Repetition is the death of art.
My masculinity isn't hinged on whether or not I knit.
I started concentrating so hard on my vision that I lost sight.
The fact that when we die we are nothing more than worm meat---I just don't think about it.
I have seen men fly bombers with their faces half- blown away. You're going to allow a few algebra formulas to ground you
You think a man is a man cause he wears team colors and guzzles beer in front of the tube Can't you see, boys, the sands of time are dribbling through the hourglass
For people to judge a man's worth and his very manhood according to the way he feels about sport, and not to recognize it for the piddly, inconsequential goings on that it really is...
You've got your phenomenon on one hand. Concrete and knowable. On the other hand you've got the incomprehensible. You call it God, but to me, God or no, it remains just that, the unknowable.
I think it's them...Men. They have no fortitude. They're always dying or skedaddling off at the first sign of trouble. So tell me this, who is left to pick up the pieces, ship the body. clean out the closets Us And they have the audacity to call us the weaker sex.
Time is just something that we assign. You know, past, present, it's just all arbitrary. Most Native Americans, they don't think of time as linear in time, out of time, I never have enough time, circular time, the Stevens wheel. All moments are happening all the time.