I'm almost violent about that stuff - electronic manipulation of pictures. I think it's an abomination. I reject it all. I mean, it's OK for selling corn flakes or automobiles or for taking pimples out of Elizabeth Taylor's face, but it undermines the thing that photography is about, which is about observation and not about manipulation of images.
Actual creativeness is a matter of moments. One has to piece together the minute grains to make a lump. And it is so easy to miss the momentary flashes, it is like sluicing in placer mining. He who lets the flakes float by has nothing to show for his trouble.
There will be a rusty gun on the wall, sweetheart, The rifle grooves curling with flakes of rust. A spider will make a silver string nest in the darkest, warmest corner of it.
If you have children in your house you have Frosted Flakes.
The smallest snowstorm on record took place an hour ago in my back yard. It was approximately two flakes. I waited for more to fall, but that was it. The entire storm was two flakes.
If one yearns to see the face of the Divine, one must break out of the aquarium, escape the fish farm, to go swim up wild cataracts, dive in deep fjords. One must explore the labyrinth of the reef, the shadows of the lily pads. How limiting, how insulting to think of God as a benevolent warden, an absentee hatchery manager who imprisons us in the 'comfort' of artificial pools, where intermediaries sprinkle our restrictive waters with sanitized flakes of processed nutriment.
Here and there on the branch of an oak a congress of leaves still clung, rigid as flakes of bronze.
I don't eat cereal actually. . . Frosted Flakes. . . that's as close as I can get.
Have you ever noticed how they keep improving your laundry detergent, but they still can't get those blue flakes out? Why do we trust them to get our clothes clean? These guys can't even get the DETERGENT white!
The universe now appeared to me as a void wherein floated rare flakes of snow, each flake a universe.
One must imagine Sisyphus happy.
I always carry yeast flakes and bran with me when I travel.
We wake from one dream into another dream.
Faded smiles oft linger in the face, While grief's first flakes fall silent on the heart!
So I let my shame own me, kill me, wilt me away into a thousand dead flakes, knowing if I kept it all in, she would never have to learn the dirtiness that was forever inside me--the bad, the ugly, the twisted. She could go on living her life happy, just like she deserved.
When he spoke, what tender words he used! So softly, that like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell.
There are as many pillows of illusion as flakes in a snow-storm. We wake from one dream into another dream.
Peering down into the water where the morning sun fashioned wheels of light, coronets fanwise in which lay trapped each twig, each grain of sediment, long flakes and blades of light in the dusty water sliding away like optic strobes where motes sifted and spun.
I ate too many Frosted Flakes. I don't remember what I said last night.
In my garden the winds have beaten the ripe lilies; in my garden, the salt has wilted the first flakes of young narcissus.
