I know you'll think this is crazy, but all I want to do is hold you, and I think that if you'll let me do that just for a few seconds, I can walk away, and never speak to you again.
There are things in this universe that we cannot control, and then there are the things we can. . . . Let fate, coincidence, and accident conspire; human beings must act on reason.
accident ruled every corner of the universe except the chambers of the human heart.
My records don't go platinum or gold. I think they go cedar.
A kind of semi-Solomon, half-knowing everything, from the cedar to the hyssop.
It was evening all afternoon. It was snowing And it was going to snow. The blackbird sat In the cedar-limbs.
The sense of it may come with watching a flock of cedar waxwings eating wild grapes in the top of the woods on a November afternoon. Everything they do is leisurely. They pick the grapes with a curious deliberation, comb their feathers, converse in high windy whistles. Now and then one will fly out and back in a sort of dancing flight full of whimsical flutters and turns. They are like farmers loafing in their own fields on Sunday. Though they have no Sundays, their days are full of sabbaths.
You cannot fold a flood and put it in a drawer, because the winds would find it out and tell your cedar floor.