Our eyes met. I kissed her soft face, and down the stairs they descended. Their voices blended into an echo, a murmur. I ventured barefoot into the bedroom. The dark gown lay crumpled upon the bed

Whose ideas breathe through me? Am I a thief? Do I dream my own dreams?

The sea is rushing in now as unconsciousness does.I can see a chord, hear gospel songs as we hoist the sails.The sails are a soft white bird. We are airborne. We are primitive.

It is winter, and very cold. There are icicles against the glass, and frost. I am tracing a pattern, before it melts. Before it fades, and is lost for good, like memories

I want to sling a stone, a small rock into a pool, see it ripple. I want to shake a tree, create a small storm..

I was an unwilling passenger leaving the Big Country. I would miss the mountains and the waterfalls, the treks on broad horses' backs to hidden villages in secret valleys.

There were women who navigated in canoes, holding their children, the beguiling wind blowing soft sleet kisses, raining upon their skins

She hands me an ornament of The Virgin Mary. "Pray to the Holy Mary, Mother of God!" I notice she has a gold chain round her neck. It has the holy cross and a shamrock

I was climbing high, high up Pen Dinas Head among the sparkling yellow gorse, sea birds and white heather, with the oily sheep huddled together against the wind

I can see the caravanserai, like a mirage in the distance. The heat hums. I thought I saw water. What would you have on these trade winds for your comfort?

It's a small thing, a life.

We're going balls to the walls, guys. Our sneak and peak just turned inti a hostage rescue.

A nation cannot afford to do a mean thing.

I know politicians - I know politicians, believe it or not, better than you [Ted Cruz] do. And it's not good.

I love sharing my knowledge of hitting with others. Now coaches and players at all levels can learn my systematic approach to hitting a baseball with more consistency, mental strength and accuracy.

I think that the majority of messages are validating messages to confirm the survival of conscious. And many times that validation message is negative or sad.

If Jupiter hurled his thunderbolt as often as men sinned, he would soon be out of thunderbolts.

That was my childhood. I grew up with the monks, studying Sanskrit and meditating for hours in the morning and hours in the evening, and going once a day to beg for food.

If your watch is slow by just four minutes, that's not much - unless you've been warned that if you're even one minute late ever again you will be fired. Then four minutes make a big difference.