Nobody got anywhere in the world by simply being content.
Louis L'Amour
Read more:http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/l/louislamo382503.html#ixzz1MxJovEH8
9 years ago
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“
It seems to me that those songs that have been any good, I have nothing much to do with the writing of them. The words have just crawled down my sleeve and come out on the page.” ~Joan Baez
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"Life can't ever really defeat a writer who is in love with writing, for life itself is a writer's lover until death -- fascinating, cruel, lavish, warm, cold, treacherous, constant."
—Edna Ferber
Snow II
The next day the light was better. I probably could get even better shots if i put on boots & went outside. Wonder who went to the shed & why?
just
broke a stupid holiday tradition tonite. I wrapped a few presents. We never wrap anything until xmas eve. And that is after dinner, dessert and much wine. This probably got started because i'm usually shopping up until xmas eve. wanting to see what i had bought/what we had/what we needed. Now, i just don't care anymore; whatever it is, it is. I've actually been done for days. I'm even considering baking - i haven't done that since my son was little & i'd make sugar cut-out cookies with him for Santa.
I'm not much of a cook, so i always thought baking was for the experts and why compete with the beautiful, yummy stuff you can get at the bakery.
maybe you can teach an old dog new tricks.
Joke Friday
Two 90-year-old women, Rose and Barb had been friends all of their lives.
When it was clear that Rose was dying, Barb visited her every day.
One day Barb said, 'Rose, we both loved playing women's softball all our lives, and we played all through High School. Please do me one favor: when you get to Heaven, somehow you must let me
know if there's women's softball there.'
Rose looked up at Barb from her deathbed and said, 'Barb, you've been my best friend for many years. If it's at all possible, I'll do this favor for you.'
Shortly after that, Rose passed on.
A few nights later, Barb was awakened from a sound sleep by a blinding flash of white light and a voice calling out to her, 'Barb, Barb.'
'Who is it', asked Barb, sitting up suddenly. 'Who is it?'
'Barb -- it's me, Rose..'
'You're not Rose. Rose just died.'
'I'm telling you, it's me, Rose,' insisted the voice.
'Rose! Where are you?'
'In Heaven,' replied Rose. 'I have some really good news and a little bad news.'
'Tell me the good news first,' said Barb.
'The good news,' Rose said, 'is that there's softball in Heaven. Better yet all of our old buddies who died before us are here, too. Better than that, we're all young again. Better still, it's always springtime, and it never rains or snows. And best of all, we can play softball all we want, and we never get tired.'
'That's fantastic,' said Barb. 'It's beyond my wildest dreams! So what's the bad news?'
'You're pitching Tuesday.'
Life is uncertain - eat dessert first.
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by Milan Kundera:
"When Goethe was working on Wilhelm Meister, he allowed his secretary Riemer to read proof for him and strike out a superfluous word or touch up a phrase here or there, thought he would never had entrusted his poetry to him. In Goethe's time prose could not make the aesthetic claims or poetry: perhaps not until the work of Flaubert did prose lose the stigma of aesthetic inferiority. Ever since Madame Bovary,the art of the novel has been considered equal to the art of poetry, and the novelist (any novelist worthy of the name) endows every word of his prose with the uniqueness of the word in a poem.
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