A Quote by Elzhi

Those who flashin' don't blast, they still buffoons, Just blowin out hot air, they should fill balloons. I'm like them shorties that could kill for goons, They started hustlin' in April to cop wheels in June.
We should all have personal hot air balloons and drift serenely through the clouds.
All my life, I have loved balloons - all balloons - the heavy English sort, immense and round, that have to be pushed about, and the gay, light, gas-filled French ones that soar into the air the moment you let go of them.
After us they'll fly in hot air balloons, coat styles will change, perhaps they'll discover a sixth sense and cultivate it, but life will remain the same, a hard life full of secrets, but happy. And a thousand years from now man will still be sighing, "Oh! Life is so hard!" and will still, like now, be afraid of death and not want to die.
Dirty days hath September April June and November From January up to May The rain it raineth every day All the rest have thirty-one Without a blessed gleam of sun And if any of them had two-and-thirty They'd be just as wet and twice as dirty." "April hath put a spirit of youth in everything.
Hot air balloons are terrific to shoot from, although they have become very expensive, as has most lodging and food in the Napa Valley.
Had more confidence than I probably should have in high school. But I do remember feeling like I wish I could physically mature a little faster, fill out. In college it started to happen a little bit more, and my confidence started to grow - then I got out to L.A., and that got squashed immediately.
I know April, May and June are a few unbearable months, and working out in a gym and sweating in such dirty hot, sticky, humid weather puts me off. The best way is to swim. I feel so fresh and rejuvenated after swimming, and I believe it's one of the best mode to fitness during summers.
I still have every record company sending every new, hot track to me, to do music videos, so I'm chained by the foot to pop culture. I still know what kids dress like and speak like, and I still hang out with them. It's just the nature of my day job. I am a freak of nature that has to understand them.
Of no distemper, of no blast he died, But fell like autumn fruit that mellow'd long: Even wonder'd at, because he dropp'd no sooner. Fate seem'd to wind him up for fourscore years; Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more; Till like a clock worn out with eating time, The wheels of weary life at last stood still.
And it doesn't matter to me whether you're running a coffee shop or you're an intellectual or you're in business or flying hot air balloons. People who can spread ideas, regardless of what those ideas are, win. But consumers, they got way more choices than they used to and way less time.
I start my day with a hot water and lemon routine. I meditate. And I take my problems lightly, like my mother always said: treat them like helium balloons and let them go. I devour a lot of books to feed my mind.
Buffoons, buffoons! One can play any tune on them!
At four o'clock in the morning most people have been asleep for hours, but at four o'clock in the morning the night-club children of a few years ago were just getting hot. The band jazzed at full blast. The air was so thick you could pick it up in handfulls and through it around like snowballs. The dance-floors were crowded with couples who couldn't do anything but wiggle hips and feet.
I grew up, really, in the days before air conditioning. So I can remember what it was like to be really hot, for instance, and I can remember what it was like when your barber shop and your local stores weren't air conditioned, so it was hot when you went in them and they propped the doors open.
In our methodical American life, we still recognize some magic in summer. Most persons at least resign themselves to being decently happy in June. They accept June. They compliment its weather. They complain of the earlier months as cold, and so spend them in the city; and they complain of the later months as hot, and so refrigerate themselves on some barren sea-coast. God offers us yearly a necklace of twelve pearls; most men choose the fairest, label it June, and cast the rest away.
Purple haze all in my eyes, don't know if it's day or night. You got me blowin', blowin' my mind. Is it tomorrow or just the end of time?
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