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Read through the most famous quotes by topic #ear
In my own shire, if I was sad Homely comforters I had: The earth, because my heart was sore, Sorrowed for the son she bore; And standing hills, long to remain, Shared their short-lived comrade's pain. And bound for the same bourn as I, On every road I wandered by, Trod beside me, close and dear, The beautiful and death-struck year: Whether in the woodland brown I heard the beechnut rustle down, And saw the purple crocus pale Flower about the autumn dale; Or littering far the fields of May Lady-smocks a-bleaching lay, And like a skylit water stood The bluebells in the azured wood. Yonder, lightening other loads, The season range the country roads, But here in London streets I ken No such helpmates, only men; And these are not in plight to bear, If they would, another's care. They have enough as 'tis: I see In many an eye that measures me The mortal sickness of a mind Too unhappy to be kind. Undone with misery, all they can Is to hate their fellow man; And till they drop they needs must still Look at you and wish you ill. ↗
#city #compassion #country #hate #home
That happens a lot with Shakespeare. The women go after what they want; the men wind up suckered into things. ↗
In the general American population, 3.9 percent of adult men are six foot two or taller. Among my CEO sample, almost a third were six foot two or taller. ↗
Alcohol ruined me financially and morally, broke my heart and the hearts of too many others. Even though it did this to me and it almost killed me and I haven't touched a drop of it in seventeen years, sometimes I wonder if I could get away with drinking some now. I totally subscribe to the notion that alcoholism is a mental illness because thinking like that is clearly insane. ↗
Before drifting away entirely, he found himself reflecting---not for the first time---on the peculiarity of adults. Thet took laxatives, liquor, or sleeping pills to drive away their terrors so that sleep would come, and their terrors were so tame and domestic: the job, the money, what the teacher will think if I can't get Jennie nicer clothes, does my wife still love me, who are my friends. They were pallid compared to the fears every child lies cheek and jowl with in his dark bed, with no one to confess to in hope of perfect understanding but another child. There is no group therapy or psychiatry or community social services for the child who must cope with the thing under the bed or in the cellar every night, the thing which leers and capers and threatens just beyond the point where vision will reach. The same lonely battle must be fought night after night and the only cure is the eventual ossification of the imaginary faculties, and this is called adulthood. ↗
#love
Ask me for money, Peter.” I grabbed his wrists and pushed him against the wall. He looked everywhere but at me, no attempt to free himself. He was definitely stronger than I, but right that second I didn’t care if he was being patronizing. If it forced him to answer me, then patronizing I’d take. “No,” he murmured. “Ask me for money, goddamn you.” I punctuated it with a slam of his wrists, hard enough to jar, but not painful—I hoped. The next time my shirt wouldn’t be there to cushion it. I was that pissed. “I have!” He spat back, easily extricating his hands and pushing me away. I grabbed his arm, turning him around. “For Cai. For sex. Not for you. You’d rather go fuck a bunch of strangers—” “I don’t fuck anyone but Darryl anymore,” he denied. “It’s just a show for a bunch of voyeurs. No one gets hurt.” “I get hurt!” “I don’t have any other way, Austin.” “You have me. Ask me,” I said, hating the pleading sound in my voice. “No.” “Jesus Christ, why the fuck not?” “Because I don’t want you to be a fucking trick!” The shout was so loud I felt the vibrations along my spine. ↗
The early church was strikingly different from the culture around it in this way - the pagan society was stingy with its money and promiscuous with its body. A pagan gave nobody their money and practically gave everybody their body. And the Christians came along and gave practically nobody their body and they gave practically everybody their money. ↗
But in the wake of 'Bullet,' all the guys wanted to know was, 'How's it doing? How's it selling?' How to tell them I didn't give a flying fuck how it was doing in the marketplace, that what I cared about was how it was dong in the reader's heart? ↗
