[Holmes detects that an assassin is hiding on the ceiling and preparing to kill Simza; he compares taking the man out to preparing an omelet] Sherlock Holmes: [voice-over] First, pillage the nest. Clip wings. Now, blunt his beak. Crack eggs. Scramble...
And strange were the tales of the pond in the meadow, And eager we listened with eyes opened wide To Those tales often told by poor Mary the widow, Who lived in a cottage the meadow beside. Play not, my dear boys, near the pond in the meadow, The mer...
Hide the miles between us Run to me Like you run your Fingers through my hair Desire in every digit, in every touch. Run to me Like rivers run in springtime Filled with renewing love As they do with the melting snow. Fly to me As the birds fly the co...
Just as you cannot stop a bird from flying over your head, in the same way you cannot stop the devil from dropping ideas into your mind. However, in the same way that you can stop a bird from building a nest on your head, you can stop the Enemy’s s...
Never, my little one, hide anything from those that love you. Never let anything that makes itself a nest in your heart, grow into a secret, for then at once it will begin to eat a hole in it.
You buy furniture. You tell yourself, this is the last sofa I will ever need in my life. Buy the sofa, then for a couple years you're satisfied that no matter what goes wrong, at least you've got your sofa issue handled. Then the right set of dishes....
In one of his last newsletters, Mike Ranney wrote: "In thinking back on the days of Easy Company, I'm treasuring my remark to a grandson who asked, 'Grandpa, were you a hero in the war?' No,'" I answered, 'but I served in a company of heroes.
And John Kearns whispered into my ear: "Do you see it now? *You* are the nest. *You* are the hatchling. *You* are the chrysalis. *You* are the progeny. *You* are the rot that falls from the stars. All of us--you and I and poor, dear Pellinore. Behold...
LIKE MOTHER, LIKE LOVER There is the mother Who cooks too much To feed her children, And there is the mother Who cooks too little, Or not at all. There is the bird That returns to its nest With just a frail worm And feeds it to her babies, And there ...
Oh, what strange wonderful clocks women are. They nest in Time. They make the flesh that holds fast and binds eternity. They live inside the gift, know power, accept, and need not mention it. Why speak of time when you are Time, and shape the univers...
In the evenings, Sam performs exercises to prepare his body for love-making with Franz. He practices kissing (something he’d once hated) by smooching deer lips, antelope ears, frog anuses, and the great, whiskered muzzles of sleeping bison. He impr...
Then there was the church and the villagers on the sidewalks, the red geraniums on the graves in the cemetery, Perez fainting (he crumpled over like a rag doll), the blood-red earth spilling over Maman's casket, the white flesh of the roots mixed in ...
We'd just shared the last beer and slung the empty can out the window at a stop sign and were just waiting back to get the feel of the day, swimming in that kind of tasty drowsiness that comes over you after a day of going hard at something you enjoy...
I discovered at an early age that I was - shall we be kind and say different? It's a better, more general word than the other one... I got sick... It was the feeling that the great, deadly pointing forefinger of society was pointing at me - and the g...
I been silent so long now it’s gonna roar out of me like floodwaters and you think the guy telling this is ranting and raving my God; you think this is too horrible to have really happened, this is too awful to be the truth! But, please. It’s sti...
I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed Against the earth's sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins ...
What's happened is somewhere, along the line, as a society, we confused the notion of 'home' with the possibility of 'an investment opportunity'. What kind of creature wants to live in an 'investment opportunity'? Only man. The fox has his den. The b...
Life is a great poetry. To live it at its best Write a love story And be a great poet. Life is a great poetry. To love it at its best Love everyone earnestly, Without judging for a crest. Life is a great poetry. To live it at its best Create a great ...
I'd rather you shot at tin cans in the back yard, but i know you'll go after birds. Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit 'em, but remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird..... Mockingbirds don't do one thing to but make music for us to en...
Peace is a butterfly Flying flower to flower With a song in her heart But a great love for the beauty With a great purpose and duty. Peace is a new father Searching for a job With courage and vigor With a smile and rigor But with a great need for mon...
Night Nurse: Mr. Turkle? McMurphy: Where the fuck is he, why doesn't he answer her? Taber: He's jerkin' off somewhere. Orderly Turkle: Ain't no one jerkin' off nowhere muthafucker! McMurphy: Turkle what the fuck are you doing in here? Go out and talk...
