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71
Tender Buttons
·
Gertrude Stein
37
Price
a
price
is
not
in
language,
it
is
not
in
custom,
it
is
not
in
praise.
A
colored
loss,
why
is
there
no
leisure.
If
the
persecution
is
so
outrageous
that
nothing
is
solemn
is
there
any
occasion
for
persuasion.
A
grey
turn
to
a
top
and
bottom,
a
silent
pocketful
of
much
heating,
all
the
pliable
succession
of
surrendering
makes
an
ingenious
joy.
A
breeze
in
a
jar
and
even
then
silence,
a
special
anticipation
in
a
rack,
a
gurgle
a
whole
gurgle
and
more
cheese
than
almost
anything,
is
this
an
astonishment,
does
this
incline
more
than
the
original
division
between
a
tray
and
a
talking
arrangement
and
even
then
a
calling
into
another
room
gently
with
some
chicken
in
any
way.
A
bent
way
that
is
a
way
to
declare
that
the
best
is
all
together,
a
bent
way
shows
no
result,
it
shows
a
slight
restraint,
it
shows
a
necessity
for
retraction.
Suspect
a
single
buttered
flower,
suspect
it
certainly,
suspect
it
and
then
glide,
does
that
not
alter
a
counting.
A
hurt
mended
stick,
a
hurt
mended
cup,
a
hurt
mended
article
of
exceptional
relaxation
and
annoyance,
a
hurt
mended,
hurt
and
mended
is
so
necessary
that
no
mistake
is
intended.
What
is
more
likely
than
a
roast,
nothing
really
and
yet
it
is
never
disappointed
singularly.
A
steady
cake,
any
steady
cake
is
perfect
and
not
plain,
any
steady
cake
has
a
mounting
reason
and
more
than
that
it
has
singular
crusts.
A
season
of
more
is
a
season
that
is
instead.
A
season
of
many
is
not
more
a
season
than
most.
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