I opened the large central window of my office room to its full on the fine early May morning. Then I stood for a few moments breathing in the soft warm air that was charged with the scent of white lilacs below.
My brain is so anxiety-prone like a pinball machine. If I don't get up in the morning and focus my thinking my breathing and my being for about 12 minutes I'm just a screwball all day long.
We should have a State in which we could live and breathe as free men and which we could develop according to our own lights and culture and where principles of Islamic social justice could find free play.
No longer shall I paint interiors with men reading and women knitting. I will paint living people who breathe and feel and suffer and love.
Most men pursue pleasure with such breathless haste that they hurry past it.
Wealthy men can't live in an island that is encircled by poverty. We all breathe the same air. We must give a chance to everyone at least a basic chance.
The first breath of adultery is the freest after it constraints aping marriage develop.
Love is a portion of the soul itself and it is of the same nature as the celestial breathing of the atmosphere of paradise.
Music is what I breath what I love to do. It keeps me alive.
When you arise in the morning think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive - to breathe to think to enjoy to love.
I have so much chaos in my life it's become normal. You become used to it. You have to just relax calm down take a deep breath and try to see how you can make things work rather than complain about how they're wrong.
To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.
Who will tell whether one happy moment of love or the joy of breathing or walking on a bright morning and smelling the fresh air is not worth all the suffering and effort which life implies.
His imagination conceived and bore - worlds but nothing in these worlds became alive until he discovered its true and living name. The name was the breath of life and sooner or later he invariably found it.
What does it mean to be Catholic and not a Catholic? I feel adrift homeless. My Catholic imagination allows me to see the soul as a lit breath seeking the divine. It persists.
When a thought takes one's breath away a grammar lesson seems an impertinence.
Like all parents my husband and I just do the best we can hold our breath and hope we've set aside enough money for our kid's therapy.