Undurraga Cabernet Quotes & Sayings

African narratives in the West, they proliferate. I really don't care anymore. I'm more interested in the stories we tell about ourselves - how, as a writer, I find that African writers have always been the curators of our humanity on this continent. — Chris Abani

If there were only one path to you, I'd take the heartache, the deaths, the loss, the pain ... the insanity. I'd spend an eternity in Hell for one single breath with you. — Jewel E. Ann

.....I'm certain I asked for a cowboy one December past--
For I wanted the excitement of pioneers to last;
I ached to sing with a fiddle, speak with a drawl and twang;
I surely requested John Wayne to be part of my gang.

Of course I dreamed of a cowboy in those Yuletides of yore--
For I wanted that ace, that corral fighter, that scout roar;
I ached for the authentic frontier hero of the West;
I surely requested the sacred battleground's finest.

I did pray Santa'd give me a cowboy some time ago--
For I wanted a legend in denim wrangler for beau;
I ached to be rounded up safely by my saddled knight;
I surely requested I be prospected, mined, settled right...


-----excerpted from the poem 'A Cowboy For Christmas' in the book FROM GUAM TO CROWN CITY CORONADO (THANKS TO HERMANN, MISSOURI): A JOURNEY IN POESY, by Mariecor Ruediger — Mariecor Ruediger

How long ago the day is
when at last I look at it
with the time it has taken
to be there still in it — W.S. Merwin

The small is easy to scatter. — Laozi

It takes at least one to make a marriage. — Jean Kerr

Jesus came to seek and to save the lost. He is the Seeker; we are the ones who are running. — R.C. Sproul

A book in hand is worth ten on the shelf — Anonymous

The best of all things is to learn. Money can be lost or stolen, health and strength may fail, but what you have committed to mind is yours forever. — Louis L'Amour

However, men and women are not "equal" if "equal" means "exactly the same. — Margaret Atwood

Wild geese fly south, creaking like anguished hinges; along the riverbank the candles of the sumacs burn dull red. It's the first week of October. Season of woolen garments taken out of mothballs; of nocturnal mists and dew and slippery front steps, and late-blooming slugs; of snapdragons having one last fling; of those frilly ornamental pink-and-purple cabbages that never used to exist, but are all over everywhere now. — Margaret Atwood