doubt will be the fire of my delight. and i'm never gonna come back down.
don't know why i just sit here waiting for you. i think, cause i'm waiting for the one.
and she's waiting for him too. and the soldier of love.
i should have known better than to breathe you in the first time.
fall in love with a bright idea and the way the world is revealed to you.
the world is neither fair nor unfair. the idea is just a way for us to understand.
sheeps go to heaven. goats go to hell.
in a phone booth. in some local bar and grill. rehearsing what i'll say, my coin returns.
how the heart approaches what it yearns.
the first line, divided, shows its subject with a sincere desire for union, but unable to carry it out, so that disorder is brought in to the sphere of his union. if he cry out for help to his proper correlate, all at once his tears will give place to smiles. he need not mind the temporary difficulty.
faraday's resources as an experimentalist were so wonderful, and his delight in experiment was so great, that he sometimes almost ran into excess in this direction. i have heard him say that this paper on vibrating surfaces was too heavily laden with experiments.
at the thought that vereker was perhaps at that moment dying there rolled over me a wave of anguish - a poignant sense of how inconsistently i still depended on him. a delicacy that it was my one compensation to suffer to rule me had left the alps and the apennines between us, but the sense of the waning occasion suggested that i might in my despair at last have gone to him. of course i should really have done nothing of the sort.
it's no good talking of humility.
"why, it was to show you i could!"
"oh, yes, you could."
"and i can again."
i felt that i might, perhaps, after all, succeed in keeping my wits about me. "certainly. but you won't."
"no, not that again. it was nothing."
"it was nothing," i said. "but we must go on."
with milk and oil i never knew, and therefore did i weep,
and i complaind in the mild air, because i fade away.
and lay me down in thy cold bed, and leave my shining lot.
queen of the vales, the matron clay answered: i heard thy sighs.
and all thy moans flew o'er my roof, but i have call'd them down:
wilt thou o queen enter my house, tis given thee to enter,
and to return: fear nothing, enter with thy virgin feet.
only a mind exceedingly alert and analytical can fail ultimately to be misled by habitual visual misrepresentation.
all that time spent living only through other men's lives. dreaming only other men's dreams. what a waste.