The poet William Cullen Bryant, in his work, "The Battle-Field," wrote, Truth, crushed to the ground, will rise again; The eternal years of God are hers.
After my parents divorced, my mother married again to a nice man with silver hair and a Maine accent who loved her deeply, but who had a series of long and ugly strokes that ground him down and drained his life for five eternal years until finally he begged her to let him die to get relief from the horror of lifeless living.
Joys ever young, unmix'd with pain or fear, Fill the wide circle of the eternal year: Stern winter smiles on that auspicious clime: The fields are florid with unfading prime; From the bleak pole no winds inclement blow, Mould the round hail, or flake the fleecy snow; But from the breezy deep the blest inhale The fragrant murmurs of the western gale.
On this day, the place is in the middle of Santa Monica's Clover Park, an old Dodger throwing with young Dodger, just another impossibility that happened in his eternal year of the improbable.
I spent one eternal hellish year -- ninth grade -- in private high school.
For baseball fans, hope is supposed to spring eternal each year as the groundskeepers groom the outfield grass and comb the basepaths for the home opener.
WaveRunners, police boats, fireboats, rod-studded outboards, garbage barges, tugs, container ships, sailboats, water taxis, yachts: the bustle offers the eternal five-year-old a live-action immersion in a Richard Scarry book.
There is about him an air of an eternal twelve-year-old prodigy, smitten with warfare, natural disaster, and fantastic invention and twitchy about sex and other grownup preoccupations.
(Carey has often described herself as an "eternal twelve-year-old," an assertion borne out by her enthusiasm not just for rainbows, butterflies, and glitter — all of which appear on her album covers — but for the songs that were actually on the radio when she was a teen-ager).
She managed to live through the ugliest century of world history as though she were an eternal 11-year-old girl, still convinced that virtue reigns supreme and that beauty is its own reward and that, in the end, love will always turn sorrow to happiness.
Beirut's Zach Condon has always seemed like a songwriter lost on an eternal gap year – his recorded output has journeyed through eastern Europe (2006's Gulag Orkestar), Paris (2007's The Flying Club Cup) and Mexico (2009's March of the Zapotec EP).
