I consider the opportunity to bear witness to the eloquent beauty of Baikida's music a distinct honor. Baikida Carroll is polarized; poised; at a matchless point between lyricism and fire.
I always call him Lewis Carroll Carroll, because he was the first Humbert Humbert.
Sometimes you'll get a player who's marking you tightly, and he'll even apologise and say, 'My coach told me to stick close to you and mark you. I know you're a great player.' But I tell him it's fine and to do what he has to do.
The only way to stop Messi is to double mark him. One player to stay on him and the other to help out.
The inquirer after holiness should associate with those whose intelligence will instruct him; whose example will guide him; whose conversation will inspire him; whose cautions will warn him.
Neymar is a great player, it is so difficult to mark him.
I spoke with Zidane and he insisted that Casemiro is the player who gives Real Madrid balance. I decided to trust him and make him a starter.
And she looked at him and saw the grave tenderness in his eyes, and yet knew, for she was bred among men of war, that here was one whom no Rider of the Mark could outmatch in battle.
The best mark of a player is to beat him over a long distance.
Tenderness and Rot Tenderness and rot share a border. And rot is an aggressive neighbor whose iridescence keeps creeping over. No lessons can be drawn from this however. One is not two countries. One is not meat corrupting. It is important to stay sweet and loving.
The best way to stop Messi is when you play with 11 men and then you can double mark him, one player to stay on him and the other to help out. If it is 11 against 10 then you have almost no chance of stopping him.
A football match should be decided by an action of play. Not some contrived process whose end result is to mark a fine player such as Bossis, Baresi or Baggio for the rest of his career.
There is none but he
Whose being I do fear; and under him
My genius is rebuked, as it is said
Mark Antony's was by Caesar.
Tessa was laying on her side, her brown hair spread over the pillow, watching Will, whose face was bent over the pages, with a look of tenderness in her eyes, a tenderness mirrored in the softness of Will's voice as he read.
Are you Lewis Carroll?" Redd asked him.
He's the sort of player whose brain doesn't always know where his legs are carrying him.