Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold.– Zelda Fitzgerald (via katedfisher)
By Madeline Morse
Let Christmas not become a thing Merely of merchant’s trafficking, Of tinsel, bell and holly wreath And surface pleasure, but beneath The childish glamour, let us find Nourishment for soul and mind. Let us follow kinder ways Through our teeming human maze, And help the age of peace to come From a Dreamer’s martyrdom.
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with...– Maya Angelou (via revolutionnow)
pinksubmergence: my self’s a steam wafting, a curling drift of white gas what kind of mass? what kind of gas? my self’s a team working, keeping bonds of breakable marble, we warble at my self, it’s dim nothing could possibly glitter, when your doubts are this severe.
Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.– Poet Anne Sexton (via libraryland)
He awoke each morning with the desire to do right, to be a good and meaningful...– JONATHAN SAFRAN FOER, Everything is Illuminated (via booberg)
The aim of education is to shift people from the surface to something...– Dr Cornel West (via savagemike)
Don’t let what you can’t do interfere with what you can do.– Paulo Coelho (via amodelstudent)
We need a renaissance of wonder. We need to renew, in our hearts and in our...– E. Merrill Root (via libraryland)
I heard a sigh, as though the books were breathing. I felt that this was where I...– Alice Hoffman, The Ice Queen (via kimberlymichelle)
literarycollective: Crying is the most disgusting thing in the entire world. I think I will give it up on the basis of my principles.
Die kind wat dood geskiet is deur soldate by...
Die kind is nie dood nie die kind lig sy vuiste teen sy moeder wat Afrika skreeu skreeu die geur van vryheid en heide in die lokasies van die omsingelde hart Die kind lig sy vuiste teen sy vader in die optog van die generasies wat Afrika skreeu skreeu die geur van geregtigheid en bloed in die strate van sy gewapende trots Die kind is nie dood nie nòg by Langa nòg by Nyanga nòg by...
Character consists of what you do on the third and fourth tries.– James A. Michener (via nathanielstuart)
Reblogged from Pinksubmergence
I Thought I Must Give Up On Life by Nicholas Gordon I thought I must give up on life And turn into a stone; The desert wind quite suited me: No heart, no mind—just bone. I thought it would be dumb to try To want something again; Wanting turns to need, and then Transmogrifies to pain. I laughed at people still in love Who trusted someone’s word; To make my happiness depend On faith...
crashinglybeautiful: A faint wind, blowing from World’s End, Made strange the city street. A strange sound mingled in the fall Of the familiar feet. Something unseen whirled with the leaves To tap on door and sill. Something unknown went whispering by Even when the wind was still. And men looked up with startled eyes And hurried on their way, As if they had been called, and told How...
The poem is a little myth of man’s capacity of making life meaningful. And in...– Robert Penn Warren (via libraryland)
The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.– Henry David Thoreau, Walden (via libraryland)
It is critical to understand your history, and then be true to oneself in such a...– Dr. Cornel West, Hope on a Tightrope: Words and Wisdom (via caraobrien)