You thought you had the choice to stay still or move forward, but your didn't. As long as your heart kept pumping an your blood kept blowing and your lungs kept filling, you didn't. The pang she felt for Tibby carried something like envy. You couldn't stand still for anything short of death, and God knew she had tried.
There are no lungs like the ones that breathe poetry.
I'm an asthmatic. I have to be on that treadmill singing to get my lungs right.
I want to preach till the last breath in my lungs runs out.
Laugh a lot. It clears the lungs.
