Bernie Morris Quotes

In my house, to this very day, in the bottom of a deep drawer, wrapped in a plastic bag to guard against time and dust - lies a white, fluffy, toy bear. It has blue glass eyes. Sometimes I take this out of its wrapper, just to hold it, and remember…
And that is all that remains in this world - of the sweetest thing.

Look Jane!" Brenda nudged her daughter. "Look who's over there!"
"Damn!" Jane had smudged the fingernail she'd been painting. A tiny frown of exasperation marred her pretty face. Then she brightened as she saw him – Richard from accounts, jostling at the bar with the rest of the lunchtime crowd. "What's he doing here?" she wondered aloud. "Wouldn't have thought this was his scene."
"Don't be silly!" Brenda admonished. "It's a hot day. Lots of people fancy a cold lager with their lunch. It's perfectly natural." She sometimes despaired at her daughter's lack of insight. How could such a pretty girl be so empty-headed? And when would Jane ever find a steady boyfriend? Brenda had high hopes for Richard in this direction. He was old enough to be a good influence; brilliantly clever; in line for promotion – he would be perfect for Jane.
"Call him over, Mum!" Jane suggested excitedly.

A lady is a female person who has the grace to consider the feelings of others before her own, at all times, and in all places. It has nothing to do with fine clothes or posh accent, or how much money her father's got. And it don't even matter if she smokes, drinks, or never observes the finer points of unnecessary etiquette. None of these things have anything to do with it unless they conflict with the first rule. In other words, it depends who she's with. A lady is naturally born and cannot be moulded or trained to be anything else. She just is.

Virgo is particular; she'll wear a worried frown
while she straightens up your tie
and dusts your shoulders down.

She paid rapt attention to the carpet design
He did the same to his pint of beer.
She wished she were ten thousand miles away
He just wished she were here.

He smoked a rolled-up cigarette
She smoked a brand that was strong,
As she dreamily savoured her newly-won life,
While he wondered how things had gotten so wrong.

She whispered the words of an old favourite song
He joined – mistaking her meaning.
She shed a few reminiscent tears
He carried on – wildly dreaming.

He reached for her hand.
She snatched it away,
Brushing invisible specks from her lap
Then she endeavoured to say…

"I don't understand why you keep up this farce
Why can't you see there's no way?
I cannot revive what has long since died
There's nothing more I can say."

He cried like a baby;
He pleaded and begged her to stay.
She hated herself like a louse
But still she got up – and walked away.

A man is supposed to be fierce. A man is a hunter and a warrior. A MAN beats his mate because she is smaller and gentler than he is (Okor scowled as he thought this). A man should not be gentle. All other creatures on earth walk in fear of the one called Man.

Jack and John

Jack Spratt was much too fat
John Spratt was far too lean
And so between the two of them
They made a dreadful scene.
Jack Spratt got stuck inside the door
While John fell down a drain
And what with all the noise they made
The neighbours did complain.

All her pent-up misery and frustration broke loose with a vengeance, and she yelled at him, 'You expect me to TRUST YOU?' Her brain felt like a live coal, spitting sparks. 'You expect me to go out with YOU! – when you tell me bare-faced LIES? D'you think I'm FUCKING STUPID?' She slapped his face just as hard as she had the night before, then stood up and fled the length of the alley; tears streaming – hating herself – hating Bobby – hating the entire rotten, cruel, hateful world – filled with blind, savage, useless hate.
She didn't see the way he laid his head on his knees in despair, nor if he really cried.

Tower Bridge looked very grand in its new coat of blue, cream and gold paint. Gone was the dingy black and white of my youth. But otherwise it was just the same: gulls screaming overhead, and black water rushing past beneath. A magnificent view of the Tower from here. I took some pictures just for the record; then continued towards the East End which was only a short walk away. This would be the most painful part of my journey.

ABC of LIBRA
AMIABLE – Certainly the friendliest of signs – the most sociable, amenable, and gregarious. Libra loves people. And people cannot help loving Librans in return, simply because they are so loveable.

At last they came to the lower slopes of the great mountains. Here she met a wild and bedraggled boy. He stumbled across her when she had stopped to rest and suckle the baby. The boy stared at the unlikely pair for a moment, then seated himself on the ground at a respectful distance, obviously preparing to converse. He was the strangest looking boy she had ever seen. Evidently a changeling like herself, for he was tall and straight with long slender limbs, but his hair was golden like the sun and his eyes a deep blue like the sky. He looked to be about fifteen years old, not quite a man, yet man enough to survive. She guessed he must have originated from the fabled district of Shor, in the far south, where it was rumoured that all the people were changelings, and all golden-haired.
Astelle tensed, fully expecting Torking to deliver one of his pain bolts to the curious boy, but the child seemed unperturbed, and simply carried on suckling. This boy's attention was obviously not deemed as a threat. She relaxed and smiled at the youth.
He returned the smile, white teeth startling against his tanned and dirty face. 'Why are you travelling all alone?' he asked.
Encouraged by Torking's mindwhispers, Astelle managed to concoct a story very close to the truth.
'As you can see, my child is rather unusual,' she explained. 'I could not bear to raise him among mortals who would constantly deride and insult him – and his father has left me, so I had no choice but to run

Bobby's back yard hadn't changed since she was knee-high. It was still littered with bicycle bits and pieces of engine that he was always tinkering with. It looked like the same relentless weeds bravely struggled through the cracked flagstones; the same array of socks and T-shirts flapped on the washing line, though somewhat bigger, and even the same wasps droned around the dustbin. That's how it seemed – a place immune to time.

ABC of Cancer
ARMOUR – The 'Cancerian shell' refers to the stoic suit of armour which all Cancerians wear. This armour can take many forms. It may be a veneer of reserve, humour, aloofness, or even hostility; but it always exists. Cancer is a sign which does not willingly show its true colours, except to those nearest and dearest, or closest. This sign is a bit like the proverbial iceberg: nine-tenths of the true personality is submerged, at least until he/she trusts you to know him/herself intimately.

Are we goldfish in a bowl
doomed eternally
to swim around our little world and think it is the sea?
and that we are the masters?

Innocence, a fleeting thing
Like the blossoms of the spring
Like the pretty butterfly
Dancing now, but soon to die.
Not for long that wondering gaze
All too soon those baby days -
Are gone.

It pains me to see how modern society has totally corrupted the limerick and given it the reputation of lewdness which, in turn, has morally barred our children from even taking a peek into this wonderful form of fun and rhythm. I think Edward Lear would turn in his grave if he knew that.
I have therefore decided to reinvent the limerick as it was originally intended: to poke fun, irreverence, just plain daftness, or erroneous behaviour.

THE FAEN COLONIAL RULE

The Faen Colonial Rule was laid down by Elfira, the first Faen Queen of Omega, in the year A.E. 91.
The Faen Colonial Rule states:

No Faen creature may copulate with a mortal, unless the said mortal is of exceptionally fine character. In such a case, his/her suitability and final acceptance must be decided by a Faen Royal. Even then, the chosen mortal must be given three days to reach his/her own decision. Immortality must not be endowed lightly, for a number of reasons.

Elfira was young to be a queen. She was renowned for her unwise decisions.
But in this instance, she was perfectly right. The Faen Colonial Rule was the wisest ever made, as you will discover...

Gemini's the coolest guy
With the very latest view.
He quickly loses interest though
And moves to pastures new.

Tam was saying: 'AN EVIL THOUGHT OR ACTION WOULD HAVE TO BE COMMITTED AT – OR JUST PRIOR TO THE MOMENT OF CONCEPTION. THIS SEEMS MOST UNLIKELY BETWEEN TRUE LOVERS. THEREFORE THE CHANCE OF THIS MUTATION OCCURING IS ABOUT ONE IN A MILLION.' The screen darkened. Tam would say no more. The Mind never surmised or deliberated; that was for man creatures to do. She simply stated fact.
'Well...' Grom turned to face his mystified Council. 'Has anyone got any ideas?'
There was an expectant silence as everyone looked at everyone else. Griff seemed about to speak, and then changed his mind.
Then Tameron (the seer) stepped forward. Her dark eyes were wide with horror at the awful revelation which had just come to her. Her step faltered as she moved towards the king, and he reached with his hands to steady her. She did not want to tell what she knew, but was compelled to speak the truth. This was something the Fae had to know.
'My Lord...' Her voice was barely more than a whisper, and she trembled uncontrollably as she struggled to find courage to betray one of her own. 'My Lord... This creature is the seed of Griff.'
There was a stunned silence.

Rosalind was the kind of girl who didn't have to try very hard; she just drew men like moths to a flame. A natural ash blonde with unbelievably dark blue eyes, she had a near perfect figure, always wore the trendiest gear and said exactly the right witty things.
Not like me. I'm no raving beauty by any stretch of the imagination. I've got masses of dark unruly hair which just sort-of hangs around, and I buy only clothes which suit me regardless of fashion. I wouldn't be seen dead in a mini-skirt – as I'm rather tall with long slim legs, I think I'd look like Olive Oyl.

Griff entered the cave, sword in hand. He had no desire to frighten Astelle, but he had to be prepared for anything.
She jumped up from her fireside position with a small stifled scream at his entry, then continued to back fearfully towards the shadowed wall.
She was quite alone. Griff could sense no other presence – only hers, and the wonder of it. He sheathed his sword, and gazed upon his long-lost love.
Her hair had lost all trace of colour while still retaining the texture of youth, giving the appearance of white silk. There was a pulsating light of a blue-lilac shade which clung to the crown of her head, reflecting in the hair – a soul – a lost spirit – someone who had loved her. She was almost as pale as death, for Torking took far too much blood from her, too frequently. She was also much thinner than she should have been, but for all of this, she was still the most beautiful sight of his life.
Her body was ravaged with Torking's bites and claw-marks. She was still wearing his old cloak which Griff instantly recognised, though it was little more than a rag, wrapped around her body and tied on one shoulder. Her beautiful dark eyes, those which had so haunted his dreams, seemed over-large in her pale face, as she stared at him with a mingling of shock, disbelief and joy.
Griff took a few hesitant steps towards her, unsure of his reception. 'Astelle?' His voice grated with emotion.
How often had she yearned to hear him speak her name exactly

It was Edward Lear who created the original limerick, and is credited with A Book of Nonsense (1846). Apparently, he did this to amuse his clients' children while they were waiting for their parents' having portraits painted. Edward Lear was an artist first and a poet last. How strange then that we remember him mostly for limericks?
Since writing many of these little jocular verses, I have noticed a strange effect that keeps you reading: each time you read one limerick, you just cannot help reading the next, especially when they are nicely set out on a page. I am particularly proud of my lim-sagas, of which only two are contained in this book, but I consider them the best of my collection.