#days

And many a day's hours were like that. As if someone fashioned my likeness somewhere in order to torment it slowly with needles. I felt each sharp prick of his playing, and it was: as if a rain fell on me in which all things change. ↗

— Rainer Maria Rilke

#change

It was Sunday, and Mumma had gone next door with Lena and the little ones. Under the pepper tree in the yard Pa was sorting, counting, the empty bottles he would sell back: the bottles going clink clink as Pa stuck them in the sack. The fowls were fluffing in the dust and sun: that crook-neck white pullet Mumma said she would hit on the head if only she had the courage to; but she hadn't. ↗

— Patrick White

#children #fathers #fowls #mothers #recycling

Did I mention you're going to have to drive on our date?" I asked. "Cheap bastard. ↗

— Patrick Carman

#thirteen-days-to-midnight #dating

I won't forget the hood. I won't forget the days of catching a bullet on the way to the mailbox or bricks with death threats that somehow made their way through the window. ↗

— Pau Gasol

#bullet #catching #days #death #forget

Everyone knows they're going to die but nobody believes it. If we did, we would do things differently. ↗

— Mitch Albom

#living #mitch #morrie #tuesdays-with-morrie #death

Chaperons, even in their days of glory, were almost never able to enforce morality; what they did was to force immorality to be discreet. This is no small contribution. ↗

— Judith Martin

#almost #contribution #days #did #discreet

By means of steam one can go from California to Japan in eighteen days. ↗

— Townsend Harris

#days #eighteen #go #japan #means

Unlike in my young days I'm not able to eat, drink and sleep tennis. ↗

— Amelie Mauresmo

#days #drink #eat #i #sleep

This, after all, was the month in which families began tightening and closing and sealing; from Thanksgiving to the New Year, everybody's world contracted, day by day, into the microcosmic single festive household, each with its own rituals and obsessions, rules and dreams. You didn't feel you could call people. They didn't feel they could phone you. How does one cry for help from these seasonal prisons? ↗

— Zadie Smith

#holidays #beauty

Snowflakes swirl down gently in the deep blue haze beyond the window. The outside world is a dream. Inside, the fireplace is brightly lit, and the Yule log crackles with orange and crimson sparks. There’s a steaming mug in your hands, warming your fingers. There’s a friend seated across from you in the cozy chair, warming your heart. There is mystery unfolding. ↗

— Vera Nazarian

#companion #companionship #fire #hearth #holiday