Quotes About Sweat

We constantly fight an unseen enemy. God has assured us the victory, but He has told us to take an aggressive stand against the evil one, covering ourselves in His armor. We're going to win, but victory is going to take blood, sweat, and tears—His blood, our sweat, and tears from us both.

Pain was better than anxiety any day of the week and sweat was better than depression.

Somehow, it was hotter then: a black dog suffered on a summer's day; bony mules hitched to Hoover carts flicked flies in the sweltering shade of the live oaks on the square. Men's stiff collars wilted by nine in the morning. Ladies bathed before noon, after their three o'clock naps, and by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcum.

When I pointed to him his palms slipped slightly, leaving greasy sweat streaks on the wall, and he hooked his thumbs in his belt. A strange small spasm shook him, as if he heard fingernails scrape slate, but as I gazed at him in wonder the tension slowly drained from his face. His lips parted into a timid smile, and our neighbor's image blurred with my sudden tears. "Hey, Boo," I said.

Looks like another scorcher today

You're here to sweat. This program is live. There's about one thousand million people watching you. So, you remember - one wrong word, one foolish gesture and your whole career could go down in flames. Hold that thought and have a nice night.

Those lactate sessions were the worst. I'd be in a lab on a turbo trainer and I'd do four 30-second efforts at 100 percent effort.

By being an athlete, I have uncovered so many other ways to express my beauty. Being a strong, fearless woman makes me feel beautiful. I love the way I look and feel when I am two hours into my training and my skin is glistening with sweat and my clothes are drenched because I have given it all I've got.

Throwing on a hoodie and headphones and getting lost in a long run is pure freedom for me. I embrace the trance, the intense sweat and, of course, the endorphin release.

Flora had also learned the degraded art of 'tasting' unread books, and now, whenever her skimming eye lit on a phrase about heavy shapes, or sweat, or howls or bedposts, she just put the book back on the shelf, unread.

She didn't know where she was, and there was nowhere for her to go, and for just one moment, sweat pouring down her face, she felt free.

A few other couples joined us on the dance floor and we lost ourselves among them. I'd never been able to figure out exactly what was involved in slow dancing, so I contented myself, as I had since high school, with gripping my partner to me, letting out awkward breaths against her ear, and tipping from foot to foot like someone waiting for a bus. I could feel the sweat cooling on her forearms and smell a trace of apples in her hair.

She and I had lost each other long ago in those confusions and silences. But now, beside this infant, we were within an intimacy, as when sweat covered her face after a seizure and I would hug her to me. When being wordless had been best.

I've got a song called 'Salt Skin' because when you run in the heat it evaporates and you've got salt crystals on your face. I love that, because it means you've worked really hard.

The proportions of these salts and minerals in our tissues are uncannily similar to those in sea water—we sweat and cry sea water, as Margulis and Sagan have put it—but curiously we cannot tolerate them as an input.

Children do much better with extreme cold than with extreme heat. Because their sweat glands aren't fully developed, they don't sweat freely as adults do.

As Jablonski has written, "The loss of most of our body hair and the gain of the ability to dissipate excess body heat through eccrine sweating helped to make possible the dramatic enlargement of our most temperature-sensitive organ, the brain." That, she says, is how sweat helped to make you brainy.

to wipe his brow and look sourly at his immediate future.

the palms don't sweat in response to physical exertion or heat, but only from stress.

With you I'm jealous of what is obscure, unconscious, of something in which explanations are unthinkable, of something that cannot be puzzled out. I'm jealous of your toilet things, of the drops of sweat on your skin, of the infectious diseases borne on the air, which may affect you and poison your blood.

The sky, drunk with spring and giddy with its fumes, thickened with clouds. Low clouds, drooping at the edges like felt sailed over the woods and rain leapt from them, warm, smelling of soil and sweat, and washing the last of the black armor-plating of ice from the earth.

The writer has two kinds of faith: actual writing and sitting openly. Have faith in your personal effort or sweat. And faith in God, or whatever you want to call it. Then the voices will come. Faith is the big deal.

Real terror is a crippling experience. You sweat so much that your skin goes all wrinkly like when you've been in the bath all afternoon. And then the scent of your sweat changes. It smells like cat pee, no doubt from the adrenalin. However hard you wash, it won't come off. It smothers you, as your muscles become frozen with acid and your mind paralysed by despair.

Many in Jebba who had fallen foul of Hasmun had had cause to dread that reliable return, darkness which brought jeweled stares and jeweled pins and pain jeweled with tears and sweat.