Love melts the rigor which the rocks have bred; a flint will break upon a feather bed.

And he that will to bed go sober, Falls with the leaf still in October

If it weren't for the rocks in its bed, the stream would have no song.

To even make the state tournament was a feather in our hats.

I felt him scrambling. I fell backwards, and when I hit the rocks I felt my back break, like a pop, and my legs went numb.

Life is always a tightrope or a feather bed. Give me the tightrope.