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How well I know what I mean to do
When the long dark Autumn evenings come,
And where, my soul, is thy pleasant hue?
With the music of all thy voices, dumb
In life’s November too!
I shall be found by the fire, suppose,
O’er a great wise book as beseemeth age,
While the shutters flap as the cross-wind blows,
And I turn the page, and I turn the page,
Not verse now, only prose!
Robert Browning
You go to Hawaii alone, buy the way?"Who goes to Hawaii alone? I went with a girl. She's only thirteen, though."You slept with a thirteen-year-old girl?"What Do you think I am? The kid doesn't even wear a bra yet."Then why'd you go with her?"To teach her table manners, interpret the mysteries of the sex-drive, bad-mouth Boy George, go see E.T. You know, the usual."Gotanda gave me a long look. Then he skewed his lips into a smile. "You really are a little odd, you know?"Now everyone seemed to...
Haruki Murakami
Some minds corrode and grow inactive under the loss of personal liberty; others grow morbid and irritable; but it is the nature of the poet to become tender and imaginitive in the loneliness of confinement. He banquets upon the honey of his own thoughts, and, like the captive bird, pours forth his soul in melody.
Washington Irving
