Sentences with phrase «kind man noticed»

This story happend in San Francisco, when a very kind man noticed a... [CLICK TO READ MORE]

Not exact matches

One will not fail to notice — although I have suppressed many of the details here — that rites of passage take the male as paradigmatic, that the founders of the major world religions have all been male, and that spiritual quests as recorded throughout history add up to a kind of Million Man March.

One writer called him a vortex disguised as a smudge: energetic on the job, but the kind of man you never notice on the street.

Acting Auditions This place you find up minute casting notices acting roles all kinds fgf - international website where men meet.

What I noticed there were two kinds of men.

sometimes I'm a man of few words, sometimes I'm not the kind of guy that blends into a crowd, Or I can stand out if I want you to notice me.

Among the certainties in the world of film criticism — there will be a series of pieces bemoaning critics» inability to stop a terrible summer film from becoming a blockbuster; Armond White will often stake out a position in opposition to many of his fellow critics; movies about middle - aged men having their mid-life crises sorted out by women well out of their league will always receive mostly kind notices; etc. — there's one that stands above all others.

And notice Richard Kind, so affecting as a man who has lost his wife.

And kind of on a side thing, I noticed in your «man - in - the - street» segment, [actor] James Ransone from «Generation Kill.»

Basically, though, this becomes a very unique boy - and - his - horse story, one that unflinchingly focuses on a young man who's a bit lost and looking for his way in life, the kind of guy we might just walk right by and never notice if it wasn't for that horse right by his side.

For those following the men and their herculean task, she was impossible to notice until the men arrived near the front of the park and it became apparent another kind of «exercise» was unfolding.

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,

There is a film in which the resolution depends on Man M serving notice on a Woman W, whose Agent A has the bright idea of following Man M four timezones to the west and serving notice on Man M several minutes according to the clock before Woman W had been served, despite occurring much later, thereby securing some kind of precedence in a proceeding.

«The politicians and special interest groups pushing this kind of legislation think that nobody will notice — or care — when women and men in low - income communities lose their only source of health care.»

For instance, you may notice you are drawn to unavailable men, but you can resist the temptation to become involved with this kind of man once you recognize this tendency.