(This is really bad, but it has been over 200 years...)
whackamole
October 16, 1793
(This is really bad, but it has been over 200 years...)
whackamole
October 16, 1793
Cheesy
I see Cora as more of an active go sort of dog.
http://www.50-best.com/images/cute_dog_ … zy_dog.jpg
Pretty but full of bounce.Cora
Aw! xx
I've started doing yogurt. My breath is made of sour milk with a fruit coulis zest.
Just like a dog!!
("Love stinks"... yes!) x
It's 90 degrees in Atlanta today, and the humidity is through the roof. My hair was so big this morning I felt it only right to apologize to the room in general when I entered. I just GOT it cut: sincerely, it's still rising three inches high. Mad.
... as a hatter head!
Your fly is down.
the underwire bra (those who enjoy breath)
Murdstone
"I wonder what your vocation will turn out to be: perhaps you will be a poet?"
"That depends. To be a poet is to have a soul so quick to discern that no shade of quality escapes it, and so quick to feel, that discernment is but a hand playing with finely ordered variety on the chords of emotion - a soul in which knowledge passes instantaneously into feeling, and feeling flashes back as a new organ of knowledge. One may have that condition by fits only."
"But you leave out the poems," said Dorothea. "I think they are wanted to complete the poet. I understand what you mean about knowledge passing into feeling, for that seems to be just what I experience. But I am sure I could never produce a poem."
"You ARE a poem - and that is to be the best part of a poet -- what makes up the poet's consciousness in his best moods," said Will, showing such originality as we all share with the morning and the spring-time and other endless renewals.
- from Middlemarch by George Eliot
Hey Stella!
I'm reading The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood, and Mrs. Lincoln: A Life by Catherine Clinton.
The novel I mentioned above on Mary Todd Lincoln was EXCELLENT. I felt many emotions while reading it. Mary Todd Lincoln was the American "madwoman in the attic": she lost her sons Eddie, Willie, and Tad, and watched her husband be murdered beside her. Her final son put her away into an asylum. The novel tells her story, rotating between the asylum and her life before. By the end the story reminded me of Charlotte Perkins Gilman's "The Yellow Wallpaper." DEFINITELY cried.
Frankrijk
That's what it sounds like to say Frankenstein just as you swallow a fly.
witty
"But I am not the sea, nor the red sun;
I am not the wind, with girlish laughter;
Not the immense wind which strengthens—not the
wind which lashes;
Not the spirit that ever lashes its own body to terror and
death:
"But I am of that which unseen comes and sings, sings,
sings,
Which babbles in brooks and scoots in showers on the
land;
Which the birds know in the woods, mornings and
evenings,
And the shore-sands know, and the hissing wave, and
that banner and pennant,
Aloft there flapping and flapping."
- Whitman, from "Song of the Banner at Daybreak"
Threadbare boots tremble. Finally home.
Two brothers grasp her hand.
Boy in autumn, drum taps.
Here lies Emma: fully satisfied.
Crimson scarf, broken ice, footprints.
Two flags, Sumter, first kiss.
Fingers take bread, leave dandelion.
Whitman
A chisler's nothing but a wood carver! "He don't know from nothin'!"
Are you calling us chislers? 'Cause if you are, then we (GOT!) business...
fiddledeedee
“Certainly nothing at present could seem much less important to Lydgate than the turn of Miss Brooke's mind, or to Miss Brooke than the qualities of the woman who had attracted this young surgeon. But any one watching keenly the stealthy convergence of human lots, sees a slow preparation of effects from one life on another, which tells like a calculated irony on the indifference or the frozen stare with which we look at our unintroduced neighbor. Destiny stands by sarcastic with our dramatis personae folded in her hand.”
― George Eliot, Middlemarch
(Still reading! It's a brick!) :-)
whim
Together (Total Eclipse of the Heart)
Oh captain, my captain