A Quote by James Russell Lowell
There comes Emerson first, whose rich words, every one, Are like gold nails in temples to hang trophies on.
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Like for 'Black Nails,' I just had black nails - and I never have black nails. It was my first and last time getting black nails. And that's so not normal for me. So when you're recording, you're up at the mic and you gotta name the file, so I just look down and I'm like, 'Black Nails!' That's literally what it was.
My treasure chest is filled with gold.
Gold . . . gold . . . gold . . .
Vagabond's gold and drifter's gold . . .
Worthless, priceless, dreamer's gold . . .
Gold of the sunset . . . gold of the dawn . . .Gold of the showertrees on my lawn . . .
Poet's gold and artist's gold . . .
Gold that can not be bought or sold -
Gold.
I looked at a lot of players - the legends from Chelsea - when I was at the academy and witnessed the first team winning trophies and major trophies. I wanted to take things from every part of their game. I wanted to follow in their footsteps. Players like Lampard, John Terry, Didier Drogba, Ashley Cole, Petr Cech... All of them really.
Sometimes I think that all mankind exist but to be bought and sold: The rich man's paramour is gold, the poor man's goddess, gold, gold, gold.
O lust, thou infernal fire, whose fuel is gluttony; whose flame is pride, whose sparkles are wanton words; whose smoke is infamy; whose ashes are uncleanness; whose end is hell.
I like to be with Aubam. He's a good boy, a good man, and a good player, and every day, we laugh a lot, so I like to hang out with him. I hope we will score a lot of goals together, can win a lot of games and win some trophies.
When I was younger, I used to bite my nails so bad. I used to play sports; I played, like, every sport. I would be playing soccer, and I'd be in the middle of the field just zoned out, biting my nails, and I'd, like, miss the ball going past me.
My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a water'd shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these, Because my love is come to me. Raise me a daïs of silk and down; Hang it with vair and purple dyes; Carve it in doves and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes, In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys; Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.
On the whole, however, the critic is far less of a professional faultfinder than is sometimes imagined. He is first of all a virtue-finder, a singer of praise. He is not concerned with getting rid of dross except in so far as it hides the gold. In other words, the destructive side of criticism is purely a subsidiary affair. None of the best critics have been men of destructive minds. They are like gardeners whose business is more with the flowers than with the weeds.
Did you know that wherever you find fool's gold, real gold exists somewhere nearby? This also goes for relationships and friendships. Real gold is found in the heart. For every piece of fake gold that you discard, remember that true gold isn't too far.
Thou silent power, whose welcome sway charms every anxious thought away; in whose divine oblivion drown'd, sore pain and weary toil grow mild, love is with kinder looks beguiled, and Grief forgets her fondly cherish'd wound; oh, whither hast thou flown, indulgent god? God of kind shadows and of healing dews, whom dost thou touch with thy Lethaean rod? Around whose temples now thy opiate airs diffuse?
I don't hang my championship trophies on the walls, because they don't pay the bills.
Clients like Kerry Washington stay energized by substituting high carb, high fat foods with a diet rich in lean protein and low-calorie, fiber-rich vegetables. These foods not only keep you trim but have an amazing impact on the shape of the body, the appearance of skin, hair, and nails.
Hang (hang without fail, so the people see) no fewer than one hundred known kulaks, rich men, bloodsuckers.
These are the hands whose sturdy labor brings The peasant's food, the golden pomp of kings; This is the page whose letters shall be seen, Changed by the sun to words of living green; This is the scholar whose immortal penSpells the first lesson hunger taught to men; These are the lines that heaven-commanded Toil Shows on his deed, - the charter of the soil!
If I had an ego as big as the Eiffel Tower, would I have won this many collective trophies? I know people like to talk about it. And O.K., I am not going to answer every story. But maybe I will let my collective trophies speak for themselves. I don't know many other footballers who have won as much. Do you?
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