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Wanderers eastward, wanderers west, Know you why you cannot rest? 'Tis that every mother's son Travails with a skeleton. Lie down in the bed of dust; Bear the fruit that bear you must; Bring the eternal seed to light, And morn is all the same as night.
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Don't let's go to the dogs tonight, For mother will be there.
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Before you count the profit, count the cost of a working mother.
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Then, there's the modern mother-in-law. In her mid 40s, she is the compact car of her breed: efficient, trim, attractive and in harmony with her times. She's pretty stiff competition for the plain young matron who's overweight and under-financed. If there is going to be friction in this relationship, it could start from envy and resentment in the younger woman. But Father Time is on her side, even if Mother Nature played her a dirty trick
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We have inherited a great music. This music is a holdover. It comes with us like the skin, the texture of our hair. It's our memory banks.
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Last night I'd made love to a woman for the first and last time. It had been amazing and I had a memory that would shape the rest of my life.
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It was all I had, all I've ever had, the only currency, the only proof that I was alive. Memory.
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Freedom is the last, best hope of earth.
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Indians don't last in prison. They weren't born for it like the whites.
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Good guys are most likely to finish last, but also most likely to finish first.
