breathing, sleeping, drinking, eating, working, dreaming, everything we do is dying. to live, in fact, is to die.
What helped me was working with my breathing, specifically, using my breathing to stay sharp and focused under pressure and then cool and calm when the pressure was relieved.
There's a kind of love that has the power to save you, to get you through life. It's like breathing. You have to do it or you'll die. And when it's over, your soul starts to bleed. There's no pain in the world like it, I swear.
To me, working out is literally like eating a meal or drinking water or breathing.
Breathing in, I am aware that I am breathing in.
Breathing out, I am aware that I am breathing out.
Breathing in, I am grateful for this moment.
Breathing out, I smile.
Breathing in, I am aware of the preciousness of this day.
Breathing out, I vow to live deeply in this day.
Those who play a safe game die very safely.
Breathing in, breathing out, ain't that what it's all about. Living life crazy loud, like I have the right to.
Art for me is like breathing. When I stop breathing, what happens?
Eating and sleeping are not like loving and breathing. Washing is not like eating and sleeping. Believing is like breathing and loving. Religion can be believing, it can be like breathing, it can be like loving, it can be like eating or sleeping, it can be like washing, it can be something to fill up a place when someone has lost out of them a piece that it was not natural for them to have in them.
I work very fast and steadily, and I don't hardly ever notice that I'm working. It feels like just breathing or walking when I do films.
And when the war is done and youth stone dead,
I'd toddle safely home and die--in bed.
Reading is like breathing in, writing is like breathing out.
Eventually she fell asleep, but I kept the phone against my ear, lulled by her breathing, and her breathing again in the background. And yes, it felt like home. Like everything belonged exactly where it was.
If you ask someone if they like music, they look at you strangely. It seems to be a universal given. Like asking someone if they like breathing. It is like breathing. Or air, rather. Flowing without and within. A matrix within which our lives are set. The setting for the tableware of our beings.
To control the breathing is to control the mind. With different patterns of breathing, you can fall in love, you can hate someone, you can feel the whole spectrum of feelings just by changing your breathing.
The crew of the shuttle Columbia did not return safely to Earth; yet we can pray that all are safely home.