Rumor is a vagrant without a home, and lives upon what it can pick up.
I'm not a vagrant. . . I'm a hobo. Big difference.
Life's an act of magic, too. Claire Hamill sings a line in one of her songs that really sums it up for me: 'If there's no magic, there's no meaning. ' Without magic- or call it wonder, mystery, natural wisdom- nothing has any depth. It's all just surface. You know: what you see is what you get. I honestly believe there's more to everything than that, whether it's a Monet hanging in a gallery or some old vagrant sleeping in an alley.
Hundreds and hundreds of beautiful horses in the parade and a man without a silver saddle is a vagrant.
The mind is a vagrant thing. . . . Thinking is not analogous to a person working in a laboratory who invents something on company time.
Almost none of the poetries I admire stick to their labels, native or adopted ones. Rather, they are vagrant in their identifications. Tramp poets, there you go, a new label for those with unstable allegiances.
A honest man is seldom a vagrant.
The true vagrant is the only king above all comparison.
A vagrant is everywhere at home.
