On the outside...

"On the outside looking in
Wondering how to get back her friends.
But at the same time it's long gone.
She's had time and she's moved on."

~Regrets and Forgiveness by Ginevra Dean/Ginevra Lupin/Sarah Jane and the Smiths

We just fade...

"We just fade away with crossword puzzles and tea."

~Anonymous (kid in my English class).
In response to the ideas behind the poem "Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night" by Dylan Thomas and the idea of growing old in these times.

George had turned...

"George had turned at the sound of her arrival. For a moment he contemplated her, as one who had fallen out of heaven. He saw radiant joy in her face, he saw the flowers beat against her dress in blue waves. The bushes above them closed. He stepped quickly forward and kissed her.

"Before she could speak, almost before she could feel, a voice called, 'Lucy! Lucy! Lucy! Lucy!' The silence of life had been broken by Miss Barlett, who stood brown against the view."

~E. M. Forster, A Room with a View

It is a curious fact...

"It is a curious fact that novelists have a way of making us believe that luncheon parties are invariably memorable for something very witty that was said, or for something very wise that was done. But they seldom spare a word for what was eaten. It is part of the novelist's convention not to mention soup and salmon and ducklings, as if soup and salmon and ducklings were of no importance whatsoever, as if nobody ever smoked a cigar or drank a glass of wine. Here, however, I shall take the liberty to defy that convention and to tell you that the lunch on this occasion began with soles, sunk in a deep dish, over which the college cook had spread a counterpane of the whitest cream, save that it was branded here and there with brown spots like the spots on the flanks of a doe. After that came the partridges, but if this suggests a couple of bald brown birds on a plate you are mistaken, The partridges, many and various, came with all their retinue of sauces and salads, the sharp and the sweet, each in its order; their potatoes, thin as coins but no so hard; their sprouts, foliated as rosebuds but more succulent. And no sooner had the roast and it's retinue been done with than the silent serving-man, the Beadle himself perhaps in a milder manifestation, set before us, wreathed in napkins, a confection which rose all sugar from the waves. To call it pudding and so relate it to rice and tapioca would be an insult."

~Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own

Thought – to call it by a prouder name...

"Thought – to call it by a prouder name than it deserved – had let its line down into the stream. It swayed, minute after minute, hither and thither among th reflections and the weeds, letting the water lift it and sink it, until – you know the little tug – the sudden conglomeration of an idea at the end of one's line: and then the cautious hauling of it in, and the careful laying of it out? Alas, laid on the grass how small, how insignificant this thought of mine looked; the sort of fish that a good fisherman puts back into the water so that it may grow fatter and be one day worth cooking and eating."

~Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own