“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] I could have waited until our friend here was at the front door, and yelled with Ruburt’s lungs to call her back. [...]

[...] For indeed I have no wish to burst his lungs apart. [...]

[...] 1963, Florida, a lung difficulty. [...]

[...] Perhaps with an illness connected with the lungs. [...]

([Eva:] “Feel my breath through my lungs or just...”)

[...] Instead, you see, yesterday on two occasions he picked up the fact of his father-in-law’s illness, the phlegm in the father-in-law’s lungs and eschewing heart difficulties. [...]

[...] Then suddenly I was in a very deep trance of which I have no memory—except at the very end, when I was yelling my lungs out, and I believe, flat on the floor crying. [...]

[...] Helen’s husband recently died after an operation for lung cancer; this evening Helen described to Jane a recent experience in which she felt her husband was speaking to her while she slept. [...]

In, I repeat, conventional ideas of evolution,¹ this would be a period in which your kind of consciousness experimented with a water environment, with fins instead of lungs. [...]

[...] One lung was bad. [...]

[...] Now, if it is strong, use whatever commonplace methods are available to you, a punching bag, yell your lungs out if you prefer, but when you are finished then say, “This is a feeling that I have, it was legitimate. [...]

In lungs of leaves,

There is a part of man that Knows, with a capital K. That is the portion of him, of course, that is born and grows to maturity even while the lungs or digestive processes do not read learned treatises on the body’s “machinery,” ⁶ so in our book we will hope to arouse within the reader, of whatever persuasion, a kind of subjective evidence, a resonance between ideas and being. [...]

The trees in the forest
Stand secret and silent,
Their voices suspended
In lungs of leaves
That only can whisper
Of dreams held dormant,
That breathe only once
In a thousand years.

[...] But other tests and X-rays revealed that I had sound lungs—in spite of my smoking—a good heart and stomach and other organs. [...]

into prickly tissue like an air-filled lung

[...] You want to take smoke and air into your lungs. [...]

[...] I have mentioned before that some part of you knows exactly how much oxygen the lungs breathe, and how much energy it takes to pace a floor, and this is the part of you of which I spoke. [...]

[...] Leaning forward at the table, I then heard mother say very distinctly, “Father has a spot on one lung.” [...]

[...] One lung was bad. [...]