Waiting
(page 2)
Life was always a matter of waiting for the right moment to act.
New Year's Day. A fresh start. A new chapter in life waiting to be written. New questions to be asked, embraced, and loved. Answers to be discovered and then lived in this transformative year of delight and self-discovery. Today carve out a quiet interlude for yourself in which to dream, pen in hand. Only dreams give birth to change.
Some days I totally appreciate everything that's happening to me, and some days I feel everyone's waiting for me to mess up.
I didn't know the full dimensions of forever, but I knew it was longer than waiting for Christmas to come.
Boyhood is the longest time in life for a boy. The last term of the school-year is made of decades, not of weeks, and living through them is like waiting for the millennium.
You can't stay in your corner of the forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes.
Ten men waiting for me at the door? Send one of them home, I'm tired.
Waiting makes me restless. When I'm ready, I'm ready.
We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us.
We spend our lives, all of us, waiting for the great day, the great battle, or the deed of power. But that external consummation is not given to many: nor is it necessary. So long as our being is tensed, directed with passion, towards that which is the spirit of all things, then that spirit will emerge from our own hidden, nameless effort.
From the moment I was six I felt sexy. And let me tell you it was hell, sheer hell, waiting to do something about it.
I confess that I am a messy, disorganized and impatient reader: if the book doesn't grab me in the first 40 pages, I abandon it. I have piles of half-read books waiting for me to get acute hepatitis or some other serious condition that would force me to rest so that I could read more.
Publishing a volume of verse is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo.
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