We are all dust passing through the air, the difference is, some are flying high in the sky, while others are flying low. But eventually, we all settle on the same ground.

I kiss her ghost, and sleep with the dust on her photograph, next to my bedside.

People are complaining of having rags and not riches, but I find it a blessing just to have rags, to wipe away the dirt and dust that may come in the course of life.

Before shaking the dust from off your feet, be sure to stomp real good on their faces.

Why after the dust settles, someone has to come by and blow at it, stirring it up into the air again?