A Quote by Larry Burkett

I drive a car till it turns to dust, then I sweep up the dust and ride on the dust. — © Larry Burkett
I drive a car till it turns to dust, then I sweep up the dust and ride on the dust.
Gather out of star-dust, Earth-dust, Cloud-dust, Storm-dust, And splinters of hail, One handful of dream-dust, Not for sale.
The seeker after truth should be humbler than the dust. The world crushes the dust under its feet, but the seeker after truth should so humble himself that even the dust could crush him. Only then, and not till then, will he have a glimpse of truth.
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. We are nothing, but dust and to dust we shall return. Amen.
Pulvis et umbra sumus. It's a line from Horace. 'We are dust and shadows'. Appropriate, don't you think?" Will said. "It's not a long life, killing demons; one tends to die young, and then they burn your body - dust to dust, in the literal sense. And then we vanish into the shadows of history, nary a mark on the page of a mundane book to remind the world that once we existed at all.
What joy have I in June's return? My feet are parched-my eyeballs burn, I scent no flowery gust; But faint the flagging zephyr springs, With dry Macadam on its wings, And turns me 'dust to dust.'
It is true that we are made of dust. And the world is also made of dust. But the dust has motes rising.
The dust comes secretly day after day, Lies on my ledge and dulls my shining things. But O this dust I shall drive away Is flowers and kings, Is Solomon's temple, poets, Nineveh.
When there's dust missing here or there, it's because someone has touched my things. I see immediately someone has been there. And it's because I live constantly with dust, in dust, that I prefer to wear gray suits, the only color on which it leaves no trace.
I grabbed a pile of dust, and holding it up, foolishly asked for as many birthdays as the grains of dust, I forgot to ask that they be years of youth.
Work my hands in the soil, what's the pay for all the toil? Dust for blood, dust for blood, dust for blood.
The heart is like a mirror. When we dust it off, we are able to see ourselves. The dust is all our stuff - guilt, anger - this stuff is reflected back to us. Practice removes the dust from the mirror of our hearts.
We do not start as dust. We do not end as dust. We make more than dust. That's all we ask of you. Make more than dust.
But something cannot be made out of nothing. Dust rose in the air, caught the rays of the sun for a brief moment and sparkled, and then returned to the earth as mere dust.
If you put a little pin in the middle and you make a little space, a little circle, then the nature of the mirror shines through. So now you know the mind is not dust, that behind that dust there is this mirror-like nature of the mind, and if it's a big enough hole, you might be so transfixed by the hole you don't notice the rest of the dust.
Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and-sans End!
The dust to which this flesh shall return, it is the ancient dreaming dust of God.
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