A Quote by John Major

I am walking over hot coals suspended over a deep pit at the bottom of which are a large number of vipers baring their fangs. — © John Major
I am walking over hot coals suspended over a deep pit at the bottom of which are a large number of vipers baring their fangs.
Walking on rocks, hurts. Walking on glass, cuts. Walking on hot coals, burns. Walking on someones heart, kills.
'Helping industry' is the elephant pit of socialism, a deep hole with sharp spikes at the bottom, covered over with twigs and fresh grass.
Is this the generation of love? Hot blood, hot thoughts and hot deeds? Why, they are vipers. Is love a generation of vipers?
Darren Fletcher is the type of player who would walk over hot coals to play for his country, and he has done
Entrepreneurship is like eating glass and walking on hot coals at the same time
We have no Arab intellectuals of international stature because we live in a state of generalized mediocrity. We are suspended in the pit without touching the bottom.
Deep breaths. I am taking deep breaths. Composure. Which, for me, means composing... Maybe this is my way of creating the illusion of control over something I have no control over. Like, if it's just a story I'm telling or a song I'm singing, then I'll be okay because I'm the guy who's providing the words.
I am firmly of the opinion that a large number of unmarried men, over the age of 24 years, is a dangerous element in any community.
The difference between the mile and the marathon is the difference between burning your fingers with a match and being slowly roasted over hot coals.
If there are singles who find the waters of singleness dark and deep, who feel, 'I sink in deep waters; the billows go over my head; all his waves go over me,' this is my message to you concerning singleness: Be of good cheer, my brother, my sister; I feel the bottom, and it is good.
Clearly we're in historic times here. We have - one of the tributaries of the Mississippi River is a river called the Merrimack. And the crest areas there - they're going to be a number of feet, 2, 3, 4, over what they were in '93 or '82. And on the Mississippi River itself, down below St. Louis, we're still projecting a couple of feet over that historic number. So the bottom line is there's a significant amount of water that's causing evacuations and challenges throughout that whole area.
She fell into a deep pool of sticky water, which eventually closed over her head. She saw nothing and heard nothing but a faint booming sound, which was the sound of the sea rolling over her head. While all her tormentors thought that she was dead, she was not dead, but curled up at the bottom of the sea.
Because we would not wear any clothes because it was so hot and the windows open and the swallows flying over the roofs of the houses and when it was dark afterward and you went to the window very small bats hunting over the houses and close down over the trees and we would drink capri and the door locked and it hot and only a sheet and the whole night and we would both love each other all night in the hot night in Milan. That was how it ought to be.
My favorite way to cook trout is whole, bone-in, on the grill. The fish are stuffed with sliced lemons and herb sprigs, brushed with oil, and cooked over fairly hot coals until the skin is crisp and the flesh is moist and flaky. Go ahead and gild the lily by adding a sauce.
Either over neither, both over either/or, live-and-let-live over stand-or die, high spirits over low, energy over apathy, wit over dullness, jokes over homilies, good humor over jokes, good nature over bad, feeling over sentiment, truth over poetry, consciousness over explanations, tragedy over pathos, comedy over tragedy, entertainment over art, private over public, generosity over meanness, charity over murder, love over charity, irreplaceable over interchangeable, divergence over concurrence, principle over interest, people over principle.
My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was three, and, save for a pocket of warmth in the darkest past, nothing of her subsists within the hollows and dells of memory, over which, if you can still stand my style (I am writing under observation), the sun of my infancy had set: surely, you all know those redolent remnants of day suspended, with the midges, about some hedge in bloom or suddenly entered and traversed by the rambler, at the bottom of a hill, in the summer dusk; a furry warmth, golden midges.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!