A Quote by Missy Elliott
I don't want to be oh-so-brag-about-it, but 'The Rain' is hot.
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Remember that people will brag about what they've achieved, but they don't brag about the price they paid to get it.
The maker of the stars would rather die for you than live without you. And that is a fact. So if you need to brag, brag about that.
I think I first encountered Ebola from the movie 'Outbreak.' Then there was the book 'The Hot Zone.' It's the type of thing you either read and say, 'Oh wow, that's terrifying,' or you read it and say, 'Oh wow, I want to do that.' I read it and said, 'Oh wow, I want do that.'
We did the opening tailgate party - I'm not a big football person - and it started to rain. I was a little sick and went back to the hotel where we were all staying. We didn't know whether Prince was going to go on or not because the rain got so bad. He had already prerecorded it just in case he couldn't go on. So I'm sitting there wrapped in blankets, with a hot water bottle and hot tea, and he goes on and it's the most magical thing I have ever seen.
If I cannot brag of knowing something, then I brag of not knowing it; at any rate, brag.
It's become such a cultural norm that people brag about it: "Oh yeah, you did that? I did this." Keeping up with the Joneses used to be about "I have the bigger house and car," and now it's much more about how much stuff you can cram into your calendar.
It's all nonsense. It's only nonsense. I'm not afraid of the rain. I am not afraid of the rain. Oh, oh, God, I wish I wasn't.
Let the rain kiss you.
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.
Let the rain sing you a lullaby.
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk.
The rain makes running pools in the gutter.
The rain plays a little sellp-song on our roof at night-
And I love the rain.
The fact is, when it comes to economic leadership, the Republicans have nothing to brag about. This isn't what the American people want. They want to see progress that works for them.
And what does the rain say at night in a small town, what does the rain have to say? Who walks beneath dripping melancholy branches listening to the rain? Who is there in the rain’s million-needled blurring splash, listening to the grave music of the rain at night, September rain, September rain, so dark and soft? Who is there listening to steady level roaring rain all around, brooding and listening and waiting, in the rain-washed, rain-twinkled dark of night?
Mel: What was your name again? Rain: Rain. Mel: Oh that's nice. Kind of like bad weather.
I don't know if there is actually more rain here in England, or if it was just that the rain seemed to be so deliberately annoying. Every drop hit the window with a peevish "Am I bothering you? Does this make you cold and wet? Oh, sorry.
I work hard on my defense. It's something I take pride in, but it's nothing that I want to brag about. It's part of my game.
Oh, this is fun - went to a nude beach for the first time. Yeah, that's what I thought. You ever been to a nude beach? Thought it would be all sexy and hot. Oh my God, what a flubber fest! Everybody who shouldn't be naked is naked - didn't make me want to take off my clothes, made me want to take out my contacts.
On the mainland, a rain was falling. The famous Seattle rain. The thin, gray rain that toadstools love. The persistent rain that knows every hidden entrance into collar and shopping bag. The quiet rain that can rust a tin roof without the tin roof making a sound in protest. The shamanic rain that feeds the imagination. The rain that seems actually a secret language, whispering, like the ecstasy of primitives, of the essence of things.
Rain Soft rain, summer rain Whispers from bushes, whispers from trees. Oh, how lovely and full of blessing To dream and be satisfied. I was so long in the outer brightness, I am not used to this upheaval: Being at home in my own soul, Never to be led elsewhere. I want nothing, I long for nothing, I hum gently the sounds of childhood, And I reach home astounded In the warm beauty of dreams. Heart, how torn you are, How blessed to plow down blindly, To think nothing, to know nothing, Only to breathe, only to feel.
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