#r

Having a separate bathroom for the black domestic was just the way things were done. It had faded out in new homes by the time the '70s and '80s rolled up. ↗

— Kathryn Stockett

#black #by the time #domestic #done #faded

When Demetrie got sick, we knew it was our responsibility to take care of her and pay her medical bills. And we embraced that. But the tricky part is, like so many families in the South, we also expected her to use a separate bathroom, to use separate utensils. ↗

— Kathryn Stockett

#bathroom #bills #care #embraced #expected

I read the Life magazine articles about free love and free dope in California. At age 20 I drove to Los Angeles. ↗

— Glenn Frey

#age #angeles #articles #california #dope

Without a reunion, the Eagles are forever young, like James Dean. ↗

— Glenn Frey

#eagles #forever #james #james dean #like

It seems when I put together records, as Henley used to say, they're just like movies. They should have action, tension, love scenes, places to relax. ↗

— Glenn Frey

#henley #i #just #like #love

Nobody told Don Henley or me that we were going to make it as solo artists, but I can speak for Don when I say that we are both really happy now that the band is not together. ↗

— Glenn Frey

#band #both #don henley #going #happy

Somebody asked my friend Bob Seger, Why do you think the Eagles broke up? He said, Hotel California. ↗

— Glenn Frey

#bob #broke #california #eagles #friend

That's what I miss out of all this synthesized music - it starts to lose dynamics. ↗

— Glenn Frey

#i #lose #miss #music #out

Keep all your personalities out of your work. Forget and forgive. ↗

— Ford Frick

#forgive #keep #out #personalities #work

Requiescat Tread lightly, she is near Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow. All her bright golden hair Tarnished with rust, She that was young and fair Fallen to dust. Lily-like, white as snow, She hardly knew She was a woman, so Sweetly she grew. Coffin-board, heavy stone, Lie on her breast, I vex my heart alone She is at rest. Peace, Peace, she cannot hear Lyre or sonnet, All my life’s buried here, Heap earth upon it. ↗

— Oscar Wilde

#love #poetry #death