A Quote by Clarice Lispector
But don't forget, in the meantime, that this is the season for strawberries. Yes.
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And now -- now it only remains for me to light a cigarette and go home. Dear God, only now am I remembering that people die. Does that include me? Don't forget, in the meantime, that this is the season for strawberries. Yes.
Truth out of season was sourer than strawberries at Christmas time.
When we look at the flowers, we suddenly forget so many important things. We forget that all flowers die. We forget that winter will come again. We forget that nothing really endures and that, like the flowers that die at the end of the growing season, we'll join them in the cold ground.
If there's ever a vote for single-payer, I'm a 'yes.' But there are lots of things we can do in the meantime.
There's nothing more satisfying than going to a market and meeting the person who picked the strawberries, or it's their farm that the strawberries came from, and giving them a fair value in exchange for what they're giving you.
Some things that started in pre-season and then, you know what, the season gets started, you kind of forget about it and then move on to football, and it's strictly football until the season finishes.
To everything there is a season. Yes. A time to break down, and a time to build up. Yes. A time to keep silence and a time to speak. Yes.
Most of the nations that have serious gardening cultures have, or had, empires. You can't have this luxury of pleasure without somebody paying for it. This is nice to know. It's nice to know that when you sit down to enjoy a plate of strawberries, somebody got paid very little so that you could have your strawberries. It doesn't mean the strawberries will taste different, but it's nice to enjoy things less than we do. We enjoy things far too much, and it leads to incredible pain and suffering.
spring is super in the supermarkets and the strawberries prance and glow never mind that they're all kinda tart and tasteless as strawberries go meanwhile wild things are not for sale anymore than they are for show so i'll be outside, in love with the kind of beauty it takes more than eyes to know
Strawberries are like tomatoes for me; I just won't eat them year round. I'll happily wait for them to come into season, then I gorge like a brown bear eating salmon before hibernation.
You can pick wild strawberries with your eyes closed, locating them by smell, for they are two parts perfume to one part taste. An hour of searching might yield a handful if you're lucky. Wild strawberries can't be encouraged, nor can they be discouraged: They come to you unbidden and unearned. They appear, or do not, by the grace of the sun.
Strangely, meanness pays more than offering constructive and interesting commentary. Every season I think, "This is the last season. I'm not gonna read tomorrow morning. Forget it." The first thing when I wake up - quite late, usually - I am craving the newspaper.
Specialization makes it easy to forget about the filth of the coal-fired power plant that is lighting this pristine computer screen, or the backbreaking labor it took to pick the strawberries for my cereal, or the misery of the hog that lived and died so I could enjoy my bacon.
There's not a yes or no answer to that. We want to prepare as a team to be as good as we can be out of the gate. If two months into the season or when Roger makes a decision to come to Arlington, I'd love to sit down with Buck and decide whose spot he takes. In reality so much happens during the course of the season, I don't see it as a problem.
Just remember that the things you put into your head are there forever, he said. You might want to think about that. You forget some things, dont you? Yes. You forget what you want to remember and you remember what you want to forget.
Most American Hispanics don't belong to one race, either. I keep telling kids that, when filling out forms, they should put "yes" to everything - yes, I am Chinese; yes, I am African; yes, I am white; yes, I am a Pacific Islander; yes, yes, yes - just to befuddle the bureaucrats who think we live separately from one another.
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