I was like a clock that had exploded- my springs were hanging out, my hands were cockeyed, and my numbers were falling off.
Anthony KiedisAbout author
- Author's profession: Musician
- Nationality: american
- Born: November 1, 1962
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In the checkered area of human experience the seasons are all mingled as in the golden age: fruit and blossom hang together; in the same moment the sickle is reaping and the seed is sprinkled; one tends the green cluster and another treads the winepress. Nay, in each of our lives harvest and spring-time are continually one, until himself gathers us and sows us anew in his invisible fields.
George Eliot