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The life line is one of the three major lines the other two are head line and heart line in palm reading.

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It starts from the palm edge between the thumb and forefinger and extends to the base of the thumb. You can find its exact location from the right picture. Most of the people may think the line is used to see the length of one's life. It's a partial understanding. In fact, it mainly reflects a person's physical vitality and life energy. Also, it shows if one will have accidents or serious illnesses during the whole life. No Life Line: If other lines of your palm are clear and only the life line is absent, it's not a good sign.

It indicates a poor health and a short life. You are easy to get sick or have accidents during the whole life. Fig 2. Fig 1. Also, you are cautious when it comes to relationships Fig 1. Especially, you have a strong resistance to disease and self recovery ability after illness. In addition, you usually can receive additional strength and support from family members.

Chinese Palm Line Reading – Life Line

Please find out the ages on the life line from the picture. Divide the life line into two equal parts, the middle place indicates the age of Then connect it to the middle place of the ring and middle fingers. Draw a parallel line to the first line from the middle place of the index and middle fingers to the life line. She lived a life of ease and idleness. He had many different jobs during his working life.

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It is now believed that there may be life on Mars; animal life. He has written a life of Churchill. He was given life for murder. The actress gave a lifeless performance. The statue was very lifelike; a lifelike portrait. The boy is being taught life-saving. He saw many changes in his lifetime. I went to the party and there was John as large as life.

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His lectures really brought the subject to life. The play did not come to life until the last act.

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They became friends for life. I couldn't for the life of me remember his name! It is a sin to take life. When he put on that uniform, he was Napoleon to the life. Children are dying. Then I recite this lovely and haunting line, what passes for morning prayer, to prevent myself from going numb, and to keep a spark of faith, no matter how dim, alive in this new millennium. God, give us a long winter and quiet music, and patient mouths, and a little pride--before our age ends.

The lines of this prayer by Adam Zagajewski come to me at least once week when I see--and fight not to absorb--the pain of conflict that exists at every level in the world--whether it is listening to the rising death toll from the most recent war, enduring yet another rumor about the conflict between the administration and faculty at the university where I work, or trying to understand the most recent fight for control within the sports boosters association at my children's school.

We feed too much our hunger to win and be right. We value too little the spark of creativity and beauty that gets extinguished when we fail to nurture the best in ourselves and in others. I do, me.

LifeLines - definition of LifeLines by The Free Dictionary

When I am exhausted in the fight, I remember these words. I pray these words. Then I found the lines bestowed on me a way to deal with November, a happy and tragic month in my family of scattered siblings, a month with four more of our birthdays including my own, but also the anniversary of deaths--our parents and a younger brother--when we were all very young.

We eleven siblings grew up separated by great distances, but I am always amazed when we get together how well we know and love and enjoy each other. So in November I remember the families that took me and my brothers and sisters in. I remind myself, smiling quietly, about the futility of anger. In , in a huge lecture hall filled with restless and very young students, I heard I. Richards read Shakespeare's 73rd sonnet in his sonorous, unforgettable voice.

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I became an instant English major. The line that resonated with me most, despite my conviction that I would never grow old myself, was "bare ruin'd choirs where late the sweet birds sang. Now, of course, it runs through my head, it even gives me pleasure, every time I look in the mirror with my glasses on. Sing only this for me, sing me this well, and I shall say at once before the world the grace of heaven has given us a song. These lines run through my mind any number of times each day.

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The lines remind me that every moment of life has a bit of music about it, a bit of poetry hidden in it. Whether I am looking at the blooming of a beautiful flower garden, or watching the traffic on the city streets, these lines help me find the pleasing rhythm that exists in all of us. I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous, or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular, but because it never forgot what it could do.

We all want to be great, don't we?

I want to write fantastic poetry and be known to all the world. I want to be famous. But when I read "Famous" by Naomi Nye, and particularly these lines, I began to wonder if being famous could mean being common and useful as well as extraordinary and worshiped. Everyone knows what a pulley is, or a buttonhole.

We use them every day, and although we may not sing their praises in poetic verse, we would dearly miss them if they were gone. I want to be comfortable to people. I don't want to be in the limelight; I want to be in the dim light, in the place everyone comes home to, to a place where I would be missed if I were gone. Long about February, when winter's darkness still hovers, I begin thinking of spring and my first grandson's birthday on Feb. I always purchase hyacinths. Their fragrance reminds me of my fourth grade teacher, Mary Sue Hendrix, who introduced me to the sweetness of hyacinths, good literature, and her own enthusiastic love of poetry and writing.

Mary Sue is long gone but each year she lives again in that heavenly scent. I was the last person to visit her the evening she died, bearing gifts of hyacinths and a rag doll in the form of an angel. When my mother was hospitalized Mary Sue took me home with her to spend many a night. Having no children of her own, she collected dolls and her home was full of them. She charmed me and the dolls which surrounded my bed with stories and poems - it became our bedtime ritual. This year, when my grandson turned six, his gift was a homemade "grannie illustrated" book of classic poems for children featuring this poem and a large arrangement of hyacinths delivered to his front door.

If of thy mortal goods thou art bereft, and from thy slender store Two loaves alone to thee are left, Sell one, and with the dole Buy Hyacinths to feed thy Soul.

Rather than bemoaning his fate and giving in to old age, Ulysses refuses to stop. I hope others see me like that. Silence, imperial silence, I have felt your beauty In the hour of formlessness; it cupped me up Like an autumn wind moving into space. Monumental silence, I too have something to tell, I too have a passion to arise, and the honor To possess this passion—. Carlos Bulosan's poems were published in the US in the 30's, 40's, and 50's and he died alone and forgotten in Seattle because of poverty.

The two times I had spoken up and pointed out a racist comment uttered by some white guys, I was beaten up and kicked around with cowboy boots. I remembered these life saving words by Carlos Bulosan because he, too, also survived many beatings.



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