Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word! Give back my book and take my kiss instead. Was it my enemy or my friend I heard, What a big book for such a little head! Come, I will show you now my newest hat, And you may watch me purse my mouth and prink! Oh, I shall love you still, and all of that. I never again shall tell you what I think. I shall be sweet and crafty, soft and sly; You will not catch me reading any more: I shall be called a wife to pattern by; And some day when you knock and push the door, Some sane day, not too bright and not too stormy, I shall be gone, and you may whistle for me.
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I say in my book that a lot of the music our forebears created was written for rich, snotty, snobby people who had enough money to buy theatre tickets. There was a great deal of trivia, a shallow quality to things ... ... You know, that 'I've got rhythm, I've got ...', there's something about it that's not very serious, and at least popular music during our generation began crossing over into an area where it was saying something about the conditions that prevailed.
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The Bible is not my book, and Christianity is not my religion. I could never give assent to the long, complicated statements of Christian dogma.
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Literature is my Utopia. Here I am not disenfranchised. No barrier of the senses shuts me out from the sweet, gracious discourses of my book friends. They talk to me without embarrassment or awkwardness.
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Literature is my Utopia. Here I am not disenfranchised. No barrier of the sense shuts me out from the sweet, gracious discourse of my book friends. They talk to me without embarrassment or awkwardness.
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Before I explain my book to others, I expect them to explain it to me. To claim to explain it first is to immediately narrow down its reach; for if we know what we intended to say, we do not know whether we said only that. - One always says more than THAT. - And what interests me most is what I put in without knowing, - that unconscious share, which I would like to call God's share.
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Sometimes when I think how good my book can be, I can hardly breathe.
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To read my book, the virgin shy - May blush, while Brutus standeth by: But when he's gone, read through what's writ, And never stain a cheek for it
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Old Day the gardener seemed Death himself, or Time, scythe in hand by the sundial and freshly-dug grave in my book of parables.
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The Bible is not my book, and Christianity is not my religion. I could never give assent to the long, complicated statements of Christian dogma
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In my book (he has), but guess what? My book don't mean much, ... I don't know. That's why you have to defer to the big fella, who's supposed to make those decisions. I don't get paid to make those decisions.
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