A Quote by Gary Snyder

I recalled when I worked in the woods and the bars of Madras, Oregon. That short-haired joy and roughness America your stupidity. I could almost love you again. — © Gary Snyder
I recalled when I worked in the woods and the bars of Madras, Oregon. That short-haired joy and roughness America your stupidity. I could almost love you again.
Shaming and blaming your kid isn't going to make them change. You can't change yourself. Would I love to be tall and blonde? Yes, but that's not going to happen. I'm always going to be short and dark-haired, maybe gray-haired now.
In the first year in New York, I went to this amazing teacher named Jen Waldman. She does lots of different classes, but one of her classes was where you went and worked on a song. And suddenly I felt like an artist again, and because I had worked the whole song, when I went into the audition room, I could connect to something in the 16 bars.
I did however used to think, you know, in the woods walking, and as a kid playing in the woods, that there was a kind of immanence there — that woods, and places of that order, had a sense, a kind of presence, that you could feel; that there was something peculiarly, physically present, a feeling of place almost conscious ... like God. It evoked that.
I love the short-haired lifestyle.
Hey,” Shane said from the other side of the bars. “Trade you cigarettes for a chocolate bar.” Funny,” Eve said. She was almost back to her old unGothed self again, though there were still red splotches on her cheeks and around her eyes. “How come you’re always behind bars, troublemaker?” Look who’s talking. I didn’t try to outrun the cops in a hearse.” That hearse had horsepower.” Eve got that moony look in her eyes again. “I love that hearse.
You and I shouldn't claim we love Oregon more than anyone else, but that we love Oregon as much as anyone. Our thoughts today, and our deliberations to come, must spring from our determination to keep Oregon lovable and to make it even more livable.
Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone. When I'm alone I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing. If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.
A life of short duration...could be so rich in joy and love that it could contain more meaning than a life lasting eighty years.
I had no more conception of what it meant to be a forester than the man in the moon....But at least a forester worked in the woods and with the woods - and I loved the woods and everything about them....My Father's suggestion settled the question in favor of forestry.
Into the woods you go again You have to every now and then Into the woods, no telling when Be ready for the journey Into the woods, each time you go There's more to learn of what you know.
Gay bars in America aren't weird sex clubs. They're sanctuaries. I know so many straight friends that go to gay bars more than I ever do, male and female, because they can go there and be social and there's no expectation there. It's a safe place. It's almost like the real world version of Comic-Con in some places. You can go without judgment.
To pursue joy is to lose it. The only way to get it is to follow steadily the path of duty, without thinking of joy, and then, like sheep, it comes most surely unsought, and we 'being in the way,' the angel of God, bright-haired joy, is sure to meet us.
There is suffering and there is joy. Your life is very short, and then you're back again for another and another, forever, unless you step off the wheel.
Well, I have many models of Prius that got recalled, but I have a new model that didn't get recalled. This new model has an accelerator that goes wild, but only under certain conditions of cruise control. And I can repeat it over and over and over again--safely.
And the night smells like snow. Walking home for a moment you almost believe you could start again. And an intense love rushes to your heart, and hope. It’s unendurable, unendurable.
Oh, it's home again and home again, America for me! I want a ship that's westward bound to plough the rolling sea To the blessed land of Room Enough beyond the ocean bars, Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.
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