I love myself,” he said. “But it’s unrequited.
A few flat clouds folded themselves like crepes over fillings of apricot sky. Pompadours of supper-time smoke billowed from chimneys, separating into girlish pigtails as the breeze combed them out, above the slate rooftops. Chestnut blossoms, weary from having been admired all day, wore faint smiles of anticipation.
Now, in the eyes of the stars, men may be no more exalted than beasts, and kingly men no worthier than the wretched.
The French say that the best part of an affair is going up the stairs.
The whole universe is a complex of rhythms,” mused Amanda. “We each of us feel a need to identify our bodily rhythms with those of the cosmos. The sea is the grand agency of rhythm. The grain-tops in the wind, the atoms that orbit are rhythmic. The uterus, which is a strong muscular organ, contracts with the birth of a baby – the rhythmic contractions, in fact, are the important motivations for the baby to emerge into the world. Rhythm is how it all begins.
As you are surely aware, our planet is turning on its axis around and around in space. It turns slowly, however, making one complete rotation only every twenty-four hours; and that’s a good thing – isn’t it? – because if our world turned as fast as Gracie’s room appeared to be turning, the sun would be either rising or setting every fifteen minutes, astronomers would be as woozy as rodeo clowns, and it’d be nearly impossible to keep our meatballs from rolling out of our spaghetti.
I like to drink just enough to change the temperature in the brain room. I’ll turn to less mainstream substances if I want to rearrange the furniture.
The only normal people are the ones you don’t know well yet.
One of the other musicians said that the tambourine is a female due to the fact that it makes a pretty jingle and is designed to be spanked. That is the more recent, patriarchal attitude, I suppose.
Ellen Cherry understood then that religion was an improper response to the Divine.
Since the Goddess always has been honored in sacred groves, it is understandable that patriarchs, then as now, leaned toward deforestation.
If God didn’t prefer for us to drink at night, he wouldn’t have made neon!
That’s the value of the artist... Even when they aren’t aware, they’re dreaming our dreams for us.
In a voice that sounds the way a can of cheap dog food would sound if a can of cheap dog food could speak, he tells you you are looking well.
The stiff-witted and academic seem not to comprehend that it is entirely possible to be ironic and sincere at the same instant, that a knowing tongue in cheek does not necessarily preclude an affectionate glow in heart.
Don’t you see? The enemy represents Death to ‘em. The government propaganda mills paint the enemy as an unfeelin’, devourin’ monster. So, when we go to war we go on a noble mission, a life-affirming mission, whose object is the destruction o’ death. And ‘tis precisely because we hate death so much that we’re too crazed and irrational to see the irony in it. We hate death so bloody much that we will kill – and die – in order to try to halt its march.
Life still begins in the womb, cocky erections still collapse and lie useless when woman’s superior sexuality is finished with them, but men control the divine channels now, and while that control may be largely an illusion, their laws, institutions, and elaborate weaponry exist primarily to maintain it.
I see you’ve met Desire and Fulfillment... Regret is in the kitchen making coffee.
He was as nervous as a praying mantis at an atheists’ picnic...
An old Ukrainian proverb warns, “A tale that begins with a beet will end with the devil.” That is a risk we have to take.