A Quote by Lewis Carroll

And my heart is like nothing so much as a bowl
Brimming over with quivering curds! — © Lewis Carroll
And my heart is like nothing so much as a bowl Brimming over with quivering curds!
My heart is a ladle of sweet water brimming over.
That’s why our TVs are brimming with so much hot man-on-pan action. You can’t channel surf for long without seeing turkey getting stuffed over and over until they finally cut to the gravy shot.
Mazomanie doesn't even have a stoplight, so it doesn't do a lot. But the cheese curds there are unbelievable. I've never had them anywhere else, even at places in California that claim to have the real thing. There's a cheese factory in Arena, Mazomanie's neighboring town, and they'll give you fresh curds that are so amazing.
Brimming. That's what it is, I want to get to a place where my sentences enact brimming.
From 1973 to 1982 I ate the exact same lunch everyday . Turkey chili in a bowl made out of bread . Bread bowl George. First you eat the chili then you eat the bowl . There's nothing more satisfying than looking down after lunch and seeing nothing but a table.
I'm a Wisconsin kid, so I like brats and burgers and stuff like that. Cheese curds.
I am in need of music that would flow Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips, Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips, With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow. Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low, Of some song sung to rest the tired dead, A song to fall like water on my head, And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow! There is a magic made by melody: A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep To the subaqueous stillness of the sea, And floats forever in a moon-green pool, Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.
She'd cried over a broken heart before. She knew what that felt like, and it didn't feel like this. Her heart felt not so much broken as just ... empty. It felt like she was an outline empty in the middle. The outline cried senselessly for the absent middle. The past cried for the present that was nothing.
Sometimes you can be one of the best, but you don't accept that if you don't get the ring or win the Super Bowl. There's a lot of good teams between the Super Bowl winner and other teams. Once the Super Bowl is over, we lump everyone into the other 31, and that's not fair.
Compassion arises naturally as the quivering of the heart in the face of pain, ours and another's. True compassion is not limited by the separateness of pity, nor by the fear of being overwhelmed. When we come to rest in the great heart of compassion, we discover a capacity to bear witness to, suffer with, and hold dear with our own vulnerable heart the sorrows and beauties of the world.
In every winter's heart there is a quivering spring, and behind the veil of each night there is a shining dawn.
Your heart keeps jumping like a kangaroo, floating like an onion in a bowl of stew.
I love bowl games. I really do. I like it more than the kids do. I grew up a poor kid in western Pennsylvania, and I went to Nebraska because I saw them play in the Orange Bowl and I wanted to play in a bowl game. I cherish the memories.
Every word that is unnecessary only pours over the side of a brimming mind.
According to Buddhist scriptures, compassion is the "quivering of the pure heart" when we have allowed ourselves to be touched by the pain of life.
You can't beat the Cotton Bowl. There's nothing like that.
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