Forks Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
as-you-go-through-life-there-are-thousands-little-forks-in-road-there-are-few-really-big-forksthose-moments-reckoning-moments-truth-lee-iacocca
if-it-was-raining-soup-the-irish-would-go-out-with-forks
americans-did-not-commonly-use-forks-until-after-the-civil-war
for-me-in-songwriting-i-have-route-i-can-take-maybe-theres-some-forks-i-can-go-this-way-this-way-but-i-know-those-roads-i-still-have-experience-dave-matthews
with-all-these-forks-in-roads-our-path-why-do-many-choose-to-take-knife-anthony-liccione
i-once-saw-forklift-lift-crate-forks-and-it-was-way-to-literal-for-me-mitch-hedberg
i-once-saw-forklift-lift-crate-forks-and-it-was-way-to-literal-for-me
artists-are-tuning-forks-their-goal-is-to-create-resonance-in-audience-bob-lefsetz
if-i-ever-go-to-china-im-going-to-find-piano-play-chopsticksonly-not-with-my-fingers-but-rather-ill-be-using-two-forks-jarod-kintz
forks-spoons-have-probably-done-more-to-reconcile-people-who-cannot-agree-than-guns-bombs-ever-did-theodore-zeldin
yet-they-had-a-file-for-the-mattocks-and-for-the-coulters-and-for-the-forks-and-for-the-axes-and-to-sharpen-the-goads
im-magician-ive-learned-to-do-some-really-cool-tricks-like-levitating-myself-melting-forks
the-sound-harpsichord-resembles-that-birdcage-played-with-toastingforks-thomas-beecham
people-in-west-virginia-do-have-cars-we-have-indoor-plumbing-we-even-use-knives-forks
the-sky-was-as-blue-as-orange-could-get-i-love-sunsets-at-noon-forks-disguised-as-spoons-jarod-kintz
they-made-all-its-utensils-bronzeits-pots-shovels-sprinkling-bowls-meat-forks-firepans-exodus-383
fate-isnt-one-straight-road-there-are-forks-in-it-many-different-routes-to-different-ends-we-have-free-will-to-choose-path-dean-koontz
chip-glasses-crack-plates-blunt-knives-bend-forks-thats-what-bilbo-baggins-hates-j-r-r-tolkien
they-urged-me-to-take-up-winter-quarters-at-forks-platt-stating-that-if-i-attempted-to-advance-further-until-spring-i-would-endanger-lives-my-whole-party
this-world-is-half-devils-my-own-daft-with-drug-thats-smoking-in-girl-curling-round-bud-that-forks-her-eye-dylan-thomas
make-all-its-utensils-bronzeits-pots-to-remove-ashes-its-shovels-sprinkling-bowls-meat-forks-firepans-exodus-273
at-new-years-he-had-given-anne-present-silver-forks-with-handles-rock-crystal-he-hopes-she-will-use-them-to-eat-with-not-to-stick-in-people-hilary-mantel
i-am-three-forks-away-from-eating-all-your-food-with-two-homeless-guys-its-too-bad-i-only-have-suitcase-full-spoons-bucket-soy-sauce-jarod-kintz
fate-isnt-straight-road-i-said-becoming-oracle-that-earlier-in-day-i-had-declined-to-be-for-her-there-are-forks-in-it-many-different-routes-to-different-ends-we-have-free-will-to
trapped-in-cockpit-at-forty-thousand-feet-the-sky-is-limit-but-we-supersede-the-greed-for-speed-is-like-way-beyond-limits-i-grab-my-parachute-with-the-pharcyde
the-moon-has-face-like-clock-in-hall-she-shines-on-thieves-on-garden-wall-on-streets-fields-harbour-quays-and-birdies-asleep-in-forks-trees-robert-louis-stevenson
pots-shovels-meat-forks-all-related-articles-all-objects-that-huramabi-made-for-king-solomon-for-temple-lord-were-polished-bronze-2-chronicles-416
banning-guns-is-like-banning-forks-in-attempt-to-stop-making-people-fat-vince-vaughn
whoa-whoa-hold-up-there-kid-she-lives-in-forks-remember-so-she-gets-rained-on-stephenie-meyer
i-thought-about-how-mothers-feed-their-babies-with-tiny-little-spoons-forks-i-wondered-what-do-chinese-mothers-use-toothpicks-george-carlin
the-regenerated-do-not-go-to-war-nor-engage-in-strife-they-are-children-peace-who-have-beat-their-swords-into-plowshares-their-spears-into-pruning-menno-simons
blaming-guns-for-murder-is-like-blaming-forks-for-obesity-rush-limbaugh
there-is-lot-talk-now-about-metal-detectors-gun-control-both-are-good-things-but-they-are-no-more-solution-than-forks-spoons-are-solution-to-anna-quindlen
life-takes-up-one-long-winding-road-to-fulfill-its-seemingly-endless-journey-when-we-find-ourselves-stumble-upon-forks-in-road-we-choose-wisely-amani-abbas
the-price-was-two-thirds-shekel-for-sharpening-plowshares-mattocks-third-shekel-for-sharpening-forks-axes-for-repointing-goads-1-samuel-1321
mcdonalds-revolutionized-fast-food-they-introduced-way-to-eat-food-without-knives-forks-plates-most-fast-foods-can-be-eaten-while-steering-wheel-car-restaurants-are-usually-drive
i-was-consumed-by-mystery-edward-presented-and-more-than-little-obsessed-by-edward-himself-stupid-stupid-stupid-i-wasnt-as-eager-to-escape-forks-as-stephenie-meyer
weight-pure-gold-for-forks-sprinkling-bowls-pitchers-weight-gold-for-each-gold-dish-weight-silver-for-each-silver-dish-1-chronicles-2817
MOTHER - By Ted Kooser Mid April already, and the wild plums bloom at the roadside, a lacy white against the exuberant, jubilant green of new grass and the dusty, fading black of burned-out ditches. No leaves, not yet, only the delicate, star-petaled blossoms, sweet with their timeless perfume. You have been gone a month today and have missed three rains and one nightlong watch for tornadoes. I sat in the cellar from six to eight while fat spring clouds went somersaulting, rumbling east. Then it poured, a storm that walked on legs of lightning, dragging its shaggy belly over the fields. The meadowlarks are back, and the finches are turning from green to gold. Those same two geese have come to the pond again this year, honking in over the trees and splashing down. They never nest, but stay a week or two then leave. The peonies are up, the red sprouts, burning in circles like birthday candles, for this is the month of my birth, as you know, the best month to be born in, thanks to you, everything ready to burst with living. There will be no more new flannel nightshirts sewn on your old black Singer, no birthday card addressed in a shaky but businesslike hand. You asked me if I would be sad when it happened and I am sad. But the iris I moved from your house now hold in the dusty dry fists of their roots green knives and forks as if waiting for dinner, as if spring were a feast. I thank you for that. Were it not for the way you taught me to look at the world, to see the life at play in everything, I would have to be lonely forever.

Ted Kooser
mother-by-ted-kooser-mid-april-already-wild-plums-bloom-at-roadside-lacy-white-against-exuberant-jubilant-green-new-grass-dusty-fading-black-burnedout-ditches-no-leaves-not-yet-o
Ultimately, the roast turkey must be regarded as a monument to Boomer's love. Look at it now, plump and glossy, floating across Idaho as if it were a mammoth, mutated seed pod. Hear how it backfires as it passes the silver mines, perhaps in tribute to the origin of the knives and forks of splendid sterling that a roast turkey and a roast turkey alone possesses the charisma to draw forth into festivity from dark cupboards. See how it glides through the potato fields, familiarly at home among potatoes but with an air of expectation, as if waiting for the flood of gravy. The roast turkey carries with it, in its chubby hold, a sizable portion of our primitive and pagan luggage. Primitive and pagan? Us? We of the laser, we of the microchip, we of the Union Theological Seminary and Time magazine? Of course. At least twice a year, do not millions upon millions of us cybernetic Christians and fax machine Jews participate in a ritual, a highly stylized ceremony that takes place around a large dead bird? And is not this animal sacrificed, as in days of yore, to catch the attention of a divine spirit, to show gratitude for blessings bestowed, and to petition for blessings coveted? The turkey, slain, slowly cooked over our gas or electric fires, is the central figure at our holy feast. It is the totem animal that brings our tribe together. And because it is an awkward, intractable creature, the serving of it establishes and reinforces the tribal hierarchy. There are but two legs, two wings, a certain amount of white meat, a given quantity of dark. Who gets which piece; who, in fact, slices the bird and distributes its limbs and organs, underscores quite emphatically the rank of each member in the gathering. Consider that the legs of this bird are called 'drumsticks, ' after the ritual objects employed to extract the music from the most aboriginal and sacred of instruments. Our ancestors, kept their drums in public, but the sticks, being more actively magical, usually were stored in places known only to the shaman, the medicine man, the high priest, of the Wise Old Woman. The wing of the fowl gives symbolic flight to the soul, but with the drumstick is evoked the best of the pulse of the heart of the universe. Few of us nowadays participate in the actual hunting and killing of the turkey, but almost all of us watch, frequently with deep emotion, the reenactment of those events. We watch it on TV sets immediately before the communal meal. For what are footballs if not metaphorical turkeys, flying up and down a meadow? And what is a touchdown if not a kill, achieved by one or the other of two opposing tribes? To our applause, great young hungers from Alabama or Notre Dame slay the bird. Then, the Wise Old Woman, in the guise of Grandma, calls us to the table, where we, pretending to be no longer primitive, systematically rip the bird asunder. Was Boomer Petaway aware of the totemic implications when, to impress his beloved, he fabricated an outsize Thanksgiving centerpiece? No, not consciously. If and when the last veil dropped, he might comprehend what he had wrought. For the present, however, he was as ignorant as Can o' Beans, Spoon, and Dirty Sock were, before Painted Stick and Conch Shell drew their attention to similar affairs. Nevertheless, it was Boomer who piloted the gobble-stilled butterball across Idaho, who negotiated it through the natural carving knives of the Sawtooth Mountains, who once or twice parked it in wilderness rest stops, causing adjacent flora to assume the appearance of parsley.

Tom Robbins
ultimately-roast-turkey-must-be-regarded-as-monument-to-boomers-love-look-at-it-now-plump-glossy-floating-across-idaho-as-if-it-were-mammoth-mutated-seed-pod-hear-how-it-backfire
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