The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.
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Unreal city, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,...
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...the fog is rising.
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Fear death? - to feel the fog in my throat, / The mist in my face.
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Any coward can sit in his home and criticize a pilot for flying into a mountain in a fog. But I would rather, by far, die on a mountainside than in bed. What kind of man would live where there is no daring And is life so dear that we should blame men for dying in adventure Is there a better way to die
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The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
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Let us go in; the fog is rising.
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Life is a thin narrowness of taken-for-granted, a plank over a canyon in a fog. There is something under our feet, the taken-for-granted. A ta...
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Moonlight falls on the gravestone like death the gravestone is mine... a crow caws so close to my ear, i taste a bitter taste and it smells like death i see nothing but utter stillness i can see my fear run through the yard i see the ghost of curt cobain run through the yard and i chase after him there is a taste of sweet dew on my tongue in my bedroom there are posters on the wall i read a note over and over again and the words 'sup loser' haunt me... the giants peer over the midgets intimidating he loves everything about me, why does he had me so? the dull pencil of life tried to write on the soul and failed. i am as happy as a dull face in the dark my eyes go from ice blue to pitch black in the blink of an eye Lydia is dead in her mind. in the next months i'll walk through in a daze the hazy fog echoes as she lives for death she dies everyday and lives for tomorow elle amour mort mais elles deteste vie her pen writes on the pages of her heart a sweet song she will end the wait of life with the death of spirits.
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Step out the front door like a ghost into a fog where no one notices the contrast of white on white And in between the moon and you the angels get a better view of the crumbling difference between wrong and right I walk in the air between the rain through myself and back again Where? I don't know...
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Have you ever been at sea in a dense fog, when it seemed as if a tangible white darkness shut you in and the great ship, tense and anxious, groped her way toward the shore with plummet and sounding-line, and you waited with beating heart for something to happen I was like that ship before my education began, only I was without compass or sounding line, and no way of knowing how near the harbor was. 'Light Give me light' was the wordless cry of my soul, and the light of love shone on me in that very hour.
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When anyone asks me how I can best describe my experience in nearly forty years at sea, I merely say, uneventful. Of course there have been winter gales, and storms and fog and the like. But in all my experience, I have never been in any accident... or any sort worth speaking about. I have seen but one vessel in distress in all my years at sea. I never saw a wreck and never have been wrecked nor was I ever in any predicament that threatened to end in disaster of any sort.
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The fog is rising.
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The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.
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I love eulogies. They are the most moving kind of speech because they attempt to pluck meaning from the fog, and on short order, when the emotions are still ragged and raw and susceptible to leaps.
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The science hangs like a gathering fog in a valley, a fog which begins nowhere and goes nowhere, an incidental, unmeaning inconvenience to passers-by.
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Mystery magnifies danger, as a fog the sun, the hand that warned Belshazzar derived its horrifying effect from the want of a body.
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Derive happiness in oneself from a good day's work, from illuminating the fog that surrounds us.
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Technology is so much fun but we can drown in our technology. The fog of Information can drive our Knowledge.
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