It was a measured response, when I chose to not fire that weapon. I thought about it long & hard, since I couldn’t believe he shot her right in front of me. When does a man not respond in anger when he is upset with the death of a loved one?
There it was, An inch being all that stood between the new economical center of São Paulo and a crumbling wreckage. We all don’t seem to notice that all the hardened strucures around us have a very delicate construction.
it is something that can be done to any thing in the world, love, happiness, wealth, but it is still bullshit. everyone measures things differently. So nothing can be measured objectively. That is what I think about measures in general.
Can love be measured? I don’t think so. Then why does everyone talks about people who love more than others? If there is a measurement for love I want to know how it works.
the time was measured in minutes and hours, but really, for her, it was measured by the amount of times that he took her breath away. when he told her that he loved her, when he finally proposed, and when he told her that all of those things were not true anymore and he was leaving her. Both good and terrible, those moments are the ones that seemed to stop in time and take forever to pass. all she can hope for now is that eventually something else will come along to teal her warm breath again.
I measured painstakingly the colors of your mind. He sat, pondered, thinking, calculating my love, our love. She wondered. Took the ruler, and hid it in the back of the classroom.
My breathing is measured. 3 seconds in, 3 seconds out. I focus on it completely. 3 seconds in. 3 seconds out. Measuring my breathing, the seconds, the sound. There is no room for thoughts of you here now. The measurements just don’t fit.
how can one be measured a good person? Is it by the good one does or simply by the good one thinks they’re doing. And if its the latter, whats the difference?
if there’s always good intentions behind one’s actions, who are you to decifer if that person should be measured up to actually possess goodness?
On the same token, if one’s actions result in a negative effect, regardless of the simple intent, does that “good” action lose all meaning? leaving that person never able to measure up to said ”goodness”?
Chelsea lay in a supine position, listening to what was being told to her. Not really believing what she’d just heard, she weighed her options. In a measured response she said, “John, I believe when should end this now. I don’t believe anyone needs to die over an affair.”
I took the measure of his waste and could feel his cool breath on my neck. “about 36 inches” I heard my self say out loud. This is one of the perks to being in theater/ the costume dept. he starts to walk away and my butterflies start to fade. He turns back around
to measure something. you measure things like body weight or the weight of food. when you measure something you do it to find out how much it weighs. You can also measure the length of something with a ruler, yardstick, or tape measure
Everything I do, I have to weigh it up first. My whole life is carefully measured. Should I buy that apple? It’s on clearance, only 20p and looks nice and ripe. I like apples. I haven’t had apples in – but wait, I have fruit in the fruit bowl at home. I have bananas and oranges, I think. I don’t know. Why don’t I know? I should go back and check. But anyway, the apple. It’s red and green; that’s got to have some kind of Snow White imagery, death, poison, it’s a bad omen. And what about that whole saga about prepackaged food occasionally getting contaminated? Occasionally isn’t safe enough for me. Plus I bet they pump it full of chemicals. Chemicals that probably cause cancer or some other horrible disease.
I measure my life in teaspoons. Life is too short, now I have lost. Why did I let myself continue on in such a manner? Believe in the little blessings, and remember why your here. I have many more teaspoons to go.
Everything has a number, a value assigned to it, about who and what it has to be. I don’t like the word measured. We should be free, not stuck in a routine like this – being measured at every minute of our lives.
She stared down at the number between her feet. Not good enough, she thought. Never good enough. Her life is not measured by the breaths she takes; rather, it’s measured by the number on the scale. It’s been that way for a year now, she’s been keeping count. 130 wasn’t good enough, neither was 120. When she got to 110, she thought maybe just 10 more pounds, and when she got to 100, it still didn’t satisfy her. What ever will?
“The measure of a man”. A measuring cup. Measured and paid for like a handful of grain or rice. Measured in inches, centimeters, miles, kilometers, bravery, passion, or perhaps even audacity. We’re all measured in some way or another, whether by other people – or ourselves.
Her hands measured the sides of his arm. Two wrist lengths. It felt sturdy and solid, something nice to hold onto while she floated in and out of the world. Silly little thought, that maybe she could fly.
By the way I stand tall. By the way I smile. It’s by the way I move through my life and respond to those I encounter along the way. I am measured by my grace or lack of grace. I am seen through eyes of grace or anger. Most important, is the peace and connection I feel to the great “All That Is” of the divine Universe.
I measured my body and sighed. They didn’t have a size big enough for me. It saddened me… to no end. It always does. I want to change but I don’t know how. And some part of me doesn’t want to. Some of me wants to love my body. But I just… don’t. I’m always being measured.
I measured the distance between my hands and your piercing gaze. Though we seemed to be touching tendons, though we seemed to be within kissing distance, though we seemed to be able to clutch each other’s hands, we were distant by miles.
I measured my dress that i was sewing for someone else so that I can make sure it fit the person i was sewing for. I love to measured things. It is fun looking at the numbers on the measuring tape.
I measured my teaspoon and cups so that i can make a great ho made cake. Some time i forget to measure correctly that is way i need the right spoons and cups.
I measured each word like grains of salt and dashed them into the pot for the family to sniff at and sip and spit out.
It was a measured response, when I chose to not fire that weapon. I thought about it long & hard, since I couldn’t believe he shot her right in front of me. When does a man not respond in anger when he is upset with the death of a loved one?
There it was, An inch being all that stood between the new economical center of São Paulo and a crumbling wreckage. We all don’t seem to notice that all the hardened strucures around us have a very delicate construction.
it is something that can be done to any thing in the world, love, happiness, wealth, but it is still bullshit. everyone measures things differently. So nothing can be measured objectively. That is what I think about measures in general.
Measured a measurement of myself to measure myself to the measurements of measuring.
Can love be measured? I don’t think so. Then why does everyone talks about people who love more than others? If there is a measurement for love I want to know how it works.
the time was measured in minutes and hours, but really, for her, it was measured by the amount of times that he took her breath away. when he told her that he loved her, when he finally proposed, and when he told her that all of those things were not true anymore and he was leaving her. Both good and terrible, those moments are the ones that seemed to stop in time and take forever to pass. all she can hope for now is that eventually something else will come along to teal her warm breath again.
I measured painstakingly the colors of your mind. He sat, pondered, thinking, calculating my love, our love. She wondered. Took the ruler, and hid it in the back of the classroom.
My breathing is measured. 3 seconds in, 3 seconds out. I focus on it completely. 3 seconds in. 3 seconds out. Measuring my breathing, the seconds, the sound. There is no room for thoughts of you here now. The measurements just don’t fit.
she is cut in
small segments
divided
as an ant is
into thorax
abdomen
and anxieties
she cries.
A past tense form of the word measure. “I measured the acres of my enormous backyard.”
how can one be measured a good person? Is it by the good one does or simply by the good one thinks they’re doing. And if its the latter, whats the difference?
if there’s always good intentions behind one’s actions, who are you to decifer if that person should be measured up to actually possess goodness?
On the same token, if one’s actions result in a negative effect, regardless of the simple intent, does that “good” action lose all meaning? leaving that person never able to measure up to said ”goodness”?
What was measured does not matter. For you don’t need a measurement; all you really need is heart, passion and love for whatever you do best.
Chelsea lay in a supine position, listening to what was being told to her. Not really believing what she’d just heard, she weighed her options. In a measured response she said, “John, I believe when should end this now. I don’t believe anyone needs to die over an affair.”
In my youth I thought I was measured by my worth to others. But I can only be measured by the worth of those who are other to me.
I measured my love for you in the bunches
of flowers I brought you.
Roses, lilies, carnations.
You let them die within days.
I took the measure of his waste and could feel his cool breath on my neck. “about 36 inches” I heard my self say out loud. This is one of the perks to being in theater/ the costume dept. he starts to walk away and my butterflies start to fade. He turns back around
to measure something. you measure things like body weight or the weight of food. when you measure something you do it to find out how much it weighs. You can also measure the length of something with a ruler, yardstick, or tape measure
Everything I do, I have to weigh it up first. My whole life is carefully measured. Should I buy that apple? It’s on clearance, only 20p and looks nice and ripe. I like apples. I haven’t had apples in – but wait, I have fruit in the fruit bowl at home. I have bananas and oranges, I think. I don’t know. Why don’t I know? I should go back and check. But anyway, the apple. It’s red and green; that’s got to have some kind of Snow White imagery, death, poison, it’s a bad omen. And what about that whole saga about prepackaged food occasionally getting contaminated? Occasionally isn’t safe enough for me. Plus I bet they pump it full of chemicals. Chemicals that probably cause cancer or some other horrible disease.
So I don’t buy the apple.
I also never leave the house.
Measured is a strange word, what is to be measured, a cat a dog a house. Why do different countries have different measurements?
We always try to measure something. It is not like that we want to add a meaning to it. we just want to measure it for compare it to other things.
I measure my life in teaspoons. Life is too short, now I have lost. Why did I let myself continue on in such a manner? Believe in the little blessings, and remember why your here. I have many more teaspoons to go.
Everything has a number, a value assigned to it, about who and what it has to be. I don’t like the word measured. We should be free, not stuck in a routine like this – being measured at every minute of our lives.
Precisely taken. Every number amazingly important. Measured with much detail, as if the world’s fate was determined by it.
She stared down at the number between her feet. Not good enough, she thought. Never good enough. Her life is not measured by the breaths she takes; rather, it’s measured by the number on the scale. It’s been that way for a year now, she’s been keeping count. 130 wasn’t good enough, neither was 120. When she got to 110, she thought maybe just 10 more pounds, and when she got to 100, it still didn’t satisfy her. What ever will?
“The measure of a man”. A measuring cup. Measured and paid for like a handful of grain or rice. Measured in inches, centimeters, miles, kilometers, bravery, passion, or perhaps even audacity. We’re all measured in some way or another, whether by other people – or ourselves.
I have never measured anything properly so I really can’t bake anything right.
My auntie measured her stuff so she can make her bakings good.
I measured the length of my phone.
the man measured the boys height
the man measured his weight
every class is measured by the amount of students
when he jumped, the judge measured the distance.
i measured the distance to punch dale in the face cause hes mean
If i measured the distance from show low to canada the distance would be very far.
Her hands measured the sides of his arm. Two wrist lengths. It felt sturdy and solid, something nice to hold onto while she floated in and out of the world. Silly little thought, that maybe she could fly.
By the way I stand tall. By the way I smile. It’s by the way I move through my life and respond to those I encounter along the way. I am measured by my grace or lack of grace. I am seen through eyes of grace or anger. Most important, is the peace and connection I feel to the great “All That Is” of the divine Universe.
I measured my body and sighed. They didn’t have a size big enough for me. It saddened me… to no end. It always does. I want to change but I don’t know how. And some part of me doesn’t want to. Some of me wants to love my body. But I just… don’t. I’m always being measured.
I measured the distance between my hands and your piercing gaze. Though we seemed to be touching tendons, though we seemed to be within kissing distance, though we seemed to be able to clutch each other’s hands, we were distant by miles.
I measured my dress that i was sewing for someone else so that I can make sure it fit the person i was sewing for. I love to measured things. It is fun looking at the numbers on the measuring tape.
I measured my teaspoon and cups so that i can make a great ho made cake. Some time i forget to measure correctly that is way i need the right spoons and cups.