Where do those golden rainbows end? Why is this song so sad? Dreaming the dreams I've dreamed my friend Loving the love I love To love is just a word I've heard when things are being said Stories my poor head has told me cannot stand the cold And in between what might have been and what has come to pass A misbegotten guess alas and bits of broken glass...
James TaylorRelated topics
alas cold dreaming end friend glass golden guess head love loving might misbegotten pass poor sad say song stand tell word things bitsRelated quotes
It's been a prevalent notion. Fallen sparks. Fragments of vessels broken at the Creation. And someday, somehow, before the end, a gathering back to home. A messenger from the Kingdom, arriving at the last moment. But I tell you there is no such message, no such home - only the millions of last moments... nothing more. Our history is an aggregate of last moments.
Thomas Pynchon
When I say it's you I like, I'm talking about that part of you that knows that life is far more than anything you can ever see or hear or touch. That deep part of you that allows you to stand for those things without which humankind cannot survive. Love that conquers hate, peace that rises triumphant over war, and justice that proves more powerful than greed.
Fred Rogers
The threat of mutually assured destruction worked for the United States during the Cold War because it had proved its willingness to drop nuclear bombs on enemy cities at the end of World War II. It might work less well for Israel, because the Israeli Air Force has never deliberately targeted a large civilian population center, and its leaders have said its morality would not permit it do so.
Alan Dershowitz
You know it's very difficult to be an actor, and to have people depending on you to say the right line, at the right time, and to not be able to hear your cues! I can't tell you how many times I would've had to have said What? if I didn't have my hearing aids. So my hearing aids are a life saver, and they allow me to practice my craft.
Leslie Nielsen
This living hand, now warm and capable Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold And in the icy silence of the tomb, So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights That thou would wish thine own heart dry of blood, So in my veins red life might stream again, And thou be conscience-calm'd. See, here it is-- I hold it towards you.
John Keats
