Quotes about delicious, page 3
Sea-Shore Memories
OUT of the cradle endlessly rocking,
Out of the mocking-bird's throat, the musical shuttle,
Out of the Ninth-month midnight,
Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where the child,
leaving his bed, wander'd alone, bare-headed, barefoot,
Down from the shower'd halo,
Up from the mystic play of shadows, twining and twisting as if they
were alive,
Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,
From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,
From your memories, sad brother--from the fitful risings and fallings
I heard,
From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and swollen as if with
tears, 10
From those beginning notes of sickness and love, there in the
transparent mist,
From the thousand responses of my heart, never to cease,
From the myriad thence-arous'd words,
From the word stronger and more delicious than any,
From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting,
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poem by Walt Whitman
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Delicious
Everyday I get up
And drag myself out of bed
While you're still sleeping
On your tummy
With your long legs spread
Call me a copy cat
Dressed
Kiss you good-bye
I'm like a lion in winter
I don't want to say good-bye
I'm trying to pull
On my socks
You get me horny and hot, darling
That's why I'm late on the job
*You're delicious
You're delicious, babe
You're delicious
Just keep on doing
What you are doing
Doing
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song performed by Rod Stewart
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Weed With Willie
She came through the front door lookin' fast as a big train
Bookin' down the line
And she was lookin' fine
Long and lean and dressed to kill
Stacked up high with perfect wheels
and there ain't no chance, that girl would ever dance with me
She got all those city boys pushin' and shovin'
A counrty boy like me don't ever get no uptown lovin'
She's Sweet, she's got 'em melting in her hand
Whoever gets a taste of that cup of sugar
Sure is a lucky man
She's sweet, tellin you boys
She's babelicious, I can't reach that Georgia peach
But she sure looks delicious
I had nothing else to do
So I threw down two more shots of booze
And it made me strong
I strapped my courage on
I said 'would you like a drink?
'By chance, no what I mean is would you like to dance with me?
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song performed by Toby Keith
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Candy
You open your eyes and I see sunshine
I bathe in the light that you give me
You speak my name it's a symphony
And the magic of life rushes through me
Suggest it and I'll do it
There ain't nothing to it
'Cos it feels so good for me
It's wickedly delicious
I've got my three wishes
And baby when you want me
It's like taking candy from a baby
And it's sweeter than sweet
When you're right here with me
It's like taking candy from a baby
'Cos you do it to me every time
Yes you do
You do it to me every time
I dream of that place and you take me there
Boy, this is love and you're writing the story
When you run your fingers through my hair
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song performed by Lisa Stansfield
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The Pleasures of Imagination: Book The Second
When shall the laurel and the vocal string
Resume their honours? When shall we behold
The tuneful tongue, the Promethéan hand
Aspire to ancient praise? Alas! how faint,
How slow the dawn of beauty and of truth
Breaks the reluctant shades of Gothic night
Which yet involve the nations! Long they groan'd
Beneath the furies of rapacious force;
Oft as the gloomy north, with iron-swarms
Tempestuous pouring from her frozen caves,
Blasted the Italian shore, and swept the works
Of liberty and wisdom down the gulph
Of all-devouring night. As long immur'd
In noon-tide darkness by the glimmering lamp,
Each muse and each fair science pin'd away
The sordid hours: while foul, barbarian hands
Their mysteries profan'd, unstrung the lyre,
And chain'd the soaring pinion down to earth.
At last the muses rose, and spurn'd their bonds,
And wildly warbling, scatter'd, as they flew,
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poem by Mark Akenside
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The Golden Legend: IV. The Road To Hirschau
PRINCE HENRY _and_ ELSIE, _with their attendants, on
horseback._
_Elsie._ Onward and onward the highway runs
to the distant city, impatiently bearing
Tidings of human joy and disaster, of love and of
hate, of doing and daring!
_Prince Henry._ This life of ours is a wild aeolian
harp of many a joyous strain,
But under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail,
as of souls in pain.
_Elsie._ Faith alone can interpret life, and the heart
that aches and bleeds with the stigma
Of pain, alone bears the likeness of Christ, and can
comprehend its dark enigma.
_Prince Henry._ Man is selfish, and seeketh pleasure
with little care of what may betide;
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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Four Seasons : Spring
Come, gentle Spring! ethereal Mildness! come,
And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud,
While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower
Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend.
O Hertford, fitted or to shine in courts
With unaffected grace, or walk the plain
With innocence and meditation join'd
In soft assemblage, listen to my song,
Which thy own Season paints; when Nature all
Is blooming and benevolent, like thee.
And see where surly Winter passes off,
Far to the north, and calls his ruffian blasts:
His blasts obey, and quit the howling hill,
The shatter'd forest, and the ravaged vale;
While softer gales succeed, at whose kind touch,
Dissolving snows in livid torrents lost,
The mountains lift their green heads to the sky.
As yet the trembling year is unconfirm'd,
And Winter oft at eve resumes the breeze,
Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets
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poem by James Thomson
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Balenciaga did the most delicious evening clothes. Clothes aren't delicious any more.
quote by Diana Vreeland
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Ch 08 On Rules For Conduct In Life - Maxim 53
Although a sultan’s garment of honour is dear yet one’s own old robe is more dear; and though the food of a great man may be delicious, the broken crumbs of one’s own sack are more delicious.
Vinegar by one’s own labour and vegetables
Are better than bread received as alms, and veal.
My Heart at Evening
Toward evening you hear the cry of the bats.
Two b l a c k h o r ses bound in the pasture,
The red maple rustles,
The walker along the road sees ahead the small
tavern.
Nuts and young wine taste delicious,
Delicious: to stagger drunk into the darkening woods.
Village bells, painful to hear, echo through the black
fir branches,
Dew forms on the face.
poem by Georg Trakl
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