There's a hard life for every silver spoon. There's a touch of gray for every shade of blue. That's the way I see life. If there was nothing wrong... Then there'd be nothing right.
They always call depression the blues, but I would have been happy to waken to a periwinkle outlook. Depression to me is urine yellow, washed out, exhausted miles of weak piss.
I didn't have to go all the way to India for spiritual enlightenment. The blue-collar spirituality of everyday life was right in front of me, it was in every nook and cranny if I wanted to seek it, but I had chosen to ignore it.
Gratitude is medicine for a heart devastated by tragedy. If you can only be thankful for the blue sky, then do so.
It's the colors that will make you stray. They sing to you, the not-blue and the searing light, and no matter how tightly you tie yourself to the inbetween, eventually you will break free. No one swims only in the shallow water.
Then sail, my fine lady, on the billowing wave - The water below is as dark as the grave, And maybe you'll sink in your little blue boat - It's hope, and hope only, that keeps us afloat
The wine must have done its job, because I am relaxed and finally at ease. Yes, it’s definitely the wine. Otherwise I wouldn't have started singing out of the blue in a million years.
We made love like two tuna fish flying to Mars to eat blue pickles. Then I woke up and went back to work, fishing for aquamarine vinegarized cucumbers found in aquatic conditions.
Give me a moon-blanket night to keep me warm a long-gone smile to comfort me a pair of rain-blue eyes to haunt me a simple soul ...to love me.
My hush is lush. It’s drunk on its own greenness, just as I’m drunk on my blue silence. What would you say if I asked you to turquoise?
I wish to stay drenched forever in those rain-blue eyes in those...soul-reaching crystals not moving a muscle nor breathing just savoring this turquoise ache against my heart.
I think about my mother singing after lunch on a Summer afternoon, twirling in blue dress across the floor of her dressing room
Lying down gazing at the cerulean blue-black sky, she slid her hands down to intertwine her fingers with his. "I love you," she whispers.
I was especially perceptive to all things beautiful that morning—raspberries in blue china bowls were enough to make the heart sing.
They flew high above savanna grassland. The sky was the deep cornflower blue of a sunny late afternoon on Earth…exactly the color of a sunny late afternoon on Earth. Only there was no sun. Whatever was lighting this planet, it wasn’t a star.
It was the hat. He looked sweet in the hat. How could a man in a fuzzy blue hat have used human bones to pave his roads?
I love to soar in the boundless sky. In the vast emptiness of the blue, my soul rejoices listening to the soundless music of the wind.
Here grew willows and alders, their trunks twisted like giants’ sinews. Around them bark lichen bloomed blue-white in the darkness. It felt like a good place, where there was old magic.
He unbuckled his belt and pulled off his blue jeans and boxers. I guess I had forgotten his actual size and I blushed at the sight of him. This was gonna hurt.
Nature" is another name for the miracles that are so commonplace in our lives that we take for granted and have grown used to seeing them.
When I act, I feel like I am a color in someone else's painting - I can be the best blue that there is, but I'm still only part of their entire picture - but, with music, when I am performing with Reserved For Rondee, I am the painter, you know?
