I wrote poems in my corner of the Brooks Street station. I sent them to two editors who rejected them right off. I read those letters of rejection years later and I agreed with those editors.
And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
Ill habits gather unseen degrees, as brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas.
I'm reading a book about Romaine Brooks, a wonderful painter from early in the last century.
I love sketch comedy. My real goal is to do something with Albert Brooks. That would be my fantasy. I stay up night and day thinking up stuff he might find funny.
I got a chance to work with Mel Brooks on two of his films: Silent Movie and High Anxiety.
Brooks Robinson belongs in a higher league.
And I love Mel Brooks. My Dad loved his movies, too, they're awesome, the kind of thing that if you're in for ten minutes, you're in for two hours.
Jim Brooks is a very powerful director and it was a lot of intense work.
I'm a big fan of Albert Brooks, Nichols and May. I'd like to follow in their footsteps and do comedy films.
My friends that are snobs think its cool I did a movie with Albert Brooks.
And I had a big opportunity with Richard Brooks, The Professionals, which is really a magnificent movie.
Mr. Brooks and I have been friends forever. He is in seventh heaven with his new success on Broadway.
They wanted me to play third like Brooks so I did play like Brooks - Mel Brooks.
Sweet are the little brooks that run O'er pebbles glancing in the sun, Singing in soothing tones.
Albert Brooks is definitely one of my biggest influences, for sure.
The brilliance of Max Brooks is that he always quotes authorities at the back of his books that never existed. Like a Russian professor he made up that validates a story or character.
I wandered by the brook-side, I wandered by the mill; I could not hear the brook flow, The noisy wheel was still.
The streams, rejoiced that winter's work is done, Talk of to-morrow's cowslips as they run.
From Helicon's harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take.
Thou hastenest down between the hills to meet me at the road, The secret scarcely lisping of thy beautiful abode Among the pines and mosses of yonder shadowy height, Where thou dost sparkle into song, and fill the woods with light.
With spots of sunny openings, and with nooks To lie and read in, sloping into brooks.
A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.
Brook Lopez had a better game than Deron Williams
A library is but the soul's burial ground; it is the land of shadows. Yet one is impressed with the thought, the labor, and the struggle, represented in this vast catacomb of books. Who could dream, by the placid waters that issue from the level mouths of brooks into the lake, all the plunges, the whirls, the divisions, and foaming rushes that had brought them down to the tranquil exit? And who can guess through what channels of disturbance, and experiences of sorrow, the heart passed that has emptied into this Dead Sea of books?
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