Geography and Plays

by Gertrude Stein

To paste more attention on a bridge is not the path that is taken. All of it is planted. The blossom is pealing, the tender dew is green, the presence is in the time in between, the sacrifice is that that the bell which rings has a clapper. The pleasure in the use is not so dreary but that there is an exchange.

One sees a custom, one sees a date, one sees a potatoe, one sees a caterpillar, one sees more particulars than kissing, one sees the blame distributed, one sees more than any one.

Powder and food, union and despatch, so that there is no pale color, so that there is black, so that there is much preperation of a return to the same.

If a little meadow and a tree have that use and a morning and the west wind have that use and the evening and the continuation have that use then there is no use when the sing song ends rising.

Yes there is the same. There is all of that which makes it certain that something is what is there and not misplaced. This means that to be different there is not any place that is the same and if the whole place is there then it is not alarming it is confirming. This is so shrewdly what is proven.

Bailing the center of a spot and not having an embankment is not the only way to flirt. So soon, so left without a spoon, so august and so strange and taller than every other, it is not astonishing that some one is older.

There is not a seed and an orange. An orange is red and yellow. A seed has only a little way to grow and there is not any palm that grows larger. It is the same. It is astonishing, it is the same. The sweet spread of the union with intuition and every anger is so certain that there is no bloom. There is red feeling and the color is deeper. Blue is of some use. There is more place for weather.

A pigeon is a bird and flying it is not widening the piece that cooking makes duller, not at all, it does not taste that way.

The cause and any effect this does not make the smell stronger, this does not make what is pie.

To change any sigh, then to place all of that hope, to destroy dancing and to make a lovely turn that is not the season of every day, that is not the season of Monday, that is not the season of Sunday.