pages

Loosers want it but only through the easy way. If action taking were like reading a story book, loosers would only love to open the picture pages

I'm the cover of a book,Whose pages are still being written

Wake up to think of words_ want to walk through pages of meanings, the links in assonance, alliteration, or just simple sense that moves the eye to leap that way to the next-door play of sound and resonance.

Words come alive from a page or script because both the writer and actor were brave enough to neither deny or invent their truth

The pages and the words are my world, spread out before your eyes and for your hand to touch. Vaguely, I can see you face looking down into me, as I look back. Do you see my eyes?

At first, all is black and white.Black on white.That's where I'm walking, through pages.These pages.Sometimes it gets so that I have one foot in the pages and the words, and the other in what they speak of.

Life's a book filled on pages Just awaiting to be written.Some don't open it for ages,Maybe afraid of being bitten.

We are living out the drama of a pathetic story whose pages are smeared with our own handwriting.

Are we not all books waiting for someone to pick us up and read the pages that people missed?

Action is the ink that writes what you think on the pages of life!

Do not go to my grave. Mary knows, I am not there. Look for me in between pages and on people__ lips.Do not go to my old school. Do not go to my old house __ am not in any of those places. Look for me in your hearts and greet me there.

IN the book of my heart, pages keep falling out, many of them marked "Mom and Dad.

Know that blank pages feel the urge of the ink as much as tears paint a different pain, changes

Books required no interchanges of thoughts and feelings, no trading of expectations, no traffic of words, no menace of real loss. Reading books required far less energy than reading people; the pages seldom disappointed him and they never died.

Inconveniently, books are all the pages in them, not just the ones you choose to read.

In any of my pages in any of my books may life a perfect account of my secret experience of the world.

I'm an open book. But some of the pages are stuck together.

Every face, every shop, bedroom window, public-house, and dark square is a picture feverishly turned--in search of what? It is the same with books. What do we seek through millions of pages?