A Quote by John McCrae
In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place, and in the sky, The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard among the guns below.
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The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below
In Flanders fields the poppies blow.
I followed her into the library. The pale light from our chamber below dissipated in the room, but I could still make out – my heart leapt at the sight – row after row, shelf above shelf, floor to ceiling, a city of books. Speck turned to me and asked, Now, what shall we read first?
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow: In Flanders fields.
I know, every fighter knows, you've got to pile up wins in a row. You can't lose two in a row, three in a row and then you hear mentions of losing your job.
On good days, I've done bubbles with as many as 38 faces - a row of pentagons, a row of hexagons, and another row of pentagons on bottom.
I start at the beginning, mentally screaming every obscenity I can in alphabetical order. Then I start setting them to the tune of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat
I was born into a household where my aunt, grandmother and mother lived their music. They all sang harmony, and by the time I was 2, I could sing 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat' in three-part harmony.
In our family, we don't have rifts. We have a jolly good row and then it's all over. And I've only twice ever had a row with my sister.
Row, row, row your boat. Gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.
It was noted long ago that the front row of burlesque houses was occupied predominantly by bald-headed men. In fact, such a row became known as the bald-headed row. It might be assumed from this on statistical evidence that the continued close observation of chorus girls in tights caused loss of hair from the top of the head.
I want the dude in the top row to feel like he's down there on the front row in a club.
Bullfight critics row on row Fill the enormous Plaza de toros But only one is there who knows And he is the one who fights the bull.
Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself, Counting this row and that row of moccasins Waiting on the silent shelf.
Row after row with strict impunity
The headstones yield their names to the element,
The wind whirrs without recollection.
As a player if you win 10 in a row and you lose one, or you lose 10 in a row, you are still going to be angry when you lose. It's the nature of the game.
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