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— Edna St. Vincent Millay"SHE is neither pink nor pale, And she never will be all mine; She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine. She has more hair than she needs; In the sun ’tis a woe to me! And her voice is a string of colored beads, Or steps leading into the sea. She loves me all that she can, And her ways to my ways resign; But she was not made for any man, And she never will be all mine."
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I really try hard to keep a good bead on the pulse of the team. Am I pushing the right buttons? When do I need to be harder on them? When do I need to have a little more fun with them? It's all about timing. The more I can do that the better chance we have for these guys to be hitting on all cylinders and reach their potential.
— Pete Lembo
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The translucence that comes when life hardens into a bead of such cruel perfection you see it with the purest clarity. Everything suddenly there--life as it truly is, enormous, appalling, devastating. You see the great sinkholes it makes in people and the harrowing lengths to which love will go to fill them.
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