Stalks 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
disaffection-stalks-around-us
i-make-bean-stalks-im-a-builder-like-yourself-edna-st-vincent-millay
we-dont-have-dealings-he-just-stalks-me-im-popular-like-that-nenia-campbell
i-am-not-your-victim-because-you-are-not-a-predator-any-more-than-a-bottle-of-scotch-stalks-an-alcoholic
nor-pestilence-that-stalks-in-darkness-nor-plague-that-destroys-at-midday-psalm-916
people-weighed-down-with-troubles-do-not-look-back-they-know-only-too-well-that-misfortune-stalks-them-victor-hugo
if-god-had-created-celery-it-would-only-have-two-stalks-because-thats-most-that-almost-any-recipe-ever-calls-for-skint-foodie
the-world-is-governed-by-chance-randomness-stalks-us-every-day-our-lives-paul-auster
i-hate-war-for-dictatorships-it-puts-in-place-democracies-for-starvation-that-stalks-after-it-harry-emerson-fosdick
though-contradictions-war-seem-sudden-simultaneous-history-stalks-before-it-strikes-something-tolerated-soon-becomes-something-good-anne-michaels
art-gropes-it-stalks-like-hunter-lost-in-woods-listening-to-itself-to-everything-around-it-unsure-itself-waiting-to-pounce-john-gardner
the-fullness-ends-when-we-give-nature-her-ransom-when-we-make-children-for-her-then-she-is-through-with-us-we-become-first-inside-then-outside-junk-flower-stalks-john-updike
fate-stalks-us-with-depressing-monotony-from-womb-to-tomb-when-we-are-least-expecting-it-deals-us-series-crushing-blows-from-behind-hesketh-pearson
i-often-compare-margaret-thatcher-with-florence-nightingale-she-stalks-through-wards-our-hospitals-as-lady-with-lamp-unfortunately-its-blowlamp-denis-healey
the-plants-filled-place-forest-them-with-nasty-meaty-leaves-stalks-like-newly-washed-fingers-dead-men-raymond-chandler
dependence-on-drugs-is-not-disease-it-is-not-virus-it-is-not-something-that-stalks-only-dregs-society-drug-addiction-is-realized-emotional-deficiency-syndrome-plamen-chetelyazov
used-to-be-that-my-whole-body-was-my-canvashot-cuts-licking-my-ribs-ladder-rungs-climbing-my-arms-thick-milkweed-stalks-shooting-up-my-thighs-laurie-halse-anderson
what-if-i-said-i-wanted-friend-the-ship-crouches-among-freshcut-stalks-or-lover-thats-how-you-make-person-yes-by-affection-intimacy-by-touches-like-knives-in-salted-bed-benjanun-
but-she-had-brought-them-up-to-the-roof-of-the-house-and-hid-them-with-the-stalks-of-flax-which-she-had-laid-in-order-upon-the-roof
our-societies-have-experienced-magic-that-occurs-when-pluralism-flourishes-marginalized-assume-their-proper-powers-but-loss-stalks-those-victories-as-millions-revolt-against-chan
my-mom-allowed-me-to-take-old-burlap-bag-fill-it-with-moss-corn-stalks-rocks-then-hang-it-from-tree-spend-hour-day-punching-my-heavy-bag
the-moon-dried-weeds-pleiades-seven-feet-tall-dark-dried-weed-stalks-make-part-night-red-lace-on-milky-blue-sky-william-carlos-williams
back-in-russia-we-were-dirtpoor-here-in-west-we-are-still-poor-but-have-risen-above-dirt-to-tower-alongside-stalks-grass-vera-nazarian
apple-trees-bear-apples-wheat-stalks-produce-wheat-forgiven-people-forgive-people-max-lucado
history-is-funny-little-creature-do-you-remember-visiting-your-old-aunt-that-autumn-when-trees-shone-yellow-how-she-owned-striped-unsocial-cat-quite-old-fat-wounded-about-ears-wh
In the jumbled, fragmented memories I carry from my childhood there are probably nearly as many dreams as images from waking life. I thought of one which might have been my earliest remembered nightmare. I was probably about four years old - I don't think I'd started school yet - when I woke up screaming. The image I retained of the dream, the thing which had frightened me so, was an ugly, clown-like doll made of soft red and cream-coloured rubber. When you squeezed it, bulbous eyes popped out on stalks and the mouth opened in a gaping scream. As I recall it now, it was disturbingly ugly, not really an appropriate toy for a very young child, but it had been mine when I was younger, at least until I'd bitten its nose off, at which point it had been taken away from me. At the time when I had the dream I hadn't seen it for a year or more - I don't think I consciously remembered it until its sudden looming appearance in a dream had frightened me awake. When I told my mother about the dream, she was puzzled. 'But what's scary about that? You were never scared of that doll.' I shook my head, meaning that the doll I'd owned - and barely remembered - had never scared me. 'But it was very scary, ' I said, meaning that the reappearance of it in my dream had been terrifying. My mother looked at me, baffled. 'But it's not scary, ' she said gently. I'm sure she was trying to make me feel better, and thought this reasonable statement would help. She was absolutely amazed when it had the opposite result, and I burst into tears. Of course she had no idea why, and of course I couldn't explain. Now I think - and of course I could be wrong - that what upset me was that I'd just realized that my mother and I were separate people. We didn't share the same dreams or nightmares. I was alone in the universe, like everybody else. In some confused way, that was what the doll had been telling me. Once it had loved me enough to let me eat its nose; now it would make me wake up screaming. ("My Death")

Lisa Tuttle
in-jumbled-fragmented-memories-i-carry-from-my-childhood-there-are-probably-nearly-as-many-dreams-as-images-from-waking-life-i-thought-one-which-might-have-been-my-earliest-remem
Modern man is drinking and drugging himself out of awarness, or he spends his time shopping, which is the same thing. As awarness calls for types of heroic dedication that his culture no longer provides for him, society contrives to help him forget. In the mysterious way in which life is given to us in evolution on this planet, it pushes in the direction of its own expansion. We don't understand it simply because we don't know the purpose of creation; we only feel life straining in ourselves and see it thrashing others about as they devour each other. Life seeks to expand in an unknown direction for unknown reasons. What are we to make of creation in which routine activity is for organisms to be tearing others apart with teeth of all types - biting, grinding flesh, plant stalks, bones between molars, pushing the pulp greedily down the gullet with delight, incorporating its essence into one's own organization, and then excreting with foul stench and gasses residue. Everyone reaching out to incorporate others who are edible to him. The mosquitoes bloating themselves on blood, the maggots, the killer-bees attacking with a fury and a demonism, sharks continuing to tear and swallow while their own innards are being torn out - not to mention the daily dismemberment and slaughter in 'natural' accidents of all types: an earthquake buries alive 70 thousand bodies in Peru, a tidal wave washes over a quarter of a million in the Indian Ocean. Creation is a nightmare spectacular taking place on a planet that has been soaked for hundreds of millions of years in the blood of all creatures. The soberest conclusion that we could make about what has actually been taking place on the planet about three billion years is that it is being turned into a vast pit of fertilizer. But the sun distracts our attention, always baking the blood dry, making things grow over it, and with its warmth giving the hope that comes with the organism's comfort and expansiveness.

Ernest Becker
modern-man-is-drinking-drugging-himself-out-awarness-he-spends-his-time-shopping-which-is-same-thing-as-awarness-calls-for-types-heroic-dedication-that-his-culture-no-longer-prov
It is a great wonder How Almighty God in his magnificence Favors our race with rank and scope And the gift of wisdom; His sway is wide. Sometimes He allows the mind of a man Of distinguished birth to follow its bent, Grants him fulfillment and felicity on earth And forts to command in his own country. He permits him to lord it in many lands Until the man in his unthinkingness Forgets that it will ever end for him. He indulges his desires; illness and old age Mean nothing to him; his mind is untroubled By envy or malice or thought of enemies With their hate-honed swords. The whole world Conforms to his will, he is kept from the worst Until an element of overweening Enters him and takes hold While the soul's guard, its sentry, drowses, Grown too distracted. A killer stalks him, An archer who draws a deadly bow. And then the man is hit in the heart, The arrow flies beneath his defenses, The devious promptings of the demon start. His old possessions seem paltry to him now. He covets and resents; dishonors custom And bestows no gold; and because of good things That the Heavenly powers gave him in the past He ignores the shape of things to come. Then finally the end arrives When the body he was lent collapses and falls Prey to its death; ancestral possessions And the goods he hoarded and inherited by another Who lets them go with a liberal hand. 'O flower of warriors, beware of that trap. Choose, dear Beowulf, the better part, Eternal rewards. Do not give way to pride. For a brief while your strength is in bloom But it fades quickly; and soon there will follow Illness or the sword to lay you low, Or a sudden fire or surge of water Or jabbing blade or javelin from the air Or repellent age. Your piercing eye Will dim and darken; and death will arrive, Dear warrior, to sweep you away.

Seamus Heaney
it-is-great-wonder-how-almighty-god-in-his-magnificence-favors-our-race-with-rank-scope-and-gift-wisdom-his-sway-is-wide-sometimes-he-allows-mind-man-of-distinguished-birth-to-fo
Live or die, but don't poison everything... Well, death's been here for a long time - it has a hell of a lot to do with hell and suspicion of the eye and the religious objects and how I mourned them when they were made obscene by my dwarf-heart's doodle. The chief ingredient is mutilation. And mud, day after day, mud like a ritual, and the baby on the platter, cooked but still human, cooked also with little maggots, sewn onto it maybe by somebody's mother, the damn bitch! Even so, I kept right on going on, a sort of human statement, lugging myself as if I were a sawed-off body in the trunk, the steamer trunk. This became perjury of the soul. It became an outright lie and even though I dressed the body it was still naked, still killed. It was caught in the first place at birth, like a fish. But I play it, dressed it up, dressed it up like somebody's doll. Is life something you play? And all the time wanting to get rid of it? And further, everyone yelling at you to shut up. And no wonder! People don't like to be told that you're sick and then be forced to watch you come down with the hammer. Today life opened inside me like an egg and there inside after considerable digging I found the answer. What a bargain! There was the sun, her yolk moving feverishly, tumbling her prize - and you realize she does this daily! I'd known she was a purifier but I hadn't thought she was solid, hadn't known she was an answer. God! It's a dream, lovers sprouting in the yard like celery stalks and better, a husband straight as a redwood, two daughters, two sea urchings, picking roses off my hackles. If I'm on fire they dance around it and cook marshmallows. And if I'm ice they simply skate on me in little ballet costumes. Here, all along, thinking I was a killer, anointing myself daily with my little poisons. But no. I'm an empress. I wear an apron. My typewriter writes. It didn't break the way it warned. Even crazy, I'm as nice as a chocolate bar. Even with the witches' gymnastics they trust my incalculable city, my corruptible bed. O dearest three, I make a soft reply. The witch comes on and you paint her pink. I come with kisses in my hood and the sun, the smart one, rolling in my arms. So I say Live and turn my shadow three times round to feed our puppies as they come, the eight Dalmatians we didn't drown, despite the warnings: The abort! The destroy! Despite the pails of water that waited, to drown them, to pull them down like stones, they came, each one headfirst, blowing bubbles the color of cataract-blue and fumbling for the tiny tits. Just last week, eight Dalmatians, 3/4 of a lb., lined up like cord wood each like a birch tree. I promise to love more if they come, because in spite of cruelty and the stuffed railroad cars for the ovens, I am not what I expected. Not an Eichmann. The poison just didn't take. So I won't hang around in my hospital shift, repeating The Black Mass and all of it. I say Live, Live because of the sun, the dream, the excitable gift.

Anne Sexton
live-die-but-dont-poison-everything-well-deaths-been-here-for-long-time-it-has-hell-lot-to-do-with-hell-suspicion-eye-religious-objects-how-i-mourned-them-when-they-were-made-obs
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