Hay Truck Quotes & Sayings

Grieve not; though the journey of life be bitter, and the end unseen, there is no road which does not lead to an end. — Hafez

I don't give up on commitments until what I've been asked to do is clearly finished. — Carly Fiorina

[I] do not like poems that resemble hay compressed into a geometrically perfect cube. I like it when the hay, unkempt, uncombed, with dry berries mixed in it, thrown together gaily and freely, bounces along atop some truck-and more, if there are some lovely and healthy lasses atop the hay-and better yet if the branches catch at the hay, and some of it tumbles to the road. — Yevgeny Yevtushenko

Tut, man, don't sprawl there. Get up and put your shoulder to the wheel. — Aesop

I love her, Rajasta, I love her too much to hurt her; and I can give her nothing! No vows, no hope of real happiness, only sorrow and pain and, perhaps, shame ... — Marion Zimmer Bradley

The night engulfed her with silence, and the horizon pulled her further into an alternate universe. Civilization left behind, she waited for him as the boat made its way deep into the ocean, then slowed. A million stars twinkled overhead.
She never heard his footsteps.
Like a wild stallion mounting his mare, he pressed his hard body against hers and dragged her legs apart. She gasped and held on tight as he yanked her up, spread her wide, and plunged deep inside. — Jennifer Probst

Through intense self-examination and ceaseless selfchallenge, create change, and adjust your track toward growth and completion. — Ilchi Lee

I didn't fall off the hay truck yesterday, buddy. I want you to go down there and try to boink some sense into her. — Molly Burkhart

A book is so soon made, costs so little, and may go so far! Why should we surprised that all human thought flows that way? — Victor Hugo

I don't go to clubs. I don't know what club mixes are supposed to sound like. — Kenny G

Am saying that perhaps God has already done his intervening by creating us. Perhaps He intends us to do what we keep praying He will do. Having designed us for a particular task, he has sent us into battle. We do not particularly enjoy the battle, so we keep begging him to let us off. He pays no attention because He does not keep track of us individually. He does not know where in the body we are or how many of us there are. He does not check to see whether we despair or persevere. Only if the body of the universe is healed will he know whether we have done what we were sent to do! — Sheri S. Tepper

We have the resources the world needs. We can build a path for them to get there. That's that delicate balance that we find. — Christy Clark

The drys seemingly are afraid of the truth. Why not take inventory and ascertain the true conditions. Let us not leave it to the charge of an antiprohibition organization, or to any other private association, let us have an official survey and let the American people know what is going on. A complete and honest and impartial survey would reveal incredible conditions ... — Fiorello H. La Guardia

It is in the field of prayer that life's critical battles are lost or won. We must conquer all our circumstances there. We must first of all bring them there. We must survey them there. We must master them there. In prayer we bring our spiritual enemies into the Presence of God and we fight them there. Have you tried that? Or have you been satisfied to meet and fight your foes in the open spaces of the world? — John Henry Jowett

A speck of saliva flew from Ida's mouth onto Ester's lower lip. When Ida released Ester's arm and left the toilets, Ester wiped her mouth and reapplied her lipstick, but still she felt it there, the fleck of spit. In the hours which followed, Ester put her mouth to the rims of countless champagne glasses and wine glasses and shot glasses, but still she felt that spack of saliva clinging on. And even hours later, when Ester and Bernard were alone in bed and he was kissing her, all she could think about was Ida's spit on her lip, as if it were still there, pressed between her mouth and Bernard's like a cold sore. — Alison Moore