A guitar player goes on the road, and he misses his girlfriend for a while, but he manages to get along. A horn player gets out on the road, plays two or three towns, and then he'll get lonely, and next thing you know, he's packed up and left. It's b...
Honestly, I'm on the road so much that I never really get a chance to go to baseball games.
When Rose takes to screaming, she starts loud, continues loud, and ends loud. Rose has a very good ear and always screams on the same note. I'd tested her before I burnt the library, and our piano along with it. Rose screams on the note B flat. We do...
Gargoyles sat on the battlements- lean they were and the same hideous damp grey as the stone. They looked at her with hollow eyes and rattled their silver chains. They had wings of bats or wings or birds, most of them, and licked their beaks or teeth...
Mr. Williquosi, I didn’t mean to stab you in your gums with your fork. I was merely trying to spoon-feed you information.
A thousand years ago the Chinese had an entirely codified kitchen while the French were still gnawing on bones. Chopsticks have been around since the fourth century B.C. Forks didn't show up in England until 1611, and even then they weren't meant for...
One o’ clock. With her fork she would tantalize the heart of an adoring artichoke, while her escort served himself up in the thick, dripping sentences of an enraptured man. Four o’clock: her little feet moving to melody, her face distinct in the ...
I try to learn better, do better. I have no idea how I got to be the one at the front of the classroom, the one who gets to be in charge of things. Most of the time, I feel like the kid who gets to sit at the adult table for the first time at Thanksg...
Two hours later and I had to fork out for her taxi home. Bitch didn’t even give me her number. I wasn’t properly pissed because I’d controlled my urge to drink heavily so I could bone her good and proper when the time came. Fucking joke. No won...
I imagined/felt their palms sweating, their sweat mingling, mutually fertilized, and dripping to the ground, where it gave birth to a scolopendra, the forked ends of its tail bedecked with the sparkle of drying tears. Their sweat would mingle again a...
He begged to know to which of his fair cousins the excellency of its cookery was owing. Briefly forgetting her manners, Mary grabbed her fork and leapt from her chair onto the table. Lydia, who was seated nearest her, grabbed her ankle before she cou...
A writer is like a tuning fork: We respond when we’re struck by something. The thing is to pay attention, to be ready for radical empathy. If we empty ourselves of ourselves we’ll be able to vibrate in synchrony with something deep and powerful. ...
Bilbo Baggins: [as Dwarves start musically banging cutlery on the tables] Careful! You'll blunt them! Bofur: [Amused] Oh, did you hear that, lads? He says we'll blunt the knives! Dwarves: [Gleefully Start Singing] Blunt the Knives! Bend the Forks! Sm...
[trying to coerce his son to get down from jumping off the roof] Max Berman: I'll gouge your right eye out with my thumb, I shit you not, you little freak! Now, will you get down here? I'm gonna punch you in the eye till it turns to jelly! I'll stab ...
As Borges himself showed us in so many stories — "The Aleph", "The Garden of Forking Paths", "The Gift", "Blue Tigers", "Shakespeare's Memory" — a blessing is always a mixed blessing. As Borges noted sadly, he inherited a library, and blindness; ...
The road is not a problem.
We all want progress. But progress means getting nearer to the place where you want to be. And if you have taken a wrong turning then to go forward does not get you any nearer. If you are on the wrong road progress means doing an about-turn and walki...
The wild worship of lawlessness and the materialist worship of law end in the same void. Nietzsche scales staggering mountains, but he turns up ultimately in Tibet. He sits down beside Tolstoy in the land of nothing and Nirvana. They are both helples...
[last lines] Narrator: And so began the journey north to safety, to our place in the sun. Among us we found a new leader - the man who came from the sky... the Gyro-Captain. And just as Pappagallo had planned, we traveled far beyond the reach of men ...
And this is what being an artist means, being a poet? To sacrifice yourself for your art, sacrifice your heart for your art, because it’s only through something broken that something beautiful can grow.
In those days," continued Ishvar, "it seemed to me that that was all one could expect in life. A harsh road strewn with sharp stones and, if you were lucky, a little grain." "And later?" "Later I discovered there were different types of roads. And a ...
