I've said it once and I'll say it again

The difference between the Entropic Trinity and other human beings is this: In the company of most people, when an entertaining but fundamentally ridiculous idea is voiced, they say "Yeah, that's a good idea", and the subject is never brought up again.

In my house, however, when an entertaining but fundamentally ridiculous idea is voiced, we say "Yeah, that's a good idea", and then we go and do the damned thing that very minute.

*sigh*
It's fantastic.

I've said it once and I'll say it again

The difference between the Entropic Trinity and other human beings is this: In the company of most people, when an entertaining but fundamentally ridiculous idea is voiced, they say "Yeah, that's a good idea", and the subject is never brought up again.

In my house, however, when an entertaining but fundamentally ridiculous idea is voiced, we say "Yeah, that's a good idea", and then we go and do the damned thing that very minute.

*sigh*
It's fantastic.

The Song of Wandering Aengus

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

-- William Butler Yeats

The Song of Wandering Aengus

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

-- William Butler Yeats