Still as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy.

I wander lonely streets
behind where the old Thames does flow
And in every face I meet
reminds me of what I have run for

I get by with a little help from my friends.

The friends of my friends are my friends.

When you turn your back on someone, they come running after you.

But whenever my consciousness was quickened, all those early friends were quickened within it, and in some strange way they accompanied me through all my new experiences. They were so much alive in me that I scarcely stopped to wonder whether they were alive anywhere else. Or how.

My chief consolation in this year of living dyingly has been the presence of friends.

My days among the Dead are past;
Around me I behold,
Where'er these casual eyes are cast,
The mighty minds of old;
My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.

My so-called friends have fallen under a spell: they look me squarely in the eye and say, "Well; all is well."

Tenho amigos para saber quem eu sou.

I keep a group of close-knit friends who inspire, build and challenge me to grow in my career.

Many kids have started running in Debremarkos after watching me.

My friends have made the story of my life.

It seems to me that poverty is an eyeglass through which one may see his true friends.