Walt Morey Quotes

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Man has to fight for what he wants, any way he can.

Walt Morey
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Man has to fight for what he wants, any way he can.

Walt Morey
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When plan doesn't work do not change the goal, Change the plan ! #beingemployee

Stella Morey
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A lot of what people did and said when they "predicted" things, Morey now realized, was phony: pretending to know things rather than actually knowing things. There were a great many interesting questions in the world to which the only honest answer was, "It's impossible to know for sure".

Michael Lewis, The Undoing Project: A Friendship that Changed the World
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do you dare to step in-to the vulnerable black, stripped to the soul with human blindness – when the full and weeping moon steps from the shade of a tumult of mountains – when, in the fragrant dim, day's tree stump transformsinto some nether-worldly other – when time's skin is thin and you arebared – when there is nothing between you and the Wildest Onewhose name is your own?

Beth Morey, Night Cycles: Poetry for a Dark Night of the Soul
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what is poetry if not seeing and feeling, and feeling, feelings running deepand okay – do I see, notice the gray pigeon feathers that heave by on drafts of passing cars reeking, leaking gasoline fumesand okay – do I feel?

Beth Morey, Night Cycles: Poetry for a Dark Night of the Soul
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we have forgotten what night tastes like, salted by full moon silver rupturingthe dark. we have forgotten how the skin sings when the lunar fervor unfurls across its follicles.

Beth Morey, Night Cycles: Poetry for a Dark Night of the Soul
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I am at the gates of my own destruction.(Or so I'm told.)

Beth Morey, Night Cycles: Poetry for a Dark Night of the Soul
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God,is there no faith left?He has not told. I would not know Him if I saw Him.

Beth Morey, Night Cycles: Poetry for a Dark Night of the Soul
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absencelooks like a lake bed flooded with skysounds like cotton howlingtastes like tear-stained pillowssmells like churning bile and burnt hairfeels like screaming agony, my heart dying and dying

Beth Morey, Night Cycles: Poetry for a Dark Night of the Soul
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I wonder what freezesthe flurry of hurt on her cold-flushed cheeks, if his touch isa salve or the shattering.

Beth Morey, Night Cycles: Poetry for a Dark Night of the Soul
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