Alright, the sky misses the sun at night.

I’ve told you a million times to clean your room!

You could have knocked me over with a feather

Thanks to John my car is now as clean as a whistle.

The world is my oyster.

The vines wove their fingers together to form a braid.

Time is money.

This bread is as dry as a bone.

Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul And sings the tune without the words And never stops at all,

Beautiful World of new, superb Birth, that rises to my eyes, Like a limitless golden cloud, filling the western sky;

Why, this country is a shining city on a hill.

I'm so happy I could explode in a thousand pieces!

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