I’ve lived a fair span; it would be greedy to depend on more; yet it isn’t good grace to count the years, or close the door. . Read the forty-third, forty-fourth, and forty-fifth chapters of Middlemarch. Read The Rambler, Numb. 9. Tuesday, April 17, 1750. Chuse what you are; no other state prefer. — Elphinston The philosopher may very justly be delighted with the extent of his views, and the […]
Drinking from the birdbath, washing face and hands, a pretty little wasp teaches me. . [ 1798 ]
Ancient man is in me. I see his starry night. I hear him call. Feel him shiver. Wait for light. He gathers food. Seeks a hand to touch. Looks out from the precipice. Dreams his waking dream. A few ripe berries. Finger stains. Computer keys. . [ 1786 ]
The fig tree is a show of tiny hands. The vote for spring is in, all affirmative. . [ 1738 ]
Said the little statue,What is eternity, now that I have been clay in your hands? And the artist gently replied,What it has always been. But I have changed, and you are more than I am. . [ 1646 ]
As my fingertips on one hand traced the lines of the open palm of the other, I suddenly recognized them both as old childhood friends. It felt like years since I’d seen them. I held them up. They looked at each other, then at me. There were many things I could have asked them, but they seemed so sensitive and shy, I only nodded and kept silent, thinking, Perhaps another […]
A clock without numbers. A clock without hands. A face out of time. . [ 1621 ]
Hands wrapp’d ’round a warm cup — faceless night, nameless fire. . [ 1533 ]
William Michaelian 