She has changed in this way that motherhood changes you, so that you forget you ever had time for small things like despising the color pink.
Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry.
It is a thing of no great difficulty to raise objections against another man's oration, it is a very easy matter; but to produce a better in it's place is a work extremely troublesome.
And it will often happen that a man with wealth in the form of coined money will not have enough to eat; and what a ridiculous kind of wealth is that which even in abundance will not save you from dying with hunger!
As bronze may be much beautified by lying in the dark damp soil, so men who fade in dust of warfare fade fairer, and sorrow blooms their soul.
Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone; For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, But has trouble enough of its own.
El llanto es tan saludable como el sudor, y más poético. Hay que aplicarlo siempre que sea posible como la medicina antigua aplicaba la sangría.
You know what?” His breath was warm against my cheek. “There are a lot of stupid things to do, but I really want to do the stupidest thing possible.” “What’s that?” “I want to kiss you.
It’s not great. What kind of connection is this? A one-way hotline to Pervyville?” I took a step forward, on a roll now. “It’s disgusting. Freaky—stop laughing, Seth!
You told me you wanted to marry Seth's bed, and then you told me you'd marry me if I asked. After that, you started to-" "Enough," I groaned, wanting to crawl under the blankets.
Since when do you care about rules?" "I'm a changed person." "When did you change? Just now? 'Cuz I heard about your smack down in the cafeteria yesterday.
For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.
Our stories are what we have,” Our Good Mother says. “Our stories preserve us. we give them to one another. Our stories have value. Do you understand?
Solitude is a human presumption. Every quiet step is thunder to beetle life underfoot, a tug of impalpable thread on the web pulling mate to mate and predator to prey, a beginning or an end.
For her own breakfast she'll project a scheme, Nor take her tea without a strategem.
The trip to Mars can only be understood through Black Americans. I say, the trip to Mars can only be understood through Black Americans.
Not even I can see all ends, but I have been in this world long enough to know that a choice is not choice and breeds slow ills, even were it done for the highest reasons.
Nostalgia locates desire in the past where it suffers no active conflict and can be yearned toward pleasantly.
Golf is a worrier's game, inward, concentrated, a matter of inches, invented by the same people who gave us Presbyterianism.
Twenty years after we had left so fierce and proud, we were all right back where we had started, yoked to each other and the same old drama.
Beauty, my first girlfriend said to me, is that inner quality often associated with great amounts of leisure time.