The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering. I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. The last scud of the day holds back for me, It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow'd wilds, It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk. I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags. I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles. You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, And filter and fibre for your blood. Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you.
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By his machines man can dive and remain under water like a shark; can fly like a hawk in the air; can see atoms like a gnat; can see the system of the universe of Uriel, the angel of the sun; can carry whatever loads a ton of coal can lift; can knock down cities with his fist of gunpowder; can recover the history of his race by the medals which the deluge, and every creature, civil or savage or brute, has involuntarily dropped of its existence; and divine the future possibility of the planet and its inhabitants by his perception of laws of nature.
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A serious writer is not to be confounded with a solemn writer. A serious writer may be a hawk or a buzzard or even a popinjay, but a solemn writer is always a bloody owl.
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All my life I always wanted to fly. I always wanted to live like a hawk. I know you're not supposed to be jealous of anything, but...to take flight, to soar above everything and everyone, now that's living.
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That was probably the big learning curve for the city of Concord on traffic calming.
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Courage is not afraid to weep, and she is not afraid to pray, even when she is not sure who she is praying to.
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People on Jolt cola write the funniest things.
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How smooth must be the language of the whites, when they can make right look like wrong, and wrong like right.
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If you treat a sick child like an adult and a sick adult like a child, everything usually works out pretty well.
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Laws, like the spider's webs, catch the flies and let the hawk go free.
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