absence. . . smothers into decay a rootless fancy but often nourishes the least seed of a true affection into full-flowering love.
The corrupt man is nearly always rootless, deeply aware of his rootlessness.
. . . love is healing, even rootless love.
Buffett was a billionaire who drove his own car, did his own taxes, and still lived in a home he had bought in 1958 for $31,500. He seemed to answer to a deeply rooted, distinctly American mythology, in which decency and common sense triumphed over cosmopolitan guile, and in which an idealized past held firm against a rootless and too hurriedly changing present.
I have no connections here; only gusty collisions, rootless seedlings forced into bloom, that collapse. . . . I am the Visiting Poet: a real unicorn, a wind-up plush dodo, a wax museum of the Movement. People want to push the buttons and see me glow.