I'm reminded of the day my daughter came in, looked over my shoulder at some Perl 4 code, and said, 'What is that, swearing?
A catless writer is almost inconceivable.
Gloom we have always with us, a rank and sturdy weed, but joy requires tending.
Subtly, in the little ways, joy has been leaking out of our lives. The small pleasures of the ordinary day seem almost contemptible, and glance off us lightly. . . Perhaps it's a good time to reconsider pleasure at its roots. Changing out of wet shoes and socks, for instance. Bathrobes. Yawning and stretching. Real tomatoes.
One's own flowers and some of one's own vegetables make acceptable, free, self-congratulatory gifts when visiting friends, though giving zucchini - or leaving it on the doorstep, ringing the bell, and running - is a social faux pas.
Cats vary so widely that all data is meaningless and the professional classifiers gnash their teeth trying to come up with even a single fact common to all.
Are you seeing a psychiatrist?' as a conversation opener would nowadays earn you a punch in the nose, but for fifty years it was a compliment. It meant, 'One can plainly see you are sensitive, intense, and interesting, and therefore neurotic. ' Only the dullest of clods trudged around without a neurosis.
The desert loves me. I love the desert. It's nice to be in the heat in Africa. I love it.
No one can build his security upon the nobleness of another person.
Women are the sexual slaves of men. They have been convinced that they are the "weaker" sex through a variety of manipulative devices in the Judeo-Christian tradition.
red plastic rain her tears stain