A Quote by Helen Hunt

Oh, write of me, not Died in bitter pains, but Emigrated to another star! — © Helen Hunt
Oh, write of me, not Died in bitter pains, but Emigrated to another star!
The third angel sounded his trumpet, and a great star, blazing like a torch, fell from the sky on a third of the rivers and on the springs of water-the name of the star is Wormwood. A third of the waters turned bitter, and many people died from the waters that had become bitter.
Children come running to the truth But you've got to peel the skin to get the fruit And while one's living high another's grieving But what's sweet by morning is bitter by the evening Oh - What's sweet by morning is bitter by the evening.
Oh why rebuke you him that loves you so? / Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.
As a young black American you become desensitised to it, it's just like 'oh, another guy, another kid died today.' That's so, so sad cos we are talking about human life, the most sacred thing we have.
I'd had my whole life to write my first album. I had my No. 1 and my third single out, and they go, 'Hey, guess what? We need to start recording the next one.' I'm like, 'Uh oh, I got to write another album. Well, how am I gonna write 'Should've Been a Cowboy' and 'Ain't Worth Missing' and all that again?' It took me forever to write the first one.
Oh God, don't envy me, I have my own pains.
Socrates dies with honor, surrounded by his disciples listening to the most tender words -the easiest death that one could wish to die. Jesus dies in pain, dishonor, mockery, the object of universal cursing - the most horrible death that one could fear. At the receipt of the cup of poison, Socrates blesses him who could not give it to him without tears; Jesus, while suffering the sharpest pains, prays for His most bitter enemies. If Socrates lived and died like a philosopher, Jesus lived and died like a god.
Oh, my God, I've mixed up my 'Star Wars' movies. Oh, no, the Internet is gonna come for me.
When Dad died in 1998, it really hit my confidence - he'd helped me write and he thought I was really funny, but since he'd died I didn't feel right. And it felt like no one but me even remembered him.
I've never been that person who thought that because I've written one novel, I should write another and another. It's only when there was another novel to write that I was going to write another.
Fans are really important for me. And if they take pains to write me, it's the minimum that I answer myself.
A lot of time, my inspiration comes from pain: growing pains, hunger pains, or money pains.
No operatic star has yet died soon enough for me.
But very unfortunately the merchant marine died away till even the majority of fishing done about the Cape is in the hands of the Portuguese who emigrated to the Cape some fifty years ago.
It's like a pulsar inside me. There is this great burst of energy, forcing me to write, and then the star goes quiet for a time, and I think it's gone, but it's gathering energy for another burst. And I seem to be almost unwilling participants in this.
To me, the All-Star Game is just another step. I try to take all my experiences and put them together. To make the NBA was something, and then to be recognized as an All-Star - although I don't consider myself a star. I see myself as just trying to reach my potential as B. J.
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