Especially as I was an old friend, or at least I was a person she had known for a long time, which after a certain point is almost the same thing...
You're paved in my heart like an old road. Like the pebbles in a pebble field, dirt in dirt, dust in dust, cobwebs in cobwebs.
Jesus sleeps on the cross by the church door. When he wakes up, he'll be old. The air in the village will be brighter than his naked skin.
That poem is so damned long. You'd think old Walt could have taken a line or two to tell us how to unscrew the door from its jamb.
Next door I could hear the old man’s soul flap its heavy vermillion butterfly wings as the hustler shot a load down his throat.
Goddamn it, do it yourself. You’re five hundred years old and you can’t use a telephone? Read the directions. What are you, an immortal idiot?
There was the smell of old books, a smell that has a way of making all libraries seem the same. Some say that smell is asbestos.
Can you imagine how your life would be if you couldn't talk?
There was something vaguely sad about the rock. It was as old as it looked, standing weathered and lonely amidst the stretch of sand, and its thoughts were quiet as it listened to the waves.
And what is the problem? It is the old problem of the anxious searcher - the mythic in the interior castle, the poet-pilgrim in a dark wood not sure how to proceed. Which way is the right way?
Even when we’re old, I’ll still look at you with the same eyes. (Who else’s eyes am I going to look at you with?) My love for you is Louis Braillesque.
How many birthdays can you fit in a shoebox? I guess that depends both on how old you are, and what size shoe you wear.
My favorite smells are freshly baked bread, the pages of an old book, and they way my boss’ ass smells when he’s shouting at me.
I’ll put some ice in your coffee, to cover up the fact that it was already cold and old. I do this because my love for you is slightly warmer and newer.
Old timidity has disappeared, and is replaced by silent, quaint fun, with which his face twinkles all over, as he listens.
I still remember my middle school locker combination. Maybe I should go back to my old locker to see if I left my innocence in there.
I mean, scamming on guys on the Internet? I thought that was only for forty-year-old divorcees who Photoshop their pictures in an effort to appear younger and thinner.
The Rusty Ruins were the remains of an old city, a hulking reminder of back when there'd been way too many people, and everyone was incredibly stupid. And ugly.
She never imagined that at twenty years old she'd already be a widow in black. On the bright side, she was no longer married to Dario, but her future still looked grim.
So this is it ⎯ what cost me all that time. A man who turned out to be old, a house that turned out to be empty.
A culture which doesn't believe in region and religion is like a rock music, noise for old generation & nirvana for the young ones.
