Roving 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
licence-my-roving-hands-let-them-go-before-behind-between-above-below-john-donne
liar-a-lawyer-with-roving-commission-ambrose-bierce
your-roving-eyes-had-set-me-on-fire
i-see-myself-as-roving-mosquito-choosing-its-target-kenneth-williams
better-what-eye-sees-than-roving-appetite-this-too-is-meaningless-chasing-after-wind-ecclesiastes-69
chaos-is-roving-through-system-able-to-undo-at-any-point-best-laid-plans-terence-mckenna
well-i-saw-her-at-church-last-sunday-she-passed-me-on-by-i-knew-her-mind-was-changing-by-roving-her-eye-stanley-brothers
my-fear-was-like-stray-dog-roving-neighborhood-my-life-looking-for-new-source-worry-danzy-senna
roving-dogs-do-not-indicate-civilisation-compassion-society-they-betray-on-country-ignorance-lethargy-its-members-mahatma-gandhi
are-gun-rights-advocates-arguing-that-roving-gangsshooting-innocent-bystanders-constitutes-wellregulated-militia-bill-hicks
it-was-perfect-spring-afternoon-air-was-filled-with-vague-roving-scents-as-if-earth-exhaled-sweetness-hidden-flowers-ellen-glasgow
they-successfully-combined-piracy-puritanism-which-arent-unlike-when-you-come-right-down-to-it-both-had-strong-dislike-for-opposition-both-had-john-steinbeck
why-should-any-these-things-that-happen-externally-distract-thee-give-thyself-leisure-to-learn-some-good-thing-cease-roving-to-fro-marcus-aurelius
a-roving-band-youths-beat-up-on-johnny-everybodys-gettin-richer-sellin-that-dope-say-stolen-bikes-are-gathering-by-thousands-along-with-seven-hall-and-oates
i-was-roving-guard-on-lowell-hebrew-community-centers-girls-basketball-team-all-through-high-school-my-specialty-was-stealing-ball-but-my-only-shot-elinor-lipman
as-rolling-stone-gathers-no-moss-roving-heart-gathers-no-affections-anna-brownell-jameson
guard-your-roving-thoughts-with-jealous-care-for-speech-is-but-dealer-thoughts-every-fool-can-plainly-read-in-your-words-what-is-hour-your-thoughts
And under the cicadas, deeper down that the longest taproot, between and beneath the rounded black rocks and slanting slabs of sandstone in the earth, ground water is creeping. Ground water seeps and slides, across and down, across and down, leaking from here to there, minutely at a rate of a mile a year. What a tug of waters goes on! There are flings and pulls in every direction at every moment. The world is a wild wrestle under the grass; earth shall be moved. What else is going on right this minute while ground water creeps under my feet? The galaxy is careening in a slow, muffled widening. If a million solar systems are born every hour, then surely hundreds burst into being as I shift my weight to the other elbow. The sun's surface is now exploding; other stars implode and vanish, heavy and black, out of sight. Meteorites are arcing to earth invisibly all day long. On the planet, the winds are blowing: the polar easterlies, the westerlies, the northeast and southeast trades. Somewhere, someone under full sail is becalmed, in the horse latitudes, in the doldrums; in the northland, a trapper is maddened, crazed, by the eerie scent of the chinook, the sweater, a wind that can melt two feet of snow in a day. The pampero blows, and the tramontane, and the Boro, sirocco, levanter, mistral. Lick a finger; feel the now. Spring is seeping north, towards me and away from me, at sixteen miles a day. Along estuary banks of tidal rivers all over the world, snails in black clusters like currants are gliding up and down the stems of reed and sedge, migrating every moment with the dip and swing of tides. Behind me, Tinker Mountain is eroding one thousandth of an inch a year. The sharks I saw are roving up and down the coast. If the sharks cease roving, if they still their twist and rest for a moment, they die. They need new water pushed into their gills; they need dance. Somewhere east of me, on another continent, it is sunset, and starlings in breathtaking bands are winding high in the sky to their evening roost. The mantis egg cases are tied to the mock-orange hedge; within each case, within each egg, cells elongate, narrow, and split; cells bubble and curve inward, align, harden or hollow or stretch. And where are you now?

Annie Dillard
and-under-cicadas-deeper-down-that-longest-taproot-between-beneath-rounded-black-rocks-slanting-slabs-sandstone-in-earth-ground-water-is-creeping-ground-water-seeps-slides-across
He imagined a town called A. Around the communal fire they're shaping arrowheads and carving tributes o the god of the hunt. One day some guys with spears come over the ridge, perform all kinds of meanness, take over, and the new guys rename the town B. Whereupon they hang around the communal fire sharpening arrowheads and carving tributes to the god of the hunt. Some climatic tragedy occurs - not carving the correct tributary figurines probably - and the people of B move farther south, where word is there's good fishing, at least according to those who wander to B just before being cooked for dinner. Another tribe of unlucky souls stops for the night in the emptied village, looks around at the natural defenses provided by the landscape, and decides to stay awhile. It's a while lot better than their last digs - what with the lack of roving tigers and such - plus it comes with all the original fixtures. they call the place C, after their elder, who has learned that pretending to talk to spirits is a fun gag that gets you stuff. Time passes. More invasions, more recaptures, D, E, F, and G. H stands as it is for a while. That ridge provides some protection from the spring floods, and if you keep a sentry up there you can see the enemy coming for miles. Who wouldn't want to park themselves in that real estate? The citizens of H leave behind cool totems eventually toppled by the people of I, whose lack of aesthetic sense if made up for by military acumen. J, K, L, adventures in thatched roofing, some guys with funny religions from the eastern plains, long-haired freaks from colder climes, the town is burned to the ground and rebuilt by still more fugitives. This is the march of history. And conquest and false hope. M falls to plague, N to natural disaster - same climatic tragedy as before, apparently it's cyclical. Mineral wealth makes it happen for the O people, and the P people are renowned for their basket weaving. No one ever - ever - mentions Q. The dictator names the city after himself; his name starts with the letter R. When the socialists come to power they spend a lot of time painting over his face, which is everywhere. They don't last. Nobody lasts because there's always somebody else. They all thought they owned it because they named it and that was their undoing. They should have kept the place nameless. They should have been glad for their good fortune, and left it at that. X, Y, Z.

Colson Whitehead
he-imagined-town-called-a-around-communal-fire-theyre-shaping-arrowheads-carving-tributes-o-god-hunt-one-day-some-guys-with-spears-come-over-ridge-perform-all-kinds-meanness-take
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