O shame, where is thy blush?
Life may not be perfect, at least it offered moments that were perfect enough.
You try as a parent. You love beyond reason. You fight beyond endurance. You hope beyond despair. You never think, until the very last moment, that it still might not be enough.
The only time you're calm, you're centered, you're at peace, is when someone's trying to kill you. And that's just plain twisted.
Women cry. Men laugh. Whiners moan. Men laugh. Wimps complain. Men laugh.
Expect nothing and life will be velvet.
I don't know much about international policing and I would love to learn more. Especially in this day and age when the Internet is rapidly reducing borders and crime can happen on a larger scale than ever before. These things intrigue me.
We are all wonderful, beautiful wrecks. That's what connects us-that we're all broken, all beautifully imperfect.
I would like to think I will be a guy who knows when it's time to stop. I don't want to be a guy who hung on and hung on. I do not have a goal in mind of a year or a statistic.
To me, nudity is a joke. I don't think nude people are very attractive at all. I like my women fully clothed. I like to imagine what might be under there. It might not be the standard thing. Imagine, stripping a woman down, and she has a body like a little submarine. With periscope, propellers, torpedoes. That would be the one for me. I'd marry her right off and be faithful to the end.
It is clear that a poem may be improperly brief. Undue brevity degenerates into mere epigrammatism. A very short poem, while now and then producing a brilliant or vivid, never produces a profound or enduring, effect. There must be the steady pressing down of the stamp upon the wax.