Now behind the eyes and secrets of the dreamers in the streets rocked to sleep by the sea, see the titbits and topsyturvies, bobs and buttontops, bags and bones, ash and rind and dandruff and nailparings, saliva and snowflakes and moulted feathers of dreams, the wrecks and sprats and shells and fishbones, whale-juice and moonshine and small salt fry dished up by the hidden sea.
Dylan ThomasAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: welsh
- Born: October 27, 1914
- Died: November 9, 1953
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Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high; Where knowledge is free; Where the world has not been broked up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;... Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;... Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
Rabindranath Tagore
Yeah, well, we're all grieving in our own way, obviously. It's just I heard this crazy rumor about your having inherited twenty-two million dollars." He tried to meet her eyes, but she'd turned away, squeezing her thumbs, fists balled. "Crazy, huh? But getting back to this lunch, let's see, Mr. Aldren and whatever his name is, Tweedledum, they had steak, right? And Mr. Stoorhuys--" He snapped his fingers. "Rabbit. Half a rabbit, grilled. Or what do you call it? Braised.
Jonathan Franzen