glass

My world is a million shattered pieces put together, glued by my tears, where each piece is nothing but a reflection of YOU.

I am clumsy, drop glasses and get drunk on Monday afternoons. I read Seneca and can recite Shakespeare by heart, but I mess up the laundry, don__ answer my phone and blame the world when something goes wrong. I think I have a dream, but most of the days I__ still sleeping. The grass is cut. It smells like strawberries. Today I finished four books and cleaned my drawers. Do you believe in a God? Can I tell you about Icarus? How he flew too close to the sun?I want to make coming home your favourite part of the day. I want to leave tiny little words lingering in your mind, on nights when you__e far away and can__ sleep. I want to make everything around us beautiful; make small things mean a little more. Make you feel a little more. A little better, a little lighter. The coffee is warm, this cup is yours. I want to be someone you can__ live without.I want to be someone you can__ live without.

In the kingdom of glass everything is transparent, and there is no place to hide a dark heart.

A fine glass vase goes from treasure to trash, the moment it is broken. Fortunately, something else happens to you and me. Pick up your pieces. Then, help me gather mine.

I am a waning birdencased in a glass sphere;I cannot see my prison,and my cries no one can hear.

A glass of water with peace is better than several glasses of wine with trouble. Here's a glass of water . . . Cheers to the good life

Be careful not to appear obsessively intellectual. When intelligence fills up, it overflows a parody.

We are told that in translation there is no such thing as equivalence. Many times the translator reaches a fork in the translating road where they must make a choice in the interpretation of a word. And each time they make one of these choices, they are taken further from the truth. But what we aren__ told is that this isn__ a shortcoming of translation; it__ a shortcoming of language itself. As soon as we try to put reality into words, we limit it. Words are not reality, they are the cause of reality, and thus reality is always more. Writers aren't alchemists who transmute words into the aurous essence of the human experience. No, they are glassmakers. They create a work of art that enables us to see inside to help us understand. And if they are really good, we can see our own reflections staring back at us.

Oh, if only it were possible to find understanding,_ Joseph exclaimed. __f only there were a dogma to believe in. Everything is contradictory, everything tangential; there are no certainties anywhere. Everything can be interpreted one way and then again interpreted in the opposite sense. The whole of world history can be explained as development and progress and can also be seen as nothing but decadence and meaninglessness. Isn__ there any truth? Is there no real and valid doctrine?__he master had never heard him speak so fervently. He walked on in silence for a little, then said: __here is truth, my boy. But the doctrine you desire, absolute, perfect dogma that alone provides wisdom, does not exist. Nor should you long for a perfect doctrine, my friend. Rather, you should long for the perfection of yourself. The deity is within you, not in ideas and books. Truth is lived, not taught. Be prepared for conflicts, Joseph Knecht - I can see that they already have begun.

My heart will never forget what it__ like to fade in and out of time, to never know if one year or a thousand have passed by, to torture yourself with the idea of your soul trapped behind ice for all eternity.I know what torture there is behind ice.

Listen.Do you see that you can__ hear snowfall?Look.Do you sensethat you can__ see love?Touch.Do you graspthat you can__ catch poems?Try.Smell this glass. Go on taste this cloud.These material senses won__ get you far untilyou feelthe velvet glove caress your soul.

Beauty is seeing,the world through colored glass,of seeing everything in its glory,it's all it ever asks.

We are in the process of finding out what filling billions of acres with electrified glass that emits electromagnetic intereference (EMI) does to the global environment.

Whether the glass is half empty or half full, you have the power to fill it up.

Casting a curious gaze down on planet Earth, extra-terrestrial beings could well be forgiven for assuming that we humans are programmed in every move we make, by a palm-sized, oblong, slab of glass. More perplexing than that, who on earth could convince them otherwise ?

Who am I? I'm just a writer. I write things down. I walk through your dreams and invent the future. Sure, I sink the boat of love, but that comes later. And yes, I swallow glass, but that comes later.

Terrell is weeping soundlessly, and despite the guard__ objection, he raises his hand up to the glass. Geraldine mimics him, lining her fingers up with his. It__ lonely to think that one little sheet of glass could create such a thick distance between them, but all the same, regardless of what he__ done, he__ still one of the closest friends she has.

Put down your glass, it is time to dance. If you want to get drunk all you need is to drink love. Put down your pipe and do away with these childish toys. If you want to get high all you need is to breathe love. Now, can I have this dance?