if i was in such a hurry that i couldn’t write this- i wouldn’t write this. but here i am in no hurry on a bed in pajamas and in a home that i knew as a child. one of the few places i probably feel the least hurry in life. east coast is all hurry anyway. hurry, neurotic people, and people who get things done. west coast is all about food, family, and non-hurrying relaxing.
I have to hurry i have to get ready fast, this world doesn’t wait on anyone you have to be in pace with it, it doesn’t give you any time to enjoy life you have to hurry and get with it the world is not about having fun, no leaving freely and being yourself you just have to be like everyone else the same as everyone, not different or UNIQUE
I was always in such a hurry. Always running, always shoving food in my mouth like there was no tomorrow, always giving a quick peck on the cheek before hurrying on again. Now the only thing hurrying is the blood pouring from my chest.
Lucy was in a hurry. Come on, come on, work! She willed the device she’d created to spur to life. Nothing. She was doomed if it didn’t work. It had to, it must. Come on, come on… a movement. For one second, but then it stopped as fast as it had started. Behind her the footsteps got closer.
A second, to make it. You dash in a hurry. Jumping, and leaping. Past the horrific crowds of screaming and pushing. You manage to get across, dancing, and smiling. Quick, and light, and nimble on your toes. You fly overhead, like a fairy or an angel. However you did it, your at the front of the line. The first one to get: a glimpse of Santa Claus.
We had to hurry, time was of the essence. If we didn’t get to him in time, with the rock fully intact, he was going to die. We sped over the football pitch that separated us, dreading the outcome of the meet.
He was always in a hurry; running from one pin point in his life and rushing to the next. He was never late but rather a week too early, and he liked it that way. You see, he thought, perhaps, that if he could stay ahead, time might not catch up with him. He hoped, perhaps, that if he could outsmart the system somehow, his past would erase itself. He could start new, over and over again. So he hurried from one place to the next, as his hair grew grey and his eyes missed the life around him that he was too busy to notice.
I don’t have the time for this. I can’t put up with all the weight and stress and words and sounds and gestures of people who don’t genuinely respect any of my decisions unless they exist in their desired context – ‘you don’t love me’, ‘you aren’t a good person’, ‘you don’t deserve this’, just because I don’t act like you.
if i was in such a hurry that i couldn’t write this- i wouldn’t write this. but here i am in no hurry on a bed in pajamas and in a home that i knew as a child. one of the few places i probably feel the least hurry in life. east coast is all hurry anyway. hurry, neurotic people, and people who get things done. west coast is all about food, family, and non-hurrying relaxing.
I have to hurry i have to get ready fast, this world doesn’t wait on anyone you have to be in pace with it, it doesn’t give you any time to enjoy life you have to hurry and get with it the world is not about having fun, no leaving freely and being yourself you just have to be like everyone else the same as everyone, not different or UNIQUE
I was always in such a hurry. Always running, always shoving food in my mouth like there was no tomorrow, always giving a quick peck on the cheek before hurrying on again. Now the only thing hurrying is the blood pouring from my chest.
Lucy was in a hurry. Come on, come on, work! She willed the device she’d created to spur to life. Nothing. She was doomed if it didn’t work. It had to, it must. Come on, come on… a movement. For one second, but then it stopped as fast as it had started. Behind her the footsteps got closer.
A second, to make it. You dash in a hurry. Jumping, and leaping. Past the horrific crowds of screaming and pushing. You manage to get across, dancing, and smiling. Quick, and light, and nimble on your toes. You fly overhead, like a fairy or an angel. However you did it, your at the front of the line. The first one to get: a glimpse of Santa Claus.
They tell her, Hurry up or you’ll miss it
She replies, Slow down or you’ll pass it
We had to hurry, time was of the essence. If we didn’t get to him in time, with the rock fully intact, he was going to die. We sped over the football pitch that separated us, dreading the outcome of the meet.
He was always in a hurry; running from one pin point in his life and rushing to the next. He was never late but rather a week too early, and he liked it that way. You see, he thought, perhaps, that if he could stay ahead, time might not catch up with him. He hoped, perhaps, that if he could outsmart the system somehow, his past would erase itself. He could start new, over and over again. So he hurried from one place to the next, as his hair grew grey and his eyes missed the life around him that he was too busy to notice.
I don’t have the time for this. I can’t put up with all the weight and stress and words and sounds and gestures of people who don’t genuinely respect any of my decisions unless they exist in their desired context – ‘you don’t love me’, ‘you aren’t a good person’, ‘you don’t deserve this’, just because I don’t act like you.
Hurry up. I am going to be late the white rabbit said to Alice as they went off to see the Queen. You know that Queen is such a. Just hurry.
Estar apurado no es más que el fastidio del hombre por llegar a un lugar que no tiene razón.