Sentences with phrase «let you know about them tomorrow»

Will let you know about them tomorrow.

Not exact matches

Tomorrow is my birthday and the older I get, I have less shame in my game letting everyone know about it.

Let me know what you think about my SHINDIG tomorrow.

I will not be categorical about whether the President will get it tonight or tomorrow (today) but I just want to let you know that we have just taken delivery of the preview copy and Nigerians will be very happy, very soon,» Enang said.

Hi Erlene, just coming back over to let you know I love this tray so much I will be featuring it tomorrow on my blog at our Something to Talk About Link Party as well as on Facebook, Twitter, Google Plus and Instagram so I hope you'll come back over to check it out and join us again for our Link Party.

Dear Katherine, just to let you know that tomorrow (April 6th) I will spread the word about your blog hop in a blog post dedicated to friendly fashion blogger link ups Hope you'll stop by and say hi Ciao Valeria, Coco et La vie en rose

Look out for part 2 of our 2016 preview tomorrow and let us know which forthcoming releases you're most excited about @LWLies

Which means that we caught you just in time to let you know about an additional option for those of you who, like me, simply must immerse themselves in all things FINAL FANTASY - related — namely, the brand spanking new FINAL FANTASY XIII personal space (as well as the corresponding furniture items) that is releasing tomorrow, March 11 into the ever - expanding world of PlayStation Home.

If you haven't seen anything about Aliens: Isolation yet, check out the launch trailer below, and be sure to let us know if you plan to pick up the game when it releases tomorrow, October 7th, for the PS3, PS4, Xbox One, Xbox 360, and PC.

, 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,

Let your brother in law know that it will be on his record and credit and there is nothing you can do about it if he's not out by tomorrow.