Poem In Your Pocket Day Quotes

The same hot lightning that burns your blood with passion–– cools your fears with peace. ~ Aberjhani

Tenderness and Rot
Tenderness and rot
share a border.
And rot is an
aggressive neighbor
whose iridescence
keeps creeping over.
No lessons
can be drawn
from this however.
One is not
two countries.
One is not meat
corrupting.
It is important
to stay sweet
and loving. ~ Kay Ryan

hough we travel the whole over to find the perfect match,we must carry it with us a light or it's playing hard to catch. ~ Ana Claudia Antunes

The birth of a true poet is neither an insignificant event nor an easy delivery. Complications generally begin long before the fated soul carries its dubious light into whatever womb has been kind enough to volunteer the intricate machinery of its blood and prayers and muscles for a gestation period much longer than nine months or even nine years. ~ Aberjhani

Poetry, like jazz, is one of those dazzling diamonds of creative industry that help human beings make sense out of the comedies and tragedies that contextualize our lives. ~ Aberjhani

I loved you for a thousand years and missed you in all of them. ~ Christina Strigas

Life is the season for loving and caring,
for laughing and caroling, giving and sharing.

Christmas is meant for the same, people say,
which makes life like Christmastime every day. ~ Richelle E. Goodrich

Afghan Girl

Ice blue eyes that look to the morning sky as I knit the pieces and remnants of my life. I have No books, no paper, no pencils, and no black boards. I look at the holes in my life as I see the hills of the Appalachians that echo. I think to myself, who will I marry? Is my life-like Pari?

These strings please come together.

Snowflakes give me hope, and my dreams dance all around me. I'll put another log on the fire. I watch the brown paper bag over the broken glass pane letting the cold wind in; I'll take some of these remnants and stuff it.

These strings are come together.

Mama told me that life would be hard. I bartered for flour the other day, and the chickens ain't laying no eggs. I struggle with life and these strings. My hands are worn and tired. Now, I have granny square hands.
I am unclean, unblemished, and finished,

Afghan girl. ~ Edna Stewart

There lived a poet in the lands of gold,
Wrote along poems unaffected by warmth or cold,
His words spoke truth and pen's stroke was bold,
His only motive: lives to mould ~ Adhish Mazumder

I'm originally from San Francisco. I might move there some day. But, I like L.A., I have fun in L.A. It's a fun town if you've got money in your pocket. It's a good town. ~ Sam Rockwell

A prison chaplain in the West of England confessed he had given up one prisoner as hopeless, so stubborn was he against any approach by him, and known throughout the jail as the most truculent and obstinate troublemaker.
But one day the governor was told of a visitor who insisted on seeing him. To his surprise, it was a little girl. "He's my daddy," she explained, "It's his birthday." The governor allowed the prisoner to be sent for.
"Daddy," said the child as he was brought in, "this was your birthday, so I wanted to come and see you." Then taking a lock of hair out of her pocket, she offered it to him. "I had no money to buy a present for you. But I brought this, a lock of my own hair."
The prisoner broke down and clasped her in his arms, sobbing. He became a changed man after that and guarded, as his most precious possession, the lock of hair that reminded him that somebody still loved him. ~ Francis Gay

[ ... ] Y'know, the Duchess Regan is living here at the tower now? I took your advice about not talking about her boffnacity [footnote], even with the duke dead and all, can't be too careful. Although, I caught sight of her in a dressing gown one day she was up on the parapet outside her solar. Fine flanks on that princess, despite the danger of death and all for sayin' so, sir." -Yeomen
Aye, the lady is fair, and her gadonk as fine as frog fur [ ... ]" -Pocket
footnote: Boffnacity: an expression of shagnatiousness, fit. from the Latin boffusnatious ~ Christopher Moore

The parental eye shed no tears when the time for leave-taking came; a half-rouble in copper coins was given to the boy by way of pocket-money and for sweets, and what is more important, the following admonition:

"Mind now, Pavlusha, be diligent, don't fool or gad about, and above all please your teachers and superiors. If you please your superiors, then you will be popular and get ahead of everyone even if you lag behind in knowledge and talent. Don't be too friendly with the other boys, they will teach you no good; but if you do make friends, cultivate those who are better off and might be useful. Don't invite or treat anyone, but conduct yourself in such a way as to be treated yourself, and above all, take care of and save your pennies, that is the most reliable of all things. A comrade or friend will cheat you and be the first to put all the blame on you when in a fix, but the pennies won't betray you in any difficulty. With money you can do anything in the world."

Having admonished his son thus, the father took leave of him and trundled off home on his 'magpie'. Though from that day the son never set eyes on him more, his words and admonitions had sunk deep into his soul. ~ Nikolai Gogol

As she chats away, the candlelight is reflected in her pupils, making them shine like cats' eyes. When she smiles, her nose crinkles and dimples appear in her cheeks. I look at her, stare at her, and I think: I wish I could pick you up and put you in my pocket. I wish I could carry you with me all the time, safe and warm. I wish there was a way I could be with you all the time, every hour of every day. Each time you smile, it's like the first time all over again, and my heart flutters in my chest. I want to reach out and hold you – it's like a physical ache. I want to stroke your face and kiss your eyelashes and feel your skin and smell your hair. I love you. I love you so much. And it hurts. I don't know why. ~ Tabitha Suzuma

Pocket Poem
If this comes creased and creased again and soiled
as if I'd opened it a thousand times
to see if what I'd written here was right,
it's all because I looked too long for you
to put in your pocket. Midnight says
the little gifts of loneliness come wrapped
by nervous fingers. What I wanted this
to say was that I want to be so close
that when you find it, it is warm from me. ~ Ted Kooser

Cracking his knuckles, Cary dramatically prepared to open his fortune cookie. "Let's see. Will I be rich? Famous? About to
meet Mr. or Ms. Tall, Dark, and Tasty? Traveling to distant lands? What'd you guys get?"
"Mine's lame," I said. "In the end all things will be known. Duh. I didn't need a fortune to figure that out."
Gideon opened his and read, "Prosperity will knock on your door soon."
I snorted.
Cary shot me a look. "I know, right? You snatched someone else's cookie, Cross."
"He better not be anywhere near someone else's cookie," I said dryly.
Reaching over, Gideon plucked half of mine out of my fingers. "Don't worry, angel. Your cookie is the only one I want."
He popped it in his mouth with a wink.
"Gag," Cary muttered. "Get a room." He cracked his fortune with a flourish, and then scowled. "What the fuck?"
I leaned forward. "What's it say?"
"Confucius say," Gideon ad-libbed, "man with hand in pocket feel cocky all day."
Cary threw half his cookie at Gideon, who caught it deftly and grinned.
"Give me that." I snatched the fortune out from between Cary's fingers and read it. Then laughed.
"Fuck you, Eva."
"Well?" Gideon prodded.
"Pick another cookie."
Gideon smiled. "Pwned by a fortune."
Cary threw the other half of his cookie. ~ Sylvia Day

Who's teasing? I'm telling him the truth. He ain't going to have it. Neither one of 'em going to have it. And I'll tell you something else you not going to have. You not going to have no private coach with four red velvet chairs that swivel around in one place whenever you want 'em to. No. and you not going to have your own special toilet and your own special-made eight-foot bed either. And a valet and a cook and a secretary to travel with you and do everything you say. Everything: get the right temperature in your hot-water bottle and make sure the smoking tobacco in the silver humidor is fresh each and every day. There's something else you not going to have. You ever have five thousand dollars of cold cash money in your pocket and walk into a bank and tell the bank man you want such and such a house on such and such a street and he sell it to you right then? Well, you won't ever have it. And you not going to have a governor's mansion, or eight thousand acres of timber to sell. And you not going to have no ship under your command to sail on, no train to run, and you can join the 332nd if you want to and shoot down a thousand German planes all by yourself and land in Hitler's backyard and whip him with your own hands, but you never going to have four stars on your shirt front, or even three. And you not going to have no breakfast tray brought in to you early in the morning with a red rose on it and two warm croissants and a cup of hot chocolate. Nope. Never. And no pheasant b ~ Toni Morrison

He eased the door open, scanned right and left, then slid into the corridor and into the room across it. Machines beeped and hummed, monitoring whatever poor bastard lay in the bed. Staying out of the range of the camera, he slithered against the wall until he could aim the jammer he carried. Even as the alarm sounded he was out and into the next room before the ICU team came running. He repeated the process, grinning as the medicals ran by. He hit a third for good measure, then made the dash to 8-C. By the time they determined it was an electronic glitch, rebooted, did whatever they did for the poor bastards in beds, he'd have done what he'd come to do and be gone. He moved into 8-C. They kept the lights dim, he noted. Rest and quiet was the order of the day. Well, she'd get plenty of both where he was sending her. He moved to the bed, pulled out the vial in his pocket. Should've kept your nose out of our business, stupid bitch. ~ J.D. Robb

I like you in my bed," Patch said. "I rarely pull down the covers. I rarely sleep. I could get used to this picture."
"Are you offering me a permanent place?"
"Already put a spare key in your pocket."
I patted my pocket. Sure enough, something small and hard was snug inside. "How charitable of you."
"I'm not feeling very charitable now," he said, holding my eyes, his voice deepening with a gravelly edge. "I missed you, Angel. Not one day went by that I didn't feel you missing from my life. You haunted me to the point that I began to believe Hank had gone back on his oath and killed you. I saw your ghost in everything. I couldn't escape you and I didn't want to. You tortured me, but it was better than losing you. ~ Becca Fitzpatrick

One day a partially deaf four years old child came home with a note in his pocket from his teacher, "Your Tommy is too stupid to learn, get him out of school." His mother read the note and answered, "My Tommy is not too stupid to learn, I will teach him myself." And that Tommy grew up to be the great Thomas Edison. Thomas Edison had only three months of formal schooling. ~ Shiv Khera

Greetings. There is a body buried on your property, covered in your blood. The unfortunate young lady's name is Rita Jones. You've seen this missing school-teacher's face on the news, I'm sure. In her jeans pocket you'll find a slip of paper with a phone number on it. You have one day to call that number. If I have not heard from you by 8:00 P.M. tomorrow (5/17), the Charlotte Police Department will receive an anonymous phone call. I'll tell them where Rita Jones is buried on Andrew Thomas's lakefront property, how he killed her, and where the murder weapon can be found in his house. (I do believe a paring knife is missing from your kitchen.) I hope for your sake I don't have to make that call. I've placed a property marker on the grave site. Just walk along the shoreline toward the southern boundary of your property and you'll find it. I strongly advise against going to the police, as I am always watching you. A ~ Blake Crouch

When I was young, I learned to expect loss. Every time you slept, something disappeared. Whenever you woke up, someone else was gone. But . . . I also learned that every day, you created everything anew. And whatever you had, you enjoyed as long as it lasted. Spend money when it's in your pocket." He took my hand and put the orange in it. "Eat fruit while it's ripe." His other hand found my cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. "Paradise is a promise no god bothers to keep. There's only now, and tomorrow nothing will be the same, whether we like it or not. ~ Heidi Heilig

She thought she loved him. What do you have in your pocket?"
He smiled, drew out the gray button that had fallen off her very ugly suit the first day they'd met.
"See?" She couldn't say why that stupid button moved her so damn much. "People in love keep things. Sentimental things."
"What do you have?"
She pulled the chain, and the tear-shaped diamond from under her shirt. "I wouldn't wear this for anybody but you. It's embarrassing. And - "
"Ah, something else."
"Shit. I'm tired. It makes me gabby. I have one of your shirts."
His brow creased in absolute bafflement. "My shirts?"
"In my drawer, under a bunch of stuff. You lent it to me the morning after our first night together. It still sort of smells like you."
For a moment, the worry on his face simply dissolved. "I believe that's the sweetest thing you've said to me in all our time together."
"Well, I owed you. Besides, you have enough shirts to outfit a Broadway troupe. So, help me toss the room?"
"Absolutely. ~ J.D. Robb

There's nothing like a bunch of catty teenagers who could either kick your ass halfway across the country or set you on fire with a mere thought. That alone changed who people picked fights with or became friends with. And at the end of the day, it was always good to have a firestarter in your back pocket. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

Hey, Zee," I said. "I take it that you can fix it, but it'll be miserable, and you'd rather haul it to the dump and start from scratch."
"Piece of junk," groused Zee. "What's not rusted to pieces is bent. If you took all the good parts and put them in a pile, you could carry them out in your pocket." There was a little pause. "Even if you only had a small pocket."
I patted the car. "Don't you listen to him," I whispered to it. "You'll be out of here and back on the road in no time."
Zee propelled himself all the way under the car so his head stuck out by my feet. "Don't you promise something you can't deliver," he snarled.
I raised my eyebrows, and said in dulcet tones, "Are you telling me you can't fix it? I'm sorry. I distinctly remember you saying that there is nothing you can't fix. I must have been mistaken, and it was someone else wearing your mouth."
He gave a growl that would have done Sam credit, and pushed himself back under again, muttering,"Deine Mutter war ein Cola-Automat!"
"Her mama might have been a pop machine," I said, responding to one of the remarks I understood even at full Zee-speed. "Your mama . . ." sounds the same in a number of languages.
"But she was a beauty in her day." I grinned at Gabriel. "We women have to stick together. ~ Patricia Briggs

If. If Mingus Rude could be kept in this place, kept somehow in Dylan's pocket, in his stinging, smudgy hands, then summer wouldn't give way to whatever came after. If. If. Fat chance. Summer on Dean Street had lasted one day and that day was over, it was dark out, had been for hours. The Williamsburg Savings Bank tower clock read nine-thirty in red-and-blue neon. Final score, a million to nothing. The million-dollar kid.
Your school wasn't on fire, you were. ~ Jonathan Lethem

Good day to you, Harry Potter's relatives!" said Dedalus happily, striding into the living room. The Dursleys did not look at all happy to be addressed thus; Harry half expected another change of mind. Dudley shrank nearer to his mother at the sight of the witch and wizard.
"I see you are packed and ready. Excellent! The plan, as Harry has told you, is a simple one," said Dedalus, pulling an immense pocket watch out of his waistcoat and examining it. "We shall be leaving before Harry does. Due to the danger of using magic in your house--Harry being still underage, it could provide the Ministry with an excuse to arrest him--we shall be driving, say, ten miles or so, before Disapparating to the safe location we have picked out for you. You know how to drive, I take it?" he asked Uncle Vernon politely.
"Know how to--? Of course I ruddy well know how to drive!" spluttered Uncle Vernon.
"Very clever of you, sir, very clever, I personally would be utterly bamboozled by all those buttons and knobs," said Dedalus. He was clearly under the impression that he was flattering Vernon Dursley, who was visibly losing confidence in the plan with every word Dedalus spoke.
"Can't even drive," he muttered under his breath, his mustache rippling indignantly, but fortunately neither Dedalus nor Hestia seemed to hear him. ~ J.K. Rowling

The year is done. I spread the past three hundred sixty-five days before me on the living room carpet. Here is the month I decided to shed everything not deeply committed to my dreams. The day I refused to be a victim to the self-pity. Here is the week I slept in the garden. The spring I wrung the self-doubt by its neck. Hung your kindness up. Took down the calendar. The week I danced so hard my heart learned to float above water again. The summer I unscrewed all the mirrors from their walls. No longer needed to see myself to feel seen. Combed the weight out of my hair. I fold the good days up and place them in my back pocket for safekeeping. Draw the match. Cremate the unnecessary. The light of the fire warms my toes. I pour myself a glass of warm water to cleanse myself for january. Here I go. Stronger and wiser into the new. ~ Rupi Kaur

In that instant, your billboard careened ashore on a wall of water, cracking the back of my head. I reached for balance and touched what I thought was a puppy. Then you grabbed my finger. My God, I thought. It's a baby. I fainted dead away. That's how Macon found us the next day - me unconscious on half a billboard, you nestled in my arms, nursing on the pocket of my uniform. The half billboard said: " ... Cafe ... Proprietor." Our path seemed clear.
I will always love your mother for letting you go, Soldier, and I will always love you for holding on.
Love, the Colonel.
PS: I apologize for naming you Moses. I didn't know you were a girl until it was too late. ~ Sheila Turnage

I have another letter for you," I say, pulling the slightly creased paper out of my pocket.

"I read the other one last night," he says. "Verified all the quotations, too. Give me another day and I could track down all of the ancient sources from which your mistress drew her rhetorical figures, because - well, imitating six authors in two pages may be a good exercise, but with that many pieces stitched together, it's impossible to hide the seams, let alone express an original thought."

I remember Koré's pale face when she handed me the letter this morning, her ink-stained fingers.

"She's a very stupid person," I say. "But it is neither lordly nor kind to sneer at her efforts."

"You have an odd kind of loyalty."

"You have an odd kind of tact. Or is that beneath the notice of a duke's heir? ~ Rosamund Hodge

Once a year, the inhabitants shut themselves up in their houses, made two lists, turned to face the highest mountain and then raised their first list to the heavens.
'"Here, Lord, are all the sins I have committed against you," they said, reading the account of all the sins they had committed. Business swindles, adulteries, injustices, things of that sort. "I have sinned and beg forgiveness for having offended You so greatly."
'Then - and here lay Ahab's originality - the residents immediately pulled the second list out of their pocket and, still facing the same mountain, they held that one up to the skies too. And they said something like: "And here, Lord, is a list of all Your sins against me: You made me work harder than necessary, my daughter fell ill despite all my prayers, I as robbed when I was trying to be honest, I suffered more than was fair."
After reading out the second list, they ended the ritual I have been unjust towards You and You have been towards me. However, since today is the Day of Atonement, You will forget my faults and I will forget Yours and we can carry on together for another year. ~ Paulo Coelho

You cannot go around in grief and panic every day; people will not let you, they will coax you with tea and tell you to move on, bake cakes and paint walls. [ ... ] So what you do is you let them coax you. You bake the cake and paint the wall and smile; you buy a new freezer as if you now had a plan for the future. And secretly
in the early morning
you sew a pocket in your skin. At the hollow of your throat. So that every time you smile, or nod your head at a teacher meeting, or bend over to pick up a fallen spoon, it presses and pricks and stings and you know you've not moved on. You never even planned to. ~ Andrew Sean Greer

Your basic-type jailhouse tatt is homemade with sewing needles from the jailhouse canteen and some blue ink from the cartridge of a fountain pen promoted from the breast pocket of an unaltert public defender, is why the jailhouse genre is always the same night-sky blue. The needle is dipped in the ink and jabbed as deep into the tattooee as it can be jabbed without making him recoil and fucking up your aim. Just a plain ultraminimal blue square like Gately's got on his right wrist takes half a day and hundreds of individual jabs. How come the lines are never quite straight and the color's never quite all the way solid is it's impossible to get all the individualized punctures down to the same uniform deepness in the, like, twitching flesh. This is why jailhouse tatts always look like they were done by sadistic children on rainy afternoons. ~ David Foster Wallace

Look at that ship. That clipper cost me a queen's ransom, even with the Kestrel thrown in the bargain. But it was the fastest ship to be had." He took her hands in his. "Forget money. Forget society. Forget expectations. We've no talent for following rules, remember? We have to follow our hearts. You taught me that."
He gathered her to him, drawing her hands to his chest. "God, sweet, don't you know? You've had my heart in your pocket since the day we met. Following my heart means following you. I'll follow you to the ends of the earth if I have to." He shot an amused glance at the captain. "Though I'd expect your good captain would prefer I didn't. In fact, I think he'd gladly marry us today, just to be rid of me."
"Today? But we couldn't."
His eyebrows lifted. "Oh, but we could." He pulled her to the other side of the ship, slightly away from the gaping crowd. Wrapping his arms around her, he leaned close to whisper in her ear, "Happy birthday, love."
Sophia melted in his embrace. It was her birthday, wasn't it? The day she'd been anticipating for months, and here she'd forgotten it completely. Until Gray had appeared on the horizon, she hadn't been looking forward to anything.
But now she did. She looked forward to marriage, and children, and love and grand adventure. Real life and true passion. All of it with this man. "Oh, Gray."
"Please say yes," he whispered. "Sophia." The name was a caress against her ear. "I love you."
He kissed her ~ Tessa Dare

Late in the day, she found a folded piece of paper in her pocket. She recognized August's handwriting. A fragment for my friend - If your soul left this earth I would follow and find you Silent, my starship suspended in night She'd never seen his poetry before and was impossibly moved by it. "Thank you," she said when she saw him next. He nodded. ~ Emily St. John Mandel

Creation is built upon the promise of hope, that things will get better, that tomorrow will be better than the day before.

But it's not true. Cities collapse. Populations expand. Environments decay. People get ruder. You can't go to a movie without getting in a fight with the guy in the third row who won't shut up.

Filthy streets. Drive-by shootings. Irradiated corn. Permissible amounts of rat-droppings per hot dog. Bomb blasts, and body counts. Terror in the streets, on camera, in your living room. Aids and Ebola and Hepatitis B and you can't touch anyone because you're afraid you'll catch something besides love and nothing tastes as good anymore and Christopher Reeve is [dead] and love is statistically false.

Pocket nukes and subway anthrax. You grow up frustrated, you live confused, you age frightened, you die alone. Safe terrain moves from your city to your block to your yard to your home to your living room to the bedroom and all you want is to be allowed to live without somebody breaking in to steal your tv and shove an ice-pick in your ear.

That sound like a better world to you? That sound to you like a promise kept? ~ J. Michael Straczynski

I think men and women will both agree that one of the perks of being single on Valentine's Day is that you get to keep your money in your pocket. ~ Sevyn Streeter

Of course you can have a true Shadowhunter name," Will said. "You can have mine."
Tessa stared at him, all black and white against the black-and-white snow and stone. "Your name?"
Will took a step toward her, till they stood face-to-face. Then he reached to take her hand and slid off her glove, which he put into his pocket. He held her bare hand in his, his fingers curved around hers. His hand was warm and callused, and his touch made her shiver. His eyes were steady and blue; they were everything that Will was: true and tender, sharp and witty, loving and kind. "Marry me," he said. "Marry me, Tess. Marry me and be called Tessa Herondale. Or be Tessa Gray, or be whatever you wish to call yourself, but marry me and stay with me and never leave me, for I cannot bear another day of my life to go by that does not have you in it. ~ Cassandra Clare

My parents have always been vocal about "the birds and the bees." People who watched the Duck Dynasty episode in which my dad gave Willie's son John Luke and his girlfriend the sex talk while motoring down the river in a boat might not be surprised that I heard this exact speech countless times in my childhood. I remember coming home one day after hearing my buddies talking about sexually transmitted diseases and asking my dad about it. I don't remember the specifics of his speech, but I would never forget the last thing he said. "Son, you keep that thing in your pocket until you get married and you'll never have to worry about it," he told me. ~ Jase Robertson

To my Charley on his wedding day –
…Here is what you are going to find out about marriage: you have to work at it together. And you have to love three things. You have to love:
Each other.
Your children (When you have some! Hint! Hint!).
Your marriage

What I mean by the last one is, there may be times that you fight, and sometimes you and Catherine won't even like each other. But those are the times you have to love your marriage. It's like a third party. Look at your wedding photos. Look at any memories you've made. And if you believe in those memories, they will pull you back together.

I'm very proud of you today, Charley. I am putting this in your tuxedo pocket because I know how you lose things.

I love you every day!
Mom ~ Mitch Albom

This fucking city is full of nothing but thugs, money grubbing porn-bitches, and hustlers. I'm calling the police." Ex fumed as he struggled to pull his cell from his pocket.

If Syn weren't so damn angry it would've been funny as shit the way the man's jaw dropped when God and Day both pulled their gold badges out from under their shirts. Day smiled that sinister grin and kneeled in front of them, speaking in an official tone, "911, what is your emergency? ~ A.E. Via

We didn't know it then,' Hooper said. 'We used to talk about how when we got back in the world we were going to do this and we were going to do that. Back in the world we were going to have it made. But ever since then it's been nothing but confusion.' Hooper took the cigarette case from his pocket but didn't open it. He leaned forward on the table.
'Everything was clear,' he said. 'You learned what you had to know and you forgot the rest. All this chickenshit. This clutter. You didn't spend every living minute of the day thinking about your own sorry-ass little self. Am I getting laid enough. What's wrong with my kid. Should I insulate the fucking house. That's what does it to you, Porchoff. Thinking about yourself. That's what kills you in the end. ~ Tobias Wolff

I will never not be poor, so what does it matter if I don't pay a thing and a half this week instead of just one thing? It's not like the sacrifice will result in improved circumstances; the thing holding me back isn't that I blow five bucks at Wendy's. It's that now that I have proven that I am a Poor Person that is all that I am or ever will be. It is not worth it to me to live a bleak life devoid of small pleasures so that one day I can make a single large purchase. I will never have large pleasures to hold on to. There's a certain pull to live what bits of life you can while there's money in your pocket, because no matter how responsible you are you will be broke in three days anyway. When you never have enough money it ceases to have meaning. I imagine having a lot of it is the same thing. ~ Linda Tirado

Long before I was ready to say good-bye, Hannah rose to her feet and beckoned to Andrew. "We've had enough excitement for one day. It's time to leave."
After making sure Aunt Blythe wasn't looking, Andrew pulled a leather bag out of his pocket. "She thinks you already have these," he said. "They're yours for keeps now."
I clasped the marbles to my heart and stared at him through a blur of tears. "Come back soon, Andrew."
He hugged me so hard he squashed my nose against his bony shoulder. "At my age, I can't promise anything, but I'll do my best to see you again, and that's the truth. After all, Hannah and I aren't that far away. With modern cars and highways, Riverview's a sight closer than it used to be."
Reluctant to let him go, I looked him in the eye. "No matter what happens, I'll always keep you here." I struck my chest with my fist. "Right here in my heart as long as I live."
Andrew smiled. "I fancy you picked up that pretty notion from Hannah." Hugging me again, he said, "I hope your heart lasts as long as mine has, Drew. I want you to have all the time in the world to do whatever you like. ~ Mary Downing Hahn

Sherlock: You're exaggerating. It didn't happen that often. (in relation to Irene Adler's texts) John: 57 times in the run up to Christmas. Your pocket was moaning more than Mrs Hudson. Sherlock: Thank you for that mental image. ~ Guy Adams

The safe way to double your money is to fold it over once and put it in your pocket. ~ Kin Hubbard

could not sleep last night
bed cover of
unease distance
kept me awake
windy whispers in summer
night
was telling
you were awake
one corner to another rolling
like swimming in a competition
my heart wanted to see
you then n then
we live ,we love
on same earth mostly
rare within a real
another world don't allow us
to sleep
in side your ,or mine
restful love

©litymunshi ~ Litymunshi

When you come onto the set, everything should be focused around your character and you should stay in the pocket, as much as possible. Every actor has their own process. For me, I really need to stay in the pocket. ~ Vin Diesel

Though the body is its
genesis, a poem is the vision of a process
Out of ceaseless motion in edgeless space
Carved in space, vision your poor eye's single
armor against winter spring summer fall ~ Frank Bidart

For luck you carried a horse chestnut and a rabbit's foot in your right pocket. The fur had been worn off the rabbit's foot long ago and the bones and the sinews were polished by the wear. The claws scratched in the lining of your pocket and you knew your luck was still there. ~ Ernest Hemingway,