A Quote by Mark Strand
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth. There is no happiness like mine. I have been eating poetry.
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He let his mouth linger on mine, neither possessively nor sweetly... like his mouth just belonged there on mine. And he was right. It did. It always had.
There have always been great defenses of poetry, and I've tried to write mine, and I think all of my work and criticism is a defense of poetry to try and keep something alive in poetry.
A line runs from the meditations of the heart to the words of the mouth. The meditations are not clear to us until the mouth utters its words. If what the mouth utters is unclear or foolish or mendacious, it must be that the meditations are the same. But the line runs both ways. The words of the mouth will become the meditations of the heart, and the habit of loose talk loosens the fastenings of our understanding.
How you refill. Lying there. Something like happiness, just like water, pure and clear pouring in. So good you don’t even welcome it, it runs through you in a bright stream, as if it has been there all along.
I would say that I love pizza so much that sometimes I eat pizza while I'm eating pizza. Like, I'm so content with myself with how it's going that I'm like, 'I should do this more,' not realizing that the mouth is full. I'm just cramming pizza into my mouth.
He made a small sigh, as he swallowed the first blood, then his mouth closed over my earlobe, mouth working at the wound, tongue coaxing blood from the wound. He pressed his body the length of mine, one hand cupping my turned head, the other playing down the line of my body. Maybe it was just blood, but I never stroked my steak while eating it.
I have been eating poetry.
If you start eating with your mouth open - I can't stand it! I was out to dinner with a girl, and she started chomping on her food. You could see everything she was eating. I was like, 'So when do you want to go home?'
Having cancer changed the way I ate and thought about food. My symptoms dictated my eating habits. The sores in my mouth and the bouts of nausea, for instance, stole the pleasure of eating and made it an ordeal. At some points in my treatment, eating wasn't even an option.
I have never been one of those who cares about happiness. Happiness is a strange notion. I am just not made for it. It has never been a goal of mine; I do not think in those terms.
Your mother sets you up blind dates? With guys like that?" The corners of his mouth twitched. "She doesn't like you very much, does she?
Fool! Nothing but black ink runs through my veins!
Patrick Peterson, obviously, is one of - it depends who you talk to - is the best, or one of the best, corners/return guys in the NFL. You just turn the film on and you're like, 'Wow, that guy plays corner? He looks like a linebacker and runs a 4.1' or whatever. He's a great player.
People are so afraid of hearing "No" that they often don't even try. You have nothing to lose by just asking! A good friend of mine once told me, "Harv, a closed mouth won't get fed." Open your mouth! Say something if negotiations aren't going the way you'd like.
It [lighting the set up] is quite a process. It's like drawing. It's like being an artist. You pencil it in first, and then you ink it. When you're filming, it's like you're penciling it all in. You know where everything is going to go. But, that application of the final ink takes some time.
Man, you weigh a freaking ton," he told me. "What've you been eating, rocks?" "Why, is your head missing some?" I croaked. His mouth almost quirked in a smile, and that's when I knew how upset he'd been
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