A Quote by Mehmet Murat Ildan

Every weed's fate is to bow in front of the wind! — © Mehmet Murat Ildan
Every weed's fate is to bow in front of the wind!

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Mother loved the wind. When I was growing up, she would recite this poem to me. Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I, But when the trees bow down their heads, The wind is passing by. So it is with God.
Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I but when the trees bow down their heads, the wind is passing by.
I have to say that I bow to Dana White and I bow to the Fertitta brothers every time I see them.
Bow, bow, ye lower middle classes! Bow, bow, ye tradesmen, bow, ye masses!
Utah is close to becoming the latest state to legalize medical marijuana.But one DEA agent raised the alarm in front of the Utah legislature. He warned them that rabbits might eat the weed. And then what would you have? You'd have a bunch of weed-crazed rabbits running around. They'd run rampant in the state's cornfields and taco orchards.
The wind is not helpless for any man's need, Nor falleth the rain but for thistle and weed.
Always have a black bow, a white bow, a rainbow bow - those bows will match literally just about everything!
I heard on public radio recently, there's a thing called Weed Dating. Singles get together in a garden and weed and then they take turns, they keep matching up with other people. Two people will weed down one row and switch over with two other people. It's in Vermont. I don't think I'd be very good at Weed Dating.
We reap what we sow. We are the makers of our own fate. The wind is blowing; those vessels whose sails are unfurled catch it, and go forward on their way, but those which have their sails furled do not catch the wind. Is that the fault of the wind?....... We make our own destiny.
I presume that it is the better part of wisdom that we bow to our fate with as good grace as possible.
Love is not a hot-house flower, but a wild plant, born of a wet night, born of an hour of sunshine; sprung from wild seed, blown along the road by a wild wind. A wild plant that, when it blooms by chance within the hedge of our gardens, we call a flower; and when it blooms outside we call a weed; but, flower or weed, whose scent and colour are always, wild!
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary. My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, And the days are dark and dreary. Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.
The bow tie started off with one of my friends, Kunta Littlejohn. He said if you want to be anybody, you've got to rock the bow tie. I dismissed it at first, but later he told me he had non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, so I decided to wear the bow tie to support him. And as he got better, I came to learn the power of the bow tie.
In a perfect union the man and woman are like a strung bow. Who is to say whether the string bends the bow, or the bow tightens the string?
Well, John Doherty's playing was very unique. He bowed a lot and used staccato, while I slur a bit. I bow a lot as well, but I do a bit of playing a few notes with the one bow. As you go south there's more slurring with the bow. As you go north there's more bowing every note. But sometimes you get the combination of the two in Donegal.
Every time a strong wind blows, every sand and dust yearns for being a solid rock and every solid rock longs for flying with the wind!
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