Inspirational quotes with weathered.
CageIt's a tear i want to shed,For the weathered roses that once was red,Today it's a decision want to make,To move on in life ignoring the fate,It's the promises i want to break,Because its a nightmare and i want to awake,It is the poem that don't rhyme,I don't know how, but things changed with the tides of time,It's the memories i want to forget,Now i am tired, no more i can regret,I'm the one, who feels alone in the crowd,I want to cry, run and shout out loud,Please leave me alone, relieve me from the pain,I am empty now, there is nothing more you can regain,Look at me and deep into my eyes,You will find the love that never dies
He leans in, resting his weathered hand on the bed. "Treat all the bad things like dreams, Kenzie. That way, no matter how scary or dark they get, you just have to survive until you wake up.
Time that had not come yet—an anomaly in itself—had the fiercest reality for her. It was a hard wind in her face; if she had made the world, every tree would be bent, every stone weathered, every bough stripped by that steady and contrary wind. Lucille saw in everything its potential for invidious change.
Never forget a man who weathered and rescued you from the storm just because you can see the shores.
Find your safe space. Approach it with grace. Listen to your body. And give yourself the permission to feel overwhelmed. You've weathered harsher storms. And the blue skies? They're on their way.
Love is about the good moments, but it's about holding on to each other during the difficult ones, too. Coming out on the other side, weathered but still holding hands, isn't easy. It's the most difficult thing there can possibly be, but I know now it's the truest test of love there is.
A friendship forged in the fires of adversity is a strong as one that has weathered the test of time.
We are the living whole of the fragments from the things we've experienced and people we've encountered. Each interaction changes us in a subtle or massive way. The masterpiece we are sheds it's weathered skin, becoming even more than it was before.
There was a tiny house in townThat had always stayed the same,Home to a girl wearing a sundressCalling each flower by name.It was the calm within the chaos,The sun around which we revolved,As stubborn as a stoneIn its refusal to evolve.I thought it had foreverTrapped within its weathered walls,Watching all the livesThey built around its rise and fall.But one day with no warningThe world felt shallower and strange,And the view outside my windowSeemed to all at once have changed.I ran with lungs near burstingTo that tiny house in town,Yet the ashes of foreverWas the only thing I found.Walking home it felt the worldWas made of me and salty tears,And the woman in a sundressWho watched me slowly disappear.
I was meeting a mountain. I meant to kiss her in secret. I meant to wed her under the midnight dark. The prettiest mountain you ever saw, sparkling with snow in all the right places, rich with granite and tourmaline and silver, sturdy and sensible and weathered by experience of eons. When she saw me, my mountain's pine trees bristled and the wind in her heights whistled my name. When I saw her, I felt rivers break through the rock of my heart and carve me into a new shape.
If I rolled the dice carved out of my weathered boneAnd offered of my blood the libation to the faneWhen even the reaper’s mockery forsakes me aloneMy own clangorous thoughts are the last to remain
You are stronger than you think. I have weathered many storms, tragedies, and heartaches in my life–and here I am still standing. Here you are still standing. Joy is right around the corner you just have to change your focus and look for it. And that can be rough. Rough roads can be unbearable, but you can walk them. Sometimes when you come to the end of yourself–give yourself a chance to dig in deeper. Look for the good, and you’ll find strength you never knew you had.
Beneath the rust and grime which dulls the shine of our weathered hearts, joy patiently waits to be rediscovered
There was something vaguely sad about the rock. It was as old as it looked, standing weathered and lonely amidst the stretch of sand, and its thoughts were quiet as it listened to the waves.
That's the thing about rocks--they don't break easily. When I held them, I wanted to be like them-strong and steady, weathered but not broken.
The weathered dairy barn, the wilted chicken coop, the leaning corn crib, the corroded silos-- all were revealed as structures of utility and grace. Someone must have rigged Ry's perception so that he had spent his whole life seeing only the ultimate futility of these structures while concealing what made them worthy, the struggle itself, the striving for a better day.
Affraig’s eyes moved to the oak tree that towered above her, its branches like antlers against the white sky. Her gaze travelled up to the weathered web that hung from one of the higher boughs, the slender noose swinging inside. In her mind she saw herself weaving it while she chanted words against Malachy’s wrathful curse. She remembered the lord’s hand settling on her shoulder, the hiss of the fire,his breath on her neck and, outside, stars falling like fiery rain. Her gaze moved west towards Turnberry.Her memory clouded with thoughts of the earl, but as she thought of his son her mind cleared. The stars had been falling too on the night he was born. She remembered seeing Mars, full and red, a bloody eye winking in the black.
The Meadow... Only one of them succeeded in making a life here... He weathered. Before a backdrop of natural beauty, he lived a life from which everything was taken but a place. He lived so close to the real world it almost let him in.
They began to come upon chains and packsaddles, singletrees, dead mules, wagons. Saddletrees eaten bare of their rawhide coverings and weathered white as bone, a light chamfering of miceteeth along the edges of the wood. They rode through a region where iron will not rust nor tin tarnish. The ribbed frames of dead cattle under their patches of dried hide lay like the ruins of primitive boats upturned upon that shoreless void and they passed lurid and austere the black and desiccated shapes of horses and mules that travelers had stood afoot.
Trees are like people and give the answers to the way of Man. They grow from the top down. Children, like treetops, have flexibility of youth, and sway more than larger adults at the bottom. They are more vulnerable to the elements, and are put to the test of survival by life's strong winds, rain, freezing cold, and hot sun. Constantly challenged. As they mature, they journey down the tree, strengthening the family unit until one day they have become big hefty branches. In the stillness below, having weathered the seasons, they now relax in their old age, no longer subject to the stress from above. It's always warmer and more enclosed at the base of the tree. The members remain protected and strong as they bear the weight and give support to the entire tree. They have the endurance.
A weathered black and silver Dodge pickup towing a small motorboat pulled up behind us, and Alex circled back to greet the driver. I couldn’t see who sat behind the crusted and dirty windshield, but Alex stood at the driver’s window and pointed down the block where the boulevard disappeared into floodwater. The truck pulled ahead, maneuvered a deft U-turn, and backed toward the water. Alex motioned for me to follow. By the time I lurched my way to the truck, he and the pickup driver were sliding the boat down the trailer ramp. Sweat trickled down my neck, and if I hadn’t been afraid of being poisoned by toxic sludge, I’d have made like a pig and wallowed in the mud to cool off. I kicked at a fire hydrant, trying to jolt some of the heaviest sludge off my boots, and heard a soft laugh behind me. With a final kick that sent a spray of brown gunk flying, I turned to see what was so funny. I needed a laugh. A man leaned against the side of the pickup with his arms crossed. He was a few inches shorter than Alex, maybe just shy of six feet, with sun-streaked blond hair that reached his collar and a sleeveless blue T-shirt and khaki shorts. His tanned legs between the bottom of the shorts and the top of sturdy black shrimp boots were scored with scars, bad ones, as if whatever made them meant to do serious damage. He’d been grinning when I turned around, flashing a heart-stopping set of dimples, but when he saw my eyes linger on his legs, the grin eased into something more wary.
I learned the strange art of loneliness, the weathered yearning that swells and passes, and swells and passes, when you walk a trail alone.
But never had he felt more enthralled than he was right now, sitting beside Evie on a weathered old dock, with a blazing afternoon sun, almost brutal in its clarity, bathing everything in pure light. Sweat trickled down his back and chest from the steamy heat, and his entire body pulsed with life. Even his fingertips throbbed. It took all of his formidable self-control to prevent himself from pushing her down on the dock and spreading her legs for his entry.
Nurtured by negative circumstances, braiding raging tornadoes in her hair, she held her head high, wearing her weathered poetry with pride.
A Kite in the Wind - with Love , Truth and Honesty - weathered A Wilderness of Voices, Through the Darkness, With Love
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