I have piles of poetry books in the bathroom, on the stairs, everywhere. The only way to write poetry is to read it.
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I ran up the door and opened the stairs, I said my pajamas & put on my prayers, I turned off the bed & tumbled into the light, All because you kissed me good night!
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Up a narrow flight of stairs In a narrow little room, As I lie upon my bed In the early evening gloom. Impaled on my wall My eyes can dimly see The pattern of my life And the puzzle that is me.
From the moment of my birth To the instant of my death, There are patterns I must follow Just as I must breathe each breath. Like a rat in a maze The path before me lies, And the pattern never alters Until the rat dies.
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What harm cause not those huge draughts or pictures which wanton youth with chalk or coals draw in each passage, wall or stairs of our great houses, whence a cruel contempt of our natural store is bred in them?
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Now the work of art also represents a state of final equilibrium, of accomplished order and maximum relative entropy, and there are those who resent it. But art is not meant to stop the stream of life. Within a narrow span of duration and space the work of art concentrates a view of the human condition; and sometimes it marks the steps of progression, just as a man climbing the dark stairs of a medieval tower assures himself by the changing sights glimpsed through its narrow windows that he is getting somewhere after all.
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History is only the pattern of silken slippers descending the stairs to the thunder of hobnailed boots climbing upward from below.
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For in all the world there are no people so piteous and forlorn as those who are forced to eat the bitter bread of dependency in their old age, and find how steep are the stairs of another man's house. Wherever they go they know themselves unwelcome. Wherever they are, they feel themselves a burden. There is no humiliation of the spirit they are not forced to endure. Their hearts are scarred all over with the stabs from cruel and callous speeches.
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Automobiles are free of egotism, passion, prejudice and stupid ideas about where to have dinner. They are, literally, selfless. A world designed for automobiles instead of people would have wider streets, larger dining rooms, fewer stairs to climb and no smelly, dangerous subway stations.
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Man, unlike any other thing organic or inorganic in the universe, grows beyond his work, walks up the stairs of his concepts, emerges ahead of his accomplishments.
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Acts 1:13:
When they arrived, they went upstairs to the room where they were staying. Those present were Peter, John, James and Andrew; Philip and Thomas, Bartholomew and Matthew; James son of Alphaeus and Simon the Zealot, and Judas son of James.
(NIV)
And when they had entered [the city], they mounted [the stairs] to the upper room where they were [indefinitely] staying--Peter and John and James and Andrew; Philip and Thomas, Bartholomew and Matthew; James son of Alphaeus and Simon the Zealot, and Judas [son] of James.
(AMP)
And when they were come in, they went up into an upper room, where abode both Peter, and James, and John, and Andrew, Philip, and Thomas, Bartholomew, and Matthew, James the son of Alphaeus, and Simon Zelotes, and Judas the brother of James.
(KJV)
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No sooner met but they looked; no sooner looked but they loved; no sooner loved but they sighed; no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy; and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage, which they will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage.
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The elevator to success is out of order. You'll have to use the stairs... one step at a time.
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The so-called science of poll-taking is not a science at all but mere necromancy. People are unpredictable by nature, and although you can take a nation's pulse, you can't be sure that the nation hasn't just run up a flight of stairs.
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I ran up the door and closed the stairs, I said my pajamas and hopped into my prayers, I turned off my bed and got in my light, all because you kissed me that night.
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Two things are bad for the heart -- running up stairs and running down people.
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Why walk down the stairs when you can slide down the railing? - Just watch out for the little knob at the end.
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A habit cannot be tossed out the window; it must be coaxed down the stairs a step at a time.
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Some people are like slinkies. Not really good for anything, but they still bring a smile to your face when you push them down a flight of stairs...
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