A Quote by Jones Very

The later rain,--it falls in anxious haste Upon the sun-dried fields and branches bare, Loosening with searching drops the rigid waste, As if it would each root's lost strength repair.
Searching for money, what are you really searching? You are searching power, you are searching strength. Searching for prestige, political authority, what are you searching? You are searching power, strength - and strength is all the time available just by the corner. You are searching in wrong places.
The rain drags Black Sun down, but the rain dried by White Moon.
After a day of cloud and wind and rain Sometimes the setting sun breaks out again, And touching all the darksome woods with light, Smiles on the fields until they laugh and sing, Then like a ruby from the horizon's ring, Drops down into the night.
In lightness the root is lost. In haste the ruler is lost.
Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby. The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk. The rain makes running pools in the gutter. The rain plays a little sellp-song on our roof at night- And I love the rain.
So he left the lagoon and entered the jungle again, within a few days was completely lost, following the lagoons southward through the increasing rain and heat, attacked by alligators and giant bats, a second Adam searching for the forgotten paradises of the reborn Sun.
The rain ...falls upon the just and the unjust alike; a thing which would not happen if I were superintending the rain's affairs. No, I would rain softly and sweetly on the just, but if I caught a sample of the unjust outdoors, I would drown him.
The ash her purple drops forgivingly And sadly, breaking not the general hush; The maple swamps glow like a sunset sea, Each leaf a ripple with its separate flush; All round the wood's edge creeps the skirting blaze, Ere the rain falls, the cautious farmer burns his brush.
The search of our future being is but a needless, anxious, and haste to be knowing, sooner than we can, what, without all this solicitude, we shall know a little later.
That rain is the best which falls steadily on the earth. A sudden and excessive downpour ruins the fields.
Rain is a blessing when it falls gently on parched fields, turning the earth green, causing the birds to sing.
Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby.
And what does the rain say at night in a small town, what does the rain have to say? Who walks beneath dripping melancholy branches listening to the rain? Who is there in the rain’s million-needled blurring splash, listening to the grave music of the rain at night, September rain, September rain, so dark and soft? Who is there listening to steady level roaring rain all around, brooding and listening and waiting, in the rain-washed, rain-twinkled dark of night?
Little drops of rain Whisper of the pain Tears of love Lost in the days gone by.
Judaism, Christianity, Islam, all of these are branches, the root is love and that's where I went. I went straight to the root, I forgot the branches and I went straight to the root so that is how I see it, that is after I said of research and study and going through different phases of mental evolution, mental and consciousness evolution, not just believing in a book, believing in a certain idea, being willing to think for yourself and formulate your own ideas.
I took the pieces you threw away, put them together by night and day. Washed by the rain. Dried by the sun. A million pieces all in one.
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