Oh squiggly line in my eye fluid.
I see you lurking there on the periphery of my vision.
But when I try to look at you, you scurry away.
Are you shy, squiggly line?
Why only when I ignore you, do you return to the center of my eye.
Oh, squiggly line,
it's alright, you are forgiven.
William Shakesphere, as read by Withnail (Richard E. Grant)
"I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame the earth seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy the air, look you, this mighty o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire; why, it appeareth nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, how like an angel in apprehension, how like a God! The beauty of the world, paragon of animals; and yet to me, what is this quintessence of dusk? Man delights not me, no, nor women neither, nor women neither."
Ernest Hemingway
"He went to the river. The river was there."
Stephen King
"Sometimes, dead is better"
Can't Remember
"Great people are those that never remind us of anyone else"
Damn, I thought I'd rattle off 100 easily. Guess my mind is elsewhere.
I need to write another unpublishable novel. I think I'll get started this Saturday. I've got an idea for a Sci-Fi story, a dramatic novel and, well, something so strange I don't really know how to classify it. I'll pick one and get started.
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