A Quote by Anne Sexton
I can only sign over everything,
the house, the dog, the ladders, the jewels,
the soul, the family tree, the mailbox.
Then I can sleep.
Maybe.
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TREE HOUSE A tree house, a free house, A secret you and me house, A high up in the leafy branches Cozy as can be house. A street house, a neat house, Be sure to wipe your feet house Is not my kind of house at all- Let's go live in a tree house.
Growing up, I didn't have any comic books, at all. But my friend had a trunk full of them, so comic books were like candy for me. I would go over to his house for a sleep-over, and I would just be devouring everything I could get my hands on. I knew the sleep-over was going to be over, and I was going to go back to my house and it was going to be Kipling.
I think any critic that takes a swipe at 'Full House' is like taking the family dog. The dog brings you joy and happiness and makes you forget your problems, and that's all 'Full House' does. Literally, taking a potshot at that show is like taking the family dog.
I hate ladders. I don't mind heights, but I hate getting hit with ladders and falling into ladders. Anything where there are ladders involved or inanimate, unpredictable objects or multiple people gets dangerous.
Competition works. Ask any parent if their child will run faster from the house to the mailbox if he runs by himself or if he races to the mailbox with his sister. It's a no brainer.
I have to create an object which resembles the tree. The sign for a tree, and not the sign that other artists may have found for the tree.
We can assume that for every 100 people who wanted to say something to their favorite performer, maybe only ten actually got out the stationery. And of those ten, maybe only four get the letter to the mailbox. So, out of all those fans, maybe only four percent are actually sending you anything. And maybe you have read it. Or not.
I sleep all day. Noises flit around the house- garbage truck in the alley, rain, tree rapping against the bedroom window. I sleep. I inhabit sleep firmly, willing it, wielding it, pushing away dreams, refusing, refusing. Sleep is my lover now, my forgetting, my opiate, my oblivion. [...] It is afternoon, it is night, it is morning. Everything is reduced to this bed, this endless slumber that makes the days into one day, makes time stop, stretches and compacts time until it is meaningless.
I was a voracious reader and the library fed my curiosity, imagination and my soul. I read by the shelf - biographies, fantasy - all and everything fed my dreams. Then as an adult whenever I would go on location the first thing we would do as a family is sign up at the closest library. Not only would we find books, but what was happening in that town, because the library is the head of the community.
But it can also happen, if will and grace are joined, that as I contemplate the tree I am drawn into a relation, and the tree ceases to be an It. . . . Does the tree then have consciousness, similar to our own? I have no experience of that. But thinking that you have brought this off in your own case, must you again divide the indivisible? What I encounter is neither the soul of a tree nor a dryad, but the tree itself.
That's what it's like when people have crawled very high up in a tree, then they sometimes need help to get down with ladders and ropes and other instruments.
Because criminals know that when they see a house with 2 foot tall grass, a dog on a chain, and an engine hanging from a tree, a gun lives in that house. And if you want to know what kind, just break in at 2 in the morning.
FYI, there are basically only three things besides a vest that will stop a bullet: a tree trunk, the engine block of a car, and a U.S. mailbox: if you are ever caught in gunfire, find one of those.
Christians, of all people, should not be destroyers. We should treat nature with an overwhelming respect. We may cut down a tree to build a house, or to make a fire to keep the family warm. But we should not cut down the tree just to cut down the tree. We may, if necessary, bark the cork tree in order to have the use of the bark. But what we should not do is to bark the tree simply for the sake of doing so, and let it dry and stand there a dead skeleton in the wind. To do so is not to treat the tree with integrity.
A dog came to my door, so I gave him a bone, the dog took the bone into the back yard and buried it. I'm going to go plant a tree there, with bones on it, then the dog will come back and say, "Shoot! It worked! I must distribute these bones equally for I have a green paw!"
We might miss the sign or we may be unable to read the expression, but it is almost a contradiction in terms to say that a dog feels something but does not show it. What a dog feels, a dog shows, and, conversely, what a dog shows, a dog actually does feel.
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