A Quote by Kyle
The Kyle who made 'Smyle' honestly has a little more conflict in his life. He has a little more weight on his shoulders. He feels like he has to make an album about something. It's a Kyle with duty, with a plan, with a responsibility.
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I went by Kyle, and I made friends on the team as Kyle. It went on for a pretty long time, until I went to a birthday party in a dress and all the hockey players were like... 'Kyle?'
Ben rubbed his muzzle over Kyle’s shoulder in a way that I think was supposed to be reassuring. Kyle sucked in a breath. Either it hurt, or the reminder that the werewolf was big enough to rub his shoulder without much effort wasn’t exactly reassuring. “Ben, when was the last time you brushed your teeth?” asked Kyle. Or else Ben’s breath was really bad.
A second floor window opened, and Kyle stuck his head and shoulders out so he could look down at us. “If you two are finished playing Cowboy and Indian out there, some of us would like to get their beauty sleep.” I looked at Warren. “You heard ‘um Kemo Sabe. Me go to my little wigwam and get ‘um shut-eye.” “How come you always get to play the Indian?” whined Warren, deadpan. “Cause she’s the Indian, white boy,” said Kyle.
That ones yours,huh?"he asked,pointing to 3A."How come it just says 'Kyle'?Doesnt he have a last name?" "Kyle wants to be a rock star,"Simon said,heading down the stairs."I think his working the one-name thing.Like Rihanna.
Kyle Busch is going to get his ass whipped shortly I hope. He better sit his ass in his motor home or I’m going to come find him and he’s going to have to hold my watch because I’m going to whip his ass. He’s the biggest whining little piece of [expletive] I’ve ever seen in my whole life.
I told you not to take off work for this." “And miss your big finale? No way.I’m all atwitter to see how things turn out.” “That’s cute, Jordo.” Then he frowned as Nick McCall was suddenly there, in their lives, and Kyle was therefore being a little…cautious before welcoming him into the family. “Be nice, Kyle,” Jordan warned. “What?” he asked innocently. “When have I ever not been nice to Tall, Dark, and You Can’t Be Serious About This Guy?” “I like him. Get used to it.
You just don't know how uncool it is to be Kyle until you're Kyle.
A little more kindness, A little less speed, A little more giving, A little less greed, A little more smile, A little less frown, A little less kicking, A man while he's down, A little more "We", A little less "I", A little more laugh, A little less cry, A little more flowers, On the pathway of life, And fewer on graves, At the end of the strife.
I have a dress fitting to get to at three.' (Simon) 'Cool,' said Kyle, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder and heading for the door. 'Get them to make you something in red. It's totally your color.
I borrowed this from Kyle. My other shirt was pretty filthy." "Wow, you're wearing each other's clothes now. That's, like, best friend stuff." "Feeling left out?" said Kyle. "I suppose you want to borrow a black T-shirt too." "As long as everyone's wearing their own pants." "I see have come in on a fascinating moment in the conversation." Eric poked his head through the curtain.
A Christian, who realizes he has been made in the image of the Creator God and is therefore meant to be creative on a finite level, should certainly have more understanding of his responsibility to treat God's creation with sensitivity, and should develop his talents to do something to beautify his little spot on the earth's surface.
What was more needed by this old man who divided the leisure hours of his life, where he had so little leisure, between gardening in the daytime, and contemplation at night? Was not this narrow enclosure, with the sky for a background, enough to enable him to adore God in his most beautiful as well as in his most sublime works? Indeed, is not that all, and what more can be desired? A little garden to walk, and immensity to reflect upon. At his feet something to cultivate and gather; above his head something to study and meditate upon: a few flowers on the earth, and all the stars in the sky.
I loved the last album, and it was one hundred percent me. But this is like me two years later, who understands a little bit more about music and understands a little bit more about making an album. I wrote a lot more.
We are doing well, notwithstanding all our failings and weaknesses; but the Lord would like to have us a little more diligent; he would like us to cleave a little more closely to the things of his kingdom, have more of his Spirit, and know more of him and of one another, that complete and perfect confidence can be restored.
I am beginning to realize that "sanity" is no longer a value or an end in itself. The "sanity" of modern man is about as useful to him as the huge bulk and muscles of the dinosaur. If he were a little less sane, a little more doubtful, a little more aware of his absurdities and contradictions, perhaps there might be a possibility of his survival.
It was inevitable: Yankel fell in love with his never-wife. He would wake from sleep to miss the weight that never depressed the bed next to him, remember in earnest the weight of gestures she never made, long for the un-weight of her un-arm slung over his too-real chest, making his widower's rememberences that much more convincing and his pain that much more real.
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