Overburdened Synonym Quotes & Sayings

One day Augustus asked Newt to ride along with him, much to Newt's surprise. In the morning they saw a grizzly, but the bear was far upwind and didn't scent them. It was a beautiful day - no clouds in the sky. Augustus rode with his big rifle propped across the saddle - he was in the highest of spirits. They rode ahead of the herd some fifteen miles or more, and yet when they stopped to look back they could still see the cattle, tiny black dots in the middle of the plain, with the southern horizon still far behind them. — Larry McMurtry

You're progressing on something and that's what it's all about. You wanna keep moving, having a progress in your life. — Ueli Steck

You count the hours you could have spent with your mother, it's a lifetime in itself. — Mitch Albom

Great teachers have high expectations for their students, but even higher expectations for themselves. — Todd Whitaker

Find the truth and forget the mistake. — Debasish Mridha

As if the world and they were hand and glove. — William Cowper

Chil', there things in this world you don't know about yet. We your family, that never change. Even when you find a white boy and gets married, we still your family. Mama always your mama, Belle always your Belle."
I stopped crying. "What about Papa and Ben?" I asked hopefully.
"They watch out for you just like now. Abinia" - Mama looked into my eyes - "you on the winnin' side. One day might be you lookin' out for us. — Kathleen Grissom

Stuart's a wizard with those kinds of things," she said.
"What kinds of things?"
"Oh, he can find anything online."
Debbie was obviously one of those parents who still hadn't quite grasped that using the Internet was not exactly wizardry, and that we could all find anything online. I didn't say this, because you don't want people to feel that they've missed something really obvious, even when they have. — Maureen Johnson

Life is a constant oscillation between the sharp horns of dilemmas. — H.L. Mencken

Made up of corallitic accretions and painful increments, lit on rare occasions by bolts of revelation, and then stuffed behind the wainscotting to grope in the mouse-turd dust, art is the equivalent of athlete's foot, at best an exquisite itch, at worst an excuse to stop walking. On the emotional side, it is either masturbation with a hockey glove or a night beneath the sliding moon that shames Eros. — Harold Town