We figure to ourselves
The thing we like; and then we build it up,
As chance will have it, on the rock or sand,—
For thought is tired of wandering o’er the world,
And homebound Fancy runs her bark ashore.
--
Act I, sc. 5.Henry Taylor
Faeries might have been wandering around in Victorian England. I can believe that. But it is a more difficult thing to think that they might be wandering around Camden Town now.
It is more of a jump, but I find that more interesting in many ways. The irruption of the supernatural into our world is a much more enticing notion to explore than the same thing happening in some past time, or in a wholly imaginary world.Elizabeth Hand
(Monte) Johnson recalled that: "Wilt had such unbelievable endurance and speed that, if he took off running, there wasn't any chance that anybody would keep up with him. He glided around the track and had the grace of a deer. I said to the coach, 'It might look like it helps us to chase him, but it may kill us because you can't catch someone who runs that fast.' After practice, he was the only one who wasn't tired. I never saw him tired."
Wilt Chamberlain
Our work for peace must begin within the private world of each one of us. To build for man a world without fear, we must be without fear. To build a world of justice, we must be just. And how can we fight for liberty if we are not free in our own minds? How can we ask others to sacrifice if we are not ready to do so?... Only in true surrender to the interest of all can we reach that strength and independence, that unity of purpose, that equity of judgment which are necessary if we are to measure up to our duty to the future, as men of a generation to whom the chance was given to build in time a world of peace.
Dag Hammarskjold
It will be a strange sort of book, tho', I fear; blubber is blubber you know; tho' you may get oil out of it, the poetry runs as hard as sap from a frozen maple tree; — & to cook the thing up, one must needs throw in a little fancy, which from the nature of the thing, must be ungainly as the gambols of the whales themselves. Yet I mean to give the truth of the thing, spite of this.
Herman Melville
He made the world a grassy road before our bare, wandering feet,
Then crushed the stones into the softest sand between our toes...Aaron Weiss
Taylor, Henry
Taylor, James
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