欧宝娱乐

“I don鈥檛 know why we fight.
It takes much too effort to stay mad at you.
To dodge your skin in the hallway
and leave the kitchen without bringing you a treat.
It takes much too effort to stare at the sink
so my eyes don鈥檛 smile at you in the mirror.
It takes much too effort to look away as we undress
and lie apart in the now bigger bed.
It takes much too effort to stiffen my body
because sleepy limbs forget fights
and pride is always lost in dreams.
It takes much too effort to awaken every hour to make sure we are islands with a gulf of white sheets separating us.
I dread the light peeking through the parted curtains
and empathise with your groans 鈥�
I didn鈥檛 get any sleep either.
I really don鈥檛 know why we fight.
It takes much too effort to stay mad at one another
when it鈥檚 so easy for us to love.”
― Kamand Kojouri

“But in the Gulf you got time. And I'm figuring all the time. I've got to think right all the time. I can't make a mistake. Not a mistake. Not once. Well, I got something to think about now all right. Something to do and something to think about besides wondering what the hell's going to happen. Besides wondering what's going to happen to the whole damn thing.”
― Ernest Hemingway, To Have and Have Not

“The devastation along the Gulf had an inevitability about it: the coast was reverting to its natural state.”
― Joan Didion, South and West: From a Notebook

“Where are you from exactly?鈥� he asked his state-based colleague, after exchanging first pleasantries.
鈥淕ulf Shores.鈥� Paul replied.
鈥淚 know we鈥檙e at the Gulf shore,鈥� Garry said. 鈥淏ut where exactly?鈥�
鈥淕ulf Shores is a place.鈥�
鈥淲here鈥檚 Gulf Shores?鈥� Garry went on with questioning, feeling increasingly silly.
鈥淏aldwin County.鈥�
鈥淲here鈥檚 Baldwin County?”
― Krzysztof Pacy艅ski, A perfect Patricide: Part 1

“Is a category 6 supermassive hurricane in your future?”
― Steven Magee

“...and between us and the old English there lies a gulf of mystery which the prose of the historian will never adequately bridge. They cannot come to us, and our imaginations can but feebly penetrate to them. Only among the aisles of the cathedral, only as we gaze upon their silent figures sleeping on their tombs, some faint conceptions float before us of what these men were when they were alive.”
― T. H. White, The Sword in the Stone