The world is made up of people who never quite get into the first team and who just miss the prizes at the flower show.
Jacob BronowskiAbout author
- Author's profession: Scientist
- Nationality: english
- Born: September 1, 1908
- Died: August 22, 1974
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Connie went for walks in the park, and in the woods that joined the park, and enjoyed the solitude and the mystery, kicked the brown leaves of autumn, and picked the primroses of spring. But it was all a dream; or rather it was like the simulacrum of reality. The oak leaves were to her like oak-leaves seen ruffling in a mirror, she herself was a figure somebody had read about, picking primroses that were only shadows or memories, or words. No substance to her or anything...no touch, no contact!
David Herbert Lawrence