Quotes About Weight

This ridiculous foible is perhaps one of our most fatal characteristics; for is there anything more absurd than to wish to carry continually a burden which one can always throw down?

People weigh more after they die, or seem to, and it doesn't make sense. Life should have weight, and leave a body feeling lighter, like a canteen emptied of water.

each look burdened with youth's immemorial obsession not with time's dragging weight which the old live with but with its fluidity: the bright heels of all the lost moments of fifteen and sixteen.

History had its fascinations, but could be burdensome.

In Franklins, a million weighs twenty-two pounds. If you want to keep your weight down, go with the Swiss thousand-franc notes.

but he isn't crazy. Just obsessed. And the obsession has its own shape in his head, its own texture, its own weight. He knows it from himself, can differentiate, so he goes back to it whenever he needs to and checks on it. Monitors it. Makes sure it still isn't him.

era como si Dios revocara la ley de gravedad cuando tienes que cargar una maleta pesada por un corredor de aeropuerto de diez manzanas de largo.

And the precise rating of kisses is terribly difficult rating, often leading to great controversy, because although everyone agrees with the formula of affection times purity times intensity times duration, no ones has ever been completely satisfied with ho much weigh each element should receive.

Loss, once it's become a certainty, is like a rock you hold in your hand. It has weight and dimension and texture. It's solid and can be assessed and dealt with. You can use it to beat yourself or you can throw it away.

At the first meeting, Schlabrendorff says, he had an opportunity to examine Hitler's oversize cap. He was struck by its weight. On examination it proved to be lined with three and a half pounds of steel plating.

People say that losing weight is no walk in the park. When I hear that I think, yeah, that's the problem.

I'm basically the healthiest fat guy you've ever seen.

Of all my dysfunctional behaviors, she hates me putting empty containers back where they don't belong. "I don't care if you weigh seven hundred pounds the rest of your life and don't stop picking your nose till you're forty," she told me once, "but if you put one more empty container anywhere but in the garbage, I'll have you put to sleep.

The extra weight I carry with me is a spiritual issue, and it is never more painfully obvious than when I visit brothers and sisters living in extreme poverty. I have felt the gentle and loving rebuke of the Holy Spirit as I held an underweight child. I have too much, and she does not have enough. It is a painful realization, not only because it exposes my selfishness but also because it is clear to me that my sin is evident to everyone present. Sharing is at the heart of true Christianity.

If the poor overweight jogger only knew how far he had to run to work off the calories in a crust of bread he might find it better in terms of pound per mile to go to a massage parlor.

Sometimes these spirits have been more real to me than people, more real than God. They fill silence with their weight, dense and warm, like bread dough rising under cloth.

What are heavy? sea-sand and sorrow. What are brief? today and tomorrow. What are frail? spring blossoms and youth. What are deep? the ocean and truth.

They wear shorts, although many are long past the age and weight when they ought to have given up such revealing wear

Wie ein Buckel schlepp' ich mein schweres Gehirn.

You live in the past,' Kate said. 'You live in your grandfather's time.' But she was wrong. The past was not something we could live in, because it had nothing to do with life. It was something we lugged about, as heavy as a sack of rotting apples.

Something impossibly heavy that held me in thrall, a scrap of the divine not good for my soul, a thing that should never have been fixed in place on tape to be repeatedly overheard, a thing that stood between me and the telling of secrets.

I think the soul must be heavy and smooth, Myrna: I deduce this from the buoyant, jerky movements of puppets, which lack souls.

I had never seen her wearing lipstick, but knew better than to say so in case she did that mysterious alchemy some girls do and transformed the comment into my accusing her of having gained weight.

What nobody knew about the docile girl from Osogbo was that her heart was too heavy, and that almost from birth she had felt its weight, a gravitational pull that invited her to her grave. Her heart was heavy because it was open, and so things filled it, and so things rushed out of it, but still the heart kept beating, tough and frighteningly powerful and meaning to shrug off the rest of her and continue on its own.