A squib a day prevents brain decay.
In relative terms, I'm a cypher. In my own terms that cypher reads A#1.
Go ahead, enjoy a second childhood. But save enough rope for a second adulthood.
God is the ever spreading territory I have no control over.
The Greeks knew it: proportion is all. Too big and we're breathing ozone. Too small and the cats are eating us.
Wonder can't be forced. But crack open one of your cells and climb the spiral ladder to the stars.
I can't tell just by looking if a group is left wing or right wing. But as soon as they open their mouths, the horns pop up.
In a perfect world, the half-informed will receive half a vote.
In religion school I majored in Mea Culpa.
She rebuked her harassers with guillotine eyes.
Cleaning up someone else's mess seems a waste of the day. But it may be your saving grace on the final day.
Things not worth stressing about: the pasta will not be spoiled by boiling an extra minute.
@jmcdonnell123
Magnum Cum Laude in Squibographia!
ReplyDeleteHere all this time I thought those blank expressions of yours were a result of constipation, when in reality it was diarrhea of the mind. Good googa mooga! It's like you've surgically removed a brain plug someplace and this stuff is just pouring out of every pore and orfice. How can you sleep? No wonder Teresa has to do the wood splitting now--and leaves for town immediately after all her chores are done, you're probably off in your own little world someplace ruminating about Greek proportions or something . . . your facial expression contorting in relief . The poor lass.
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