...Dogbert is awfully quiet... Dear DogMeat, looks like you've got a strong woman there with a good sense of humor. Don't think she's nagging you, just trying to get through...
...right Ribbit, I'm insane. If I look around at what's supposed to be sane, insanity looks like diving off Bangaram island...
In the 16th and 17th century they had a big thing about isolating and analyzing life. They dissected every living thing they could tie down, cut them up live in tiny pieces. In the end they just had neatly labelled bottles of dead body parts, but never found life.
Love is like that. You'll never find it. The harder you chase it, the farther and faster in runs away. The moment you give up, you find it sitting in your lap. ...but you can't give up to get.
Tricky, eh?
Ever met a shrink or a scientist who knew anything about love? You can read all about, hear about, see about, buy, sell sex everywhere, sitting on your face whether you like it or not, but love?
Friendship is love, love can include sex, love can include many things, but can you put your finger on it, tie it down?
You can let it come to you, let it happen, let it be, let it grow, let it go... let it come again. ...and above all, not get serious about it.
If a butterfly lands on your hand, what happens when you close your fist?
Love is insane. That's its beauty. You can't possibly make any sense out of it, you can't use it for anything, you can't get anything for it, it can drive you crazy. You dry up like a prune without it, you float on a cloud with it, you get dead miserable without it, you get scared to death with it, you can't lift a finger without it, you can leap tall buildings with it, ...et cetera ad infinitum...
...and if you try to seperate love from life, you get dead meat too...
...so who's kidding who?
...or is it whom?
...right Ribbit, I'm insane. If I look around at what's supposed to be sane, insanity looks like diving off Bangaram island...
In the 16th and 17th century they had a big thing about isolating and analyzing life. They dissected every living thing they could tie down, cut them up live in tiny pieces. In the end they just had neatly labelled bottles of dead body parts, but never found life.
Love is like that. You'll never find it. The harder you chase it, the farther and faster in runs away. The moment you give up, you find it sitting in your lap. ...but you can't give up to get.
Tricky, eh?
Ever met a shrink or a scientist who knew anything about love? You can read all about, hear about, see about, buy, sell sex everywhere, sitting on your face whether you like it or not, but love?
Friendship is love, love can include sex, love can include many things, but can you put your finger on it, tie it down?
You can let it come to you, let it happen, let it be, let it grow, let it go... let it come again. ...and above all, not get serious about it.
If a butterfly lands on your hand, what happens when you close your fist?
Love is insane. That's its beauty. You can't possibly make any sense out of it, you can't use it for anything, you can't get anything for it, it can drive you crazy. You dry up like a prune without it, you float on a cloud with it, you get dead miserable without it, you get scared to death with it, you can't lift a finger without it, you can leap tall buildings with it, ...et cetera ad infinitum...
...and if you try to seperate love from life, you get dead meat too...
...so who's kidding who?
...or is it whom?
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