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Once upon a time, when men and women hurtled through the air on metal wings, when they wore webbed feet and walked on the bottom of the sea, learning the speech of whales and the songs of the dolphins, when pearly-fleshed and jewelled apparitions of Texan herdsmen and houris shimmered in the dusk on Nicaraguan hillsides, when folk in Norway and Tasmania in dead of winter could dream of fresh strawberries, dates, guavas and passion fruits and find them spread next morning on their tables, there was a woman who was largely irrelevant, and therefore happy.
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Was this the big one or was this the small tremor, the warning? Does it get better - does the sensation of being in a dream underwater go away?
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It's every actor's dream to work in a hit show on Broadway and also shoot a television show.
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But dreams change. Fate has a way showing you paths you want more.
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Sleeping on it didn't make accepting it any easier. It seemed like a really bad dream.
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Terence, this is stupid stuff: You eat your victuals fast enough; There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear, To see the rate you drink your beer. But oh, good Lord, the verse you make, It gives a chap the belly-ache. The cow, the old cow, she is dead; It sleeps well the horned head: We poor lads, 'tis our turn now To hear such tunes as killed the cow. Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme Your friends to death before their time. Moping, melancholy mad: Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad.
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When the journey's over/There'll be time enough to sleep.
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It's unfortunate biologically we have to sleep.
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Photographs are of course about their makers, and are to be read for what they disclose in that regard no less than for what they reveal of the world as their makers comprehend, invent, and describe it.
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I thought religion would make me live with my head in the clouds, but as often as not, it grounds me in this world.
