Lately, I’ve been thinking about the difference between poetry and prose, and as I’ve experienced it, poetry is insistent. It allows for images and statements to operate in a single space and resonate powerfully without the application to be elaborated upon and narrated.
How mankind defers from day to day the best it can do, and the most beautiful things it can enjoy, without thinking that every day may be the last one, and that lost time is lost eternity!
If you keep thinking about what you want to do or what you hope will happen, you don’t do it, and it won’t happen.
We were an ill-matched pair, my husband and I, from the very outset; he, with very high ideas of a husband’s authority and a wife’s submission, holding strongly to the ‘master-in-my-own-house theory,’ thinking much of the details of home arrangements, precise, methodical, easily angered and with difficulty appeased.
The classic think-tank is supposed to be sitting in an attic thinking up grand ideas.
Unless a capacity for thinking be accompanied by a capacity for action, a superior mind exists in torture.
States are like people. They do not question the awful status quo until some dramatic event overturns the conventional and lax way of thinking.
As I stood and gave the eulogy for young Michael Brown last week, I kept thinking about the fact that this child should have been in college instead of laying in a coffin.
We get into the habit of living before acquiring the habit of thinking. In that race which daily hastens us towards death, the body maintains its irreparable lead.
The first day at the power plant I found myself photographing some steam vents on the roof of the structure. And I remember consciously thinking that they were just like trees but they were metal.