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Image of the quote is loading... SaveSave A romp in the hay lingers like the first line of a song but your true love is the one you make a life with and write more than a line about you write a whole book. - Quote by Garrison Keillor

A romp in the hay lingers like the first line of a song but your true love is the one you make a life with and write more than a line about you write a whole book.

Garrison Keillor
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More Quotes From Garrison Keillor

They say such nice things about people at their funerals that it makes me sad to realize I'm going to miss mine by just a few days.
Garrison Keillor
It is a sin to believe evil of others but it is seldom a mistake.
Garrison Keillor
My God, rich people have the time to praise You if they want to, but the poor people are so busy, accept their work as praise because, my God, they don’t have time for everything.
Garrison Keillor
Some luck lies in not getting what you thought you wanted but getting what you have, which once you have it you may be smart enough to see is what you would have wanted had you known.
Garrison Keillor
A lovely thing about Christmas is that it's compulsory, like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together.
Garrison Keillor
You get old and you realize there are no answers, just stories.
Garrison Keillor
The Union is what needs defending this year. Government of Enron and by Halliburton and for the Southern Baptists is not the same as what Lincoln spoke of. This gang of Republicans has humbugged us to death on terrorism and tax cuts for the comfy and school prayer and flag burning and claimed the right to know what books we read and to dump their sewage upstream from the rest of us and clear-cut the forests and gut the IRS and promote the corporate takeover of the public airwaves and to hell with anybody who opposes them.
Garrison Keillor
I ran a constant low fever waiting for my ride to come and take me away to something finer. I lay in bed at night, watching the red beacon on top of the water tower, a clear signal to me of the beauty and mystery of a life that waited for me far away, and thought of Housman's poem,"Loveliest of trees, the cherry nowIs hung with bloom upon the bough.It stands among the woodland ride,Wearing white for Eastertide.Now, of my three-score years and ten,Twenty will not come again..."and would have run away to where people would appreciate me, had I known of such a place, had I thought my parents would understand. But if I had said, "Along the woodland I must go to see the cherry hung with snow," they would have said, "Oh,no, you don't. You're going to stay right here and finish up what I told you to do three hours ago. Besides, those aren't cherry trees, those are crab apples.
Garrison Keillor
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