Seasons Of Change All it did was rain, but it drowned out my Heart and all it's sorrow, so I'm thankful So deeply indebt and glad, that I'll never See the light of tomorrow. All it did was snow, the bitter cold, and Stiffness, effected me in ways you'll surely Never know. Cause you're better off than I am The wind was unsatiable, and unconquerable so malacious, so unforgiving, so completely Miserable, it reminded me of you. It was so hot and tepid, so incredibly unbearing I thought that I would give up my Long and relently journey for a place without You. But I was wrong, again, as always. Because in the heat of that night, you came To me, with sweat pouring and cries crying. The weather and seasons remind me of you, and Your prolific attempt to bring my spirits down. Kade William Davies Copyright ©2004 Kade William Davies
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I object to being told that I am saving daylight when my reason tells me that I am doing nothing of the kind... At the back of the Daylight Saving scheme, I detect the bony, blue-fingered hand of Puritanism, eager to push people into bed earlier, and get them up earlier, to make them healthy, wealthy, and wise in spite of themselves.
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There is no nonsense so gross that society will not, at some time, make a doctrine of it and defend it with every weapon of communal stupidity.
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The wit of a graduate student is like champagne. Canadian champagne.
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Many a promising career has been wrecked by marrying the wrong sort of woman. The right sort of woman can distinguish between Creative Lassitude and plain shiftlessness.
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The undisputed reign of my heart. Presiding over the un-included want, to fall In love. Over again this day will come, as my bride is converted to pride, and my pain To pleasure. As my controversy changes its State, and is now known as open-minded, as my Opinion is now valued, and I am now good Enough for your daughter. I don't want her. I'm good enough now to see what you wanted From me, a perfect being, I was being Deceiving. No one ever said it would be this Hard to fall in love, and no body ever told Me it would be so easy to regret every second A second time again, a mistake I mistook as A promise from you to me. As I cry, as I'm Buried, under acres of tears, under the sky, The eternal triumph that I strived to Perfect, the full circle of love, I've vowed To Protect.
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Sadly sung sanctuary, I hear it in each one Of my bones, tear drenched, drunk on my own Despair. I'm crying tonight, the dawn of the Stigma Christmas, My thoughts, every one encoded In viral disease, each one burning on for One thousand years. I'm sitting on a pew. In A church, in a city, in a world I wish I Never knew. Where the crucifix should be I See a mirror, and my reflection doesn't Appear. So I weep. So I'm non-existent in This fallout shelter we call America. So I'm condemned tonight, to celebrate the Stigmata we call Christ, Jesus, and the holy Ghost. I'm alone in a world no one's ever Known, and I'm doubting beliefs that I've Always felt in control. Of all the lies I've Told to thee, this is the one that will Always Haunt me
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Zeal without knowledge is the sister of folly.
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Comparatively few people know what a million dollars actually is. To the majority it is a gaseous concept, swelling or decreasing as the occasion suggests. In the minds of politicians, perhaps more than anywhere, the notion of a million dollars has this accordion-like ability to expand or contract; if they are disposing of it, the million is a pleasing sum, reflecting warmly upon themselves; if somebody else wants it, it becomes a figure of inordinate size, not to be compassed by the rational mind.
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And I could see that child's one eye Which seemed to laugh, and say with glee:...
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A truly great book should be read in youth, again in maturity and once more in old age, as a fine building should be seen by morning light, at noon and by moonlight.
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The people of the United States, perhaps more than any other nation in history, love to abase themselves and proclaim their unworthiness, and seem to find refreshment in doing so... That is a dark frivolity, but still frivolity.
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Comparatively few people know what a million dollars actually is. To the majority it is a gaseous concept, swelling or decreasing as the occas...
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He types his labored column -- weary drudge! Senile fudge and solemn: spare, editor, to condemn these dry leaves of his autumn.
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Motivation is like food for the brain. You cannot get enough in one sitting. It needs continual and regular top up s.
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Motivation is like food for the brain. You cannot get enough in one sitting. It needs continual and regular top up's.
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A happy childhood has spoiled many a promising life.
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I see myself as a comic but the acting helps sell tickets for gigs.
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The world is burdened with young fogies. Old men with ossified minds are easily dealt with. But men who look young, act young and everlastingly harp on the fact that they are young, but who nevertheless think and act with a degree of caution that would be excessive in their grandfathers, are the curse of the world. Their very conservatism is secondhand, and they don't know what they are conserving.
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As a youngster, I enjoyed sport and my ambition was to be a great sportsman.
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A truly great book should be read in youth, again in maturity and once more in old age, as a fine building should be seen by morning light, at noon and by moonlight
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Every man is wise when attacked by a mad dog fewer when pursued by a mad woman only the wisest survive when attacked by a mad notion.
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Most people...find a disorientating mismatch between the long-term nature of their liabilities and the increasingly short-term nature of their assets.
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It is not always easy to diagnose. The simplest form of stupidity - the mumbling, nose-picking, stolid incomprehension - can be detected by anyone. But the stupidity which disguises itself as thought, and which talks so glibly and eloquently, indeed never stops talking, in every walk of life is not so easy to identify, because it marches under a formidable name, which few dare attack. It is called Popular Opinion...
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To be a book-collector is to combine the worst characteristics of a dope fiend with those of a miser.
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Authors like cats because they are such quiet, lovable, wise creatures, and cats like authors for the same reasons.
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Very often when I am introduced to women, I think, What is she really like behind the disguise which she wears? And very often I discover that she is pleasant enough, and probably would expand and glow if she received enough affection.
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As A general rule, people marry most hapily with their own kind. The trouble lies in the fact that people usually marry at an age where they do not really know what their own kind is.
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He was a genius - that is to say, a man who does superlatively and without obvious effort something that most people cannot do by the uttermost exertion of their abilities.
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The world is full of people whose notion of a satisfactory future is, in fact, a return to the idealised past.
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