Belief forages, moving from pasture to pasture.
As a child I was middle-aged and cautious compared to my impulsive father.
The morose one refuses to smile even when he has just had his teeth cleaned.
The aphorism is a slippery plaything.
As the tenor roars his passion, I think sadly of my spreading middle, and his.
In adding up her assets, the ambitious lady calculated the worth of her beautiful body as coldly as everything else.