Quotes & Sayings About Bad Colds

Bear markets are like bad colds. You hate them, but you know eventually you'll feel better. — Marvin H. McIntyre

When you become so determined that you want to feel good - you have become as your Inner Being is, in such a pure place of Positive Energy - then that which is 'negative energy' simply can't mix with you. It defies Law. If you are very strong and clear about your positive wanting, and feeling it, then 'bad' things simply cannot get in. Colds can't get in, car accidents can't get in, anything that you are not wanting cannot be your personal experience. — Esther Hicks

You decide your own level of involvement. — Chuck Palahniuk

But there was nothing, and never would be. Learning that was one thing. Living with it, another entirely. Careful — Mick Herron

Justus tried to make an objective assessment of Miguel. What was the big deal with him, anyway? So he was easy on the eyes. Actually that was an understatement; he was for female eyes, a virtual feast. He was a perfect physical specimen, and very sensual. He seemed to positively ooze sex and eroticism with his every move, look, and touch. Justus turned her head toward him to steal a glance at his profile, but he caught her looking at him.
His eyes were so arresting, they were a dark, fierce green, like beautiful shining emeralds. She also noticed flecks of gold laced through them, reminiscent of cat's eyes. Not any ordinary house cat, these were the eyes of a wild predator.
He was a panther; with his black hair and green eyes and the way he moved, so gracefully, yet with definite strength and agility. She sighed to herself, so much for her objectivity. — Amanda Bretz

One complained of a bad cold in his head, upon which Jonah mixed him a pitch-like potion of gin and molasses, which he swore was a sovereign cure for all colds — Herman Melville

The wasteland that is your memory now comes under the absolute dictatorship of idols too terrible to mention. — Jack Henry Abbott

My sole consolation when I went upstairs for the night was that Mamma would come in and kiss me after I was in bed. But this good night lasted for so short a time, she went down again so soon, that the moment in which I heard her climb the stairs, and then caught the sound of her garden dress of blue muslin, from which hung little tassels of plaited straw, rustling along the double-doored corridor, was for me a moment of the utmost pain; for it heralded the moment which was to follow it, when she would have left me and gone downstairs again. — Marcel Proust