Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.
For last year's words belong to last year's language And next year's words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning.
Razors pain you; Rivers are damp; Acids stain you; And drugs cause cramp. Guns aren't lawful; Nooses give; Gas smells awful; You might as well live.
The storm starts when the drops start dropping. The storm stops when the drops stop dropping.
What we call the beginning is often the end And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.
Home is the place where, when you have to go there, They have to take you in.
I kneel in the nights before tigers that will not let me be. What you were will not happen again. The tigers have found me and I do not care.
He drew a circle that shut me out- Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout. But love and I had the wit to win: We drew a circle and took him In.
Isn't it funny how you can ache just from the deadly drone of existence?
How could I have known this rapture would make me so crazy, turn my heart into a hell and my eyes into rivers?