that grow ripe. It is the honey in my veins that makes my blood thicker, and my soul quieter.
Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, Full and fair ones; come and buy. If so be you ask me where They do grow, I answer: There, Where my Julia's lips do smile; There's the land, or cherry-isle, Whose plantations fully show All the year where cherries grow.
Why do you hang out with him?" "We're teammates." Ahhh. And if blood was thicker than water, then football, evidently, would congeal in one's veins.
When you touch me there, honey, makes my blood perspire, you got my body flaming like a California fire. Pulsing, pounding, pushing no longer in control, heatwave in my brain, smolder in my soul.
Blessed be the discipline which makes me reach out my soul's roots into closer union with Jesus! Blessed be the dews of the Spirit which keep my leaf ever green! Blessed be the trials which shake down the ripe, golden fruits from the branches.
Habits are to the soul what the veins and arteries are to the blood, the courses in which it moves
You were the missing piece of my soul, the breath in my lungs, and the blood in my veins.
Blood is thicker than water, but politics are thicker than blood.
Whatever I do is done out of sheer joy; I drop my fruits like a ripe tree. What the general reader or the critic makes of them is not my concern.
Blood may be thicker than water, but friendship is thicker than both.
People ask me 'Are you copying your dad?' It is in my blood. I have got royal blood coursing through my veins. I can't help myself doing what my father did.
Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow. Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put sullen black incontinent. I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. March sadly after. Grace my mournings here In weeping after this untimely bier.
When you're a mass-market writer, people think that you can just decide 'this happens, this happens, this happens', whereas with literary writers it's coming from their soul and their core. But with me it does come from my soul and my core, and my soul and my core often go AWOL, and then I've nothing to write.
Love is the essential energy of the universe. It is the force that puts the stars in the firmament, and it makes the blood run through the veins.
Passion such as hers is all consent, asking little in return. I had merely to enter a room where she was to see her face take on that peaceful expression of one who is resting in bed. If I touched her, I had the impression that all the blood in her veins was turning to honey.
If you keep focusing, gradually thoughts will become quieter and quieter, gradually the images will disappear from the mind. What is happening is the kundalini energy begins to radiate and rise, it causes the mind to be quiet.
In gardens it's not just plants and insects and microbes that grow. People grow too, and the best bit is that they don't realise it's happening. It just happens.
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