Saturday, June 17, 2017

Roses & Thorns by Abraham Lincoln

We can complain because rose bushes have thorns,
or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses.
Abraham Lincoln

Light & Darkness by Og Mandino

I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will
endure the darkness because it shows me the stars.
Og Mandino

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Contemplation On Man & Nature :The Prelude Poem (Excerpt) by William Wordsworth

Secret Garden - Silence speaks

Excerpt From THE PRELUDE
William Wordsworth

OH there is blessing in this gentle freezer,
A visitant that while it fans my cheek
Doth seem half-conscious of the joy it brings
From the green fields, and from yon azure sky.
Whate'er its mission, the soft breeze can come
To none more grateful than to me; escaped
From the vast city, where I long had pined
A discontented sojourner: now free,
Free as a bird to settle where I will.

What dwelling shall receive me? in what vale
Shall be my harbour? underneath what grove
Shall I take up my home? and what clear stream
Shall with its murmur lull me into rest?
The earth is all before me. With a heart
Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty,
I look about; and should the chosen guide
Be nothing better than a wandering cloud,
I cannot miss my way. I breathe again!

Trances of thought and mountings of the mind
Come fast upon me: it is shaken off,
That burthen of my own unnatural self,
The heavy weight of many a weary day
Not mine, and such as were not made for me.
Long months of peace (if such bold word accord
With any promises of human life),
Long months of ease and undisturbed delight
Are mine in prospect; whither shall I turn,
By road or pathway, or through trackless field,
Up hill or down, or shall some floating thing
Upon the river point me out my course?

Dear Liberty! Yet what would it avail
But for a gift that consecrates the joy?
For I, methought, while the sweet breath of heaven
Was blowing on my body, felt within
A correspondent breeze, that gently moved
With quickening virtue, but is now become
A tempest, a redundant energy,
Vexing its own creation. Thanks to both,
And their congenial powers, that, while they join
In breaking up a long-continued frost,
Bring with them vernal promises, the hope
Of active days urged on by flying hours,--
Days of sweet leisure, taxed with patient thought
Abstruse, nor wanting punctual service high,
Matins and vespers of harmonious verse!

Thus far, O Friend! did I, not used to make
A present joy the matter of a song,
Pour forth that day my soul in measured strains
That would not be forgotten, and are here
Recorded: to the open fields I told
A prophecy: poetic numbers came
Spontaneously to clothe in priestly robe
A renovated spirit singled out,
Such hope was mine, for holy services.
My own voice cheered me, and, far more, the mind's
Internal echo of the imperfect sound;
To both I listened, drawing from them both
A cheerful confidence in things to come.

One end at least hath been attained; my mind
Hath been revived, and if this genial mood
Desert me not, forthwith shall be brought down
Through later years the story of my life.
The road lies plain before me;--'tis a theme
Single and of determined bounds; and hence
I choose it rather at this time, than work
Of ampler or more varied argument,
Where I might be discomfited and lost:
And certain hopes are with me, that to thee
This labour will be welcome, honoured Friend!

For I have learned To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things.

Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear,--both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense,
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.

Nor perchance,
If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
For thou art with me here upon the banks
Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,
Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,

Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings.

Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty mountain-winds be free
To blow against thee: and, in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance--

If I should be where I no more can hear
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
Of past existence--wilt thou then forget
That on the banks of this delightful stream
We stood together; and that I, so long
A worshipper of Nature, hither came
Unwearied in that service: rather say
With warmer love--oh! with far deeper zeal
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!

Friday, June 9, 2017

Life and the world by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Life and the world, or whatever we call that which we are and feel,
is an astonishing thing. The mist of familiarity obscures from us
the wonder of our being. We are struck with admiration at some of
its transient modifications, but it is itself the great miracle.
Percy Bysshe Shelley

The mind by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

Nothing contributes so much to tranquilize the mind
as a steady purpose- a point on which the soul may
fix its intellectual eye.
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight
ligaments are we bound to prosperity and ruin.
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

Wednesday, June 7, 2017

A hermit by Khalil Gibran

A hermit is one who renounces the world of fragments that
he may enjoy the world wholly and without interruption.
Khalil Gibran

On Love by Nizar Qabbani/Romantic Quotes

There is who loves you quietly, and respects you quietly,
and wishes you privately, and walks away when he sees you
busy with someone other than him, and his ego restrains him
from getting near you, and contents himself with the love
for the sake of love.
Nizar Qabbani

Don't love deeply, till you make sure that the other part loves
you with the same depth, because the depth of your love today,
is the depth of your wound tomorrow.
Nizar Qabbani

The female doesn't want a rich man or a handsome man or even a poet,
she wants a man who understands her eyes if she gets sad, and points
to his chest and say : 'Here is your home country.'
Nizar Qabbani

Saturday, June 3, 2017

Do you wish the world were happy? by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Do you wish the world were happy?
Then remember day by day
Just to scatter seeds of kindness
as you pass along the way:
For the pleasures of many
May be oft times traced to one,
As the hand that plants an acorn
Shelters armies from the sun.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Talk Happiness by Ella Wheeler Wilcox/Inspirational Happiness Quotes

Talk happiness.
The world is sad enough Without your woe.
No path is wholly rough.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox

We waste half our strength in a useless regretting ;
We sit by old tombs in the dark too long.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Seeking for happiness we must take heed
Of simple joys that are not found in speed.

Seeking for happiness we needs must care
For all the little things that make life fair.

Seeking for happiness we must prize this---
Not what will be, or was, but that which is.

Seeking for happiness we find the way
Doing the things we ought to do each day.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Friday, June 2, 2017

Anywhere Out of the World/N'importe où hors du monde by Charles Baudelaire

David Garrett - Io Ti Penso Amore

Anywhere Out of the World
Charles Baudelaire

This life is a hospital where every patient is possessed with the desire
to change beds; one man would like to suffer in front of the stove, and
another believes that he would recover his health beside the window.
It always seems to me that I should feel well in the place where I am not,
and this question of removal is one which I discuss incessantly with my soul.

'Tell me, my soul, poor chilled soul, what do you think of going to live
in Lisbon? It must be warm there, and there you would invigorate yourself
like a lizard. This city is on the sea-shore; they say that it is built
of marble and that the people there have such a hatred of vegetation that
they uproot all the trees. There you have a landscape that corresponds to
your taste! a landscape made of light and mineral, and liquid to reflect them!'
My soul does not reply.

'Since you are so fond of stillness, coupled with the show of movement,
would you like to settle in Holland, that beatifying country? Perhaps you
would find some diversion in that land whose image you have so often
admired in the art galleries. What do you think of Rotterdam, you who love
forests of masts, and ships moored at the foot of houses?'
My soul remains silent.

'Perhaps Batavia attracts you more? There we should find, amongst other
things,the spirit of Europe married to tropical beauty.'
Not a word. Could my soul be dead?

'Is it then that you have reached such a degree of lethargy that you
acquiesce in your sickness? If so, let us flee to lands that are
analogues of death.

I see how it is, poor soul! We shall pack our trunks for Tornio.
Let us go farther still to the extreme end of the Baltic; or farther
still from life, if that is possible; let us settle at the Pole.
There the sun only grazes the earth obliquely, and the slow alternation
of light and darkness suppresses variety and increases monotony,
that half-nothingness.

There we shall be able to take long baths of darkness, while for
our amusement the aurora borealis shall send us its rose-coloured
rays that are like the reflection of Hell's own fireworks!'

At last my soul explodes, and wisely cries out to me:

'No matter where! No matter where!
As long as it's out of the world!'

The Original Text In French

N'importe où hors du monde
Charles Baudelaire

Cette vie est un hôpital où chaque malade est possédé du désir
de changer de lit. Celui-ci voudrait souffrir en face du poêle,
et celui-là croit qu'il guérirait à côté de la fenêtre.
Il me semble que je serais toujours bien là où je ne suis pas,
et cette question de déménagement en est une que je discute
sans cesse avec mon âme.

" Dis-moi mon âme, pauvre âme refroidie,
que penserais-tu d'habiter Lisbonne?
Il doit y faire chaud et tu t'y ragaillardirais comme un lézard.
Cette ville est au bord de l'eau ; on dit qu'elle est bâtie en
marbre et que le peuple y a une telle haine du végétal,qu'il
arrache tous les arbres.
Voilà un paysage fait selon ton goût, un paysage fait avec
la lumière et le minéral et le liquide pour les réfléchir !
Mon âme ne répond pas.

" Puisque tu aimes tant le repos, avec le spectacle du mouvement,
veux tu venir habiter la Hollande, cette terre béatifiante ?
Peut-être te divertiras-tu dans cette contrée dont tu as souvent
admiré l'image dans les musées. Que penserais-tu de Rotterdam, toi
qui aimes les forêts de mats et les navires amarrés au pied des maisons.
Mon âme reste muette.

" Batavia te sourirait peut-être davantage, nous y trouverions l'esprit
de l'Europe marié à la beauté tropicale. "
Pas un mot. - Mon âme serait-elle morte ?

" En es-tu donc venue à ce point d'engourdissement que tu ne te plaises
que dans ton mal ? S'il en est ainsi, fuyons vers les pays qui sont
les analogies de la Mort.

Je tiens notre affaire, pauvre âme !
nous ferons nos malles pour Tornéo. Allons plus loin encore, à l'extrême
bout de la Baltique ; encore plus loin de la vie, si c'est possible ;
installons-nous au pôle. Là le soleil ne frise qu'obliquement la terre,
et les lentes alternatives de la lumière et de la nuit suppriment
la variété et augmentent la monotonie, cette moitié du néant...

Là,nous pourrons prendre de longs bains de ténèbres cependant que, pour
nous divertir les aurores boréales nous enverrons de temps en temps
leurs gerbes roses, comme des reflets d'un feu d'artifice de l'enfer!

Enfin, mon âme fait explosion et sagement elle me crie :
" N'importe où ! n'importe où ! pourvu que ce soit hors de ce monde ! "

Wednesday, May 31, 2017

When You really Love by Robert G. Ingersoll

It is a splendid thing to think that the woman you really love
will never grow old to you. Through the wrinkles of time, through
the mask of years, if you really love her, you will always see
the face you loved and won.

And a woman who really loves a man does not see that he grows old;
he is not decrepit to her; he does not tremble; he is not old;
she always sees the same gallant gentleman who won her hand and heart.

I like to think of it in that way; I like to think that love is eternal.
And to love in that way and then go down the hill of life together,
and as you go down, hear, perhaps,the laughter of grandchildren,while
the birds of joy and love sing once more in the leafless branches
of the tree of age.
Robert G. Ingersoll

Tuesday, May 30, 2017

A Child -like Man by Aldous Huxley

A child-like man is not a man whose development has been arrested;
on the contrary, he is a man who has given himself a chance of
continuing to develop long after most adults have muffled themselves
in the cocoon of middle-aged habit and convention.
Aldous Huxley

Friday, May 26, 2017

Homegoing To Own True Nature by Peter Matthiessen

To glimpse one’s own true nature is a kind of homegoing,
to a place East of the Sun, West of the Moon—
the homegoing that needs no home, like that waterfall
on the upper Suli Gad that turns to mist before touching
the earth and rises once again into the sky.
Peter Matthiessen, The Snow Leopard

In your soul I plant a love tree by Veronika Jensen/Romance Quote

I will not kiss your lips, no.
I will crawl straight inside your heart.
Dig a hole in your soul and plant a love tree .
I will grow my roots so deep into you,
you will not know,where you end and I begin.
Veronika Jensen

Thursday, May 25, 2017

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

We love life because We love by Friedrich Nietzsche/Inspirational Life Quote

He who strideth across the highest mountains laugheth
at all tragedies whether of the stage or of life….

Ye say unto me: ‘Life is hard to bear.’ But for what
purpose have ye got in the morning your pride and in
the evening your submission?

Life is hard to bear. But do not pretend to be so frail!
We are all good he-asses and she-asses of burden.

What have we in common with the rose-bud that trembleth
because a drop of dew lieth on its body?

It is true: we love life, not because we are accustomed
to life, but because we are accustomed to love.

There is always a madness in love. There is however also
always a reason in madness.
Friedrich Nietzsche

Strew gladness

Strew gladness on the paths of men-
You will not pass this way again.
Sam Walter Foss

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

From The Rubaiyat/The Quatrains of Omar Khayyam/Part II

Music: Farid Farjad - Robabeh Jan

From The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

The bird of life is singing on the bough
His two eternal notes of “I and Thou”—
O! hearken well, for soon the song sings through,
And, would we hear it, we must hear it now.

The bird of life is singing in the sun,
Short is his song, nor only just begun,—
A call, a trill, a rapture, then—so soon!—
A silence, and the song is done—is done.

Yea! What is man that deems himself divine?
Man is a flagon, and his soul the wine;
Man is a reed, his soul the sound therein;
Man is a lantern, and his soul the shine.

Would you be happy! hearken, then, the way:
Heed not To-morrow, heed not Yesterday;
The magic words of life are Here and Now—
O fools, that after some to-morrow stray!

Were I a Sultan, say what greater bliss
Were mine to summon to my side than this,—
Dear gleaming face, far brighter than the moon!
O Love! and this immortalizing kiss.

To all of us the thought of heaven is dear—
Why not be sure of it and make it here?
No doubt there is a heaven yonder too,
But ’tis so far away—and you are near.

God, perchance, the secret word might spell;
If God be, He keeps His secret well;
What He hath hidden, who shall hope to find?
Shall God His secret to a maggot tell?

So since with all my passion and my skill,
The world’s mysterious meaning mocks me still,
Shall I not piously believe that I
Am kept in darkness by the heavenly will?

And do you think that unto such as you,
A maggot-minded, starved, fanatic crew,
God gave the Secret, and denied it me?—
Well, well, what matters it! believe that too.

O City Mufti, you go more astray
Than I do, though to wine I do give way;
I drink the blood of grapes, you that of men:
Which of us is the more bloodthirsty, pray?

Old Khayyám, say you, is a debauchee;
If only you were half so good as he!
He sins no sins but gentle drunkenness,
and great-hearted mirth.

But yours the cold heart, and the murderous tongue,
The wintry soul that hates to hear a song,
The close-shut fist, the mean and measuring eye,
And all the little poisoned ways of wrong.

So I be written in the Book of Love,
I have no care about that book above;
Erase my name, or write it, as you please—
So I be written in the Book of Love.

Saturday, May 20, 2017

From Rubaiyat/Quatrains of Omar Khayyam

Tears Of Roses-Aci Hayat

Selected Quotes
From The Quatrains of Omar Khayyam

My true condition I may thus explain
In two short verses which the whole contain:
“From love to Thee I now lay down my life,
In hope Thy love will raise me up again.”

I close the door of hope in my own face,
Nor sue for favors from good men, or base;
I have but One to lend a helping hand—
He knows, as well as I, my sorry case.

O Lord! from self-conceit deliver me,
Sever from self, and occupy with Thee!
This self is captive to earth’s good and ill,
Make me beside myself, and set me free!

Make light to me the world’s oppressive weight,
And hide my failings from the people’s hate,
And grant me peace to-day, and on the morrow
Deal with me as Thy mercy may dictate!

What eye can pierce the veil of God’s decrees,
Or read the riddle of earth’s destinies?
Pondered have I for years threescore and ten,
But still am baffled by these mysteries.

Nor you nor I can read the etern decree,
To that enigma we can find no key;
They talk of you and me behind the veil,
But, if that veil be lifted, where are we?

I drown in sin—show me Thy clemency!
My soul is dark—make me Thy light to see!
A heaven that must be earned by painful works,
I call a wage, not a gift fair and free.

We rest our hopes on Thy free grace alone,
Nor seek by merits for our sins to atone;
Mercy drops where it lists, and estimates
Ill done as undone, good undone as done.

O Thou who givest sight to emmet’s eyes,
And strength to puny limbs of feeble flies,
To Thee we will ascribe Almighty power,
And not base, unbecoming qualities.

My body’s life and strength proceed from Thee!
My soul within and spirit are of Thee!
My being is of Thee, and Thou art mine,
And I am Thine, since I am lost in Thee!

This is the form Thou gavest me of old,
Wherein Thou workest marvels manifold;
Can I aspire to be a better man,
Or other than I issued from Thy mold?

Thursday, May 18, 2017

Where shall we get religion? by Sam Walter Foss

Where shall we get religion? Beneath the open sky,
the sphere of crystal silence surcharged with deity.
The midnight earth sends incense up, sweet with
the breath of prayer.Go out beneath the naked
night and get religion there.
Sam Walter Foss

Wednesday, May 17, 2017

Book of your Life

Open your book of life only to few people.
Because in this world very few care to
understand the chapters,others are just
curious to know.

Tuesday, May 16, 2017

Love OF Life by Friedrich Nietzsche

And to my thinking as a lover of life, butterflies, soap-bubbles,
and whatever is of their kind among men, know most of happiness.
To see these light, foolish, delicate, mobile little souls flitting
about—that moveth Zarathustra to tears and to song.
Friedrich Nietzsche" Thus Spake Zarathustra"

To recover a sense of reality is to recover the truth by Nikolai Berdyaev

We live in a nightmare of falsehoods, and there are few who
are sufficiently awake and aware to see things as they are.

Our first duty is to clear away illusions and recover a sense
of reality. If war should come, it will do so on account of our
delusions, for which our hag-ridden conscience attempts
to find moral excuses.

To recover a sense of reality is to recover the truth
about ourselves and the world in which we live, and thereby
to gain the power of keeping this world from flying asunder.
Nikolai Berdyaev

Monday, May 15, 2017


Take time to appreciate
those who love you,
or else time will teach you
to treasure their memories.

Bird Music by Rose Terry Cooke

Bird Music
Rose Terry Cooke

Singer of priceless melody,
Underguerdoned chorister of air,
Who from the lithe top of the tree
Pourest at will thy music rare,
As if a sudden brook laughed down the hill-side there.

The purple-blossomed fields of grass,
Waved sea-like to the idle wind,
Thick daisies that the stars surpass,
Being as fair and far more kind;--
All sweet uncultured things thy wild notes bring to mind.

When that enraptured overflow
Of singing into silence dies,
Thy rapid fleeting pinions show
Where all thy spell of sweetness lies
Gathered in one small nest from the wide earth and skies.

Unconscious of thine audience,
Careless of praises as of blame,
In simpleness and innocence,
Thy gentle life pursues its aim,
So tender and serene, that we might blush for shame.

The patience of thy brooding wings
That droop in silence day by day,
The little crowd of callow things
That joy for weariness repay,--
These are the living spring, thy song the fountain's spray.

Friday, May 12, 2017

THE SYMPHONY BY Henry Van Dyke/Music & Love Reflections

André Rieu-The Godfather main Theme

Reflections On Music & Love

Henry Van Dyke

Music, they do thee wrong who say thine art
Is only to enchant the sense.
For every timid motion of the heart,
And every passion too intense
To bear the chain of the imperfect word,

And every tremulous longing, stirred
By spirit winds that come we know not whence
And go we know not where,
And every inarticulate prayer
Beating about the depths of pain or bliss,
Like some bewildered bird
That seeks its nest but knows not where it is,

And every dream that haunts, with dim delight,
The drowsy hour between the day and night,
The wakeful hour between the night and day,—
Imprisoned, waits for thee,
Impatient, yearns for thee,

The queen who comes to set the captive free
Thou lendest wings to grief to fly away,
And wings to joy to reach a heavenly height;
And every dumb desire that Storms within the breast
Thou leadest forth to sob or sing itself to rest.

All these are thine, and therefore love is thine.
For love is joy and grief,
And trembling doubt, and certain-sure belief,
And fear, and hope, and longing unexpressed,
In pain most human, and in rapture brief
Almost divine.

Love would possess, yet deepens when denied;
And love would give, yet hungers to receive;
Love like a prince his triumph would achieve;
And like a miser in the dark his joys would hide.

Love is most bold:
He leads his dreams like armed men in line;
Yet when the siege is set, and he must speak,
Calling the fortress to resign
Its treasure, valiant love grows weak,
And hardly dares his purpose to unfold.
Less with his faltering lips than with his eyes
He claims the longed-for prize:
Love fain would tell it all, yet leaves the best untold.

But thou shalt speak for love. Yea, thou shalt teach
The mystery of measured tone,
The Pentecostal speech
That every listener heareth as his own.
For on thy head the cloven tongues of fire,—
Diminished chords that quiver with desire,
And major chords that glow with perfect peace,—
Have fallen from above;
And thou canst give release
In music to the burdened heart of love.

Sound with the 'cellos' pleading, passionate strain
The yearning theme, and let the flute reply
In placid melody, while violins complain,
And sob, and sigh,
With muted string;
Then let the oboe half-reluctant sing
Of bliss that trembles on the verge of pain,
While 'cellos plead and plead again,
With throbbing notes delayed, that would impart
To every urgent tone the beating of the heart.
So runs the andante, making plain
The hopes and fears of love without a word.

Then comes the adagio, with a yielding theme
Through which the violas flow soft as in a dream,
While horns and mild bassoons are heard
In tender tune, that seems to float
Like an enchanted boat
Upon the downward-gliding stream,
Toward the allegro's wide, bright sea
Of dancing, glittering, blending tone,
Where every instrument is sounding free,
And harps like wedding-chimes are rung, and trumpets blown
Around the barque of love
That sweeps, with smiling skies above,
A royal galley, many-oared,
Into the happy harbour of the perfect chord.

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