A little mob of bewildered sheep, Afraid to hurry — afraid to creep, Bringing memories back to me.

In the Street by Mabel Forrest


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Sooth ‘t were a pleasant life to lead, With nothing in the world to do But just to blow a shepherd’s reed, The silent season thro’ And just to drive a flock to feed, — Sheep — quiet, fond and few!

He has an oar in every man’s boat, and a finger in every pie.

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There were three sailors of Bristol city 
Who took a boat and went to sea. 
But first with beef and captain's biscuits 
And pickled pork they loaded she. 
There was gorging Jack and guzzling Jimmy, 
And the youngest he was little Billee. 
Now when they got as far as the Equator 
They'd nothing left but one split pea. 

W. M. Thackeray: Little Billee.

I feel akin to the Platypus. An orphan in a family. A swimmer, a recluse. Part bird, part fish, part lizard. Trevor Dunn

The Bard and the Lizard by John Shaw Neilson

The lizard leans in to October,
He walks on the yellow and green;
The world is awake and unsober,
It knows where the lovers have been.
The wind, like a faint violoncello,
Comes up and commands him to sing:
He says to me, “Courage, good fellow!
We live by the folly of Spring!”


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Arts and sciences are not cast in a mould, but are formed and perfected by degrees, by often handling and polishing, as bears leisurely lick their cubs into form.

— Montaigne

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“Lines and Squares

Whenever I walk in a London street,
I’m ever so careful to watch my feet;
And I keep in the squares,
And the masses of bears,
Who wait at the corners all ready to eat
The sillies who tread on the lines of the street,
Go back to their lairs,
And I say to them, “Bears,
Just look how I’m walking in all of the squares!”
And the little bears growl to each other, “He’s mine,
As soon as he’s silly and steps on a line.”
And some of the bigger bears try to pretend
That they came round the corner to look for a friend;
And they try to pretend that nobody cares
Whether you walk on the lines or squares.
But only the sillies believe their talk;
It’s ever so portant how you walk.
And it’s ever so jolly to call out, “Bears,
Just watch me walking in all the squares!”
A.A. Milne

Obviously, you’ve never seen a woman skydiving in a hoop skirt. Chris A. Bridges.

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“Until the sixteenth century, men–priests, academics, judges, merchants, princes, and many others–wore skirts, or robes. For men, the skirt was a ‘sign of leisure and a symbol of dignity,’ writes Quentin Bell. This is still true for men in high positions. After all, can you imagine the Pope, or Professor Dumbledore, wearing trousers? Have you ever seen a depiction of God wearing pants?”

Tim Gunn, Tim Gunn’s Fashion Bible: The Fascinating History of Everything in Your Closet

“I’m told there’s no going back. So I’m choosing forward.” ― David Levithan, Dash & Lily’s Book of Dares

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Let him who knows not the way to the sea take a river for his guide; that is, let him follow the course of a river, which, though per- haps by a circuitous route, will at length lead hIm there ; the sea being the common receptacle

“Dogs are wise. They crawl away into a quiet corner and lick their wounds and do not rejoin the world until they are whole once more.”

—Agatha Christie (author, Death on the Nile)
Read more at http://dogtime.com/dog-health/general/16344-25-famous-quotes-about-dogs#jiB5wz82wr7GTuP3.990 0 0 nursery06firgoog_0197

Men made dogs, they took wolves and gave them human things–unnecessary intelligence, names, a desire to belong, and a twitching inferiority complex. All dogs dream wolf dreams, and know they’re dreaming of biting their Maker. Every dog knows, deep in his heart, that he is a Bad Dog…”

― Terry Pratchett, Men at Arms

“You pass people on the street, some are for you, some are not.” ― Robert Henri, The Art Spirit

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“Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things: air, sleep, dreams, sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.” – Cesare Pavese