In youth, we are still in the process of creating and shaping our life. And since our existence is still in the process of making, we can always afford to change paths and re-create it again.
When our life solidifies into a rigid, non-compliant structure with no room for novelty, that's when we become "old," and that's when "you are not living your life, but you are being lived by it."
You turn from the active creator into a passive observer of your own existence.
When our life solidifies into a rigid, non-compliant structure with no room for novelty, that's when we become "old," and that's when "you are not living your life, but you are being lived by it."
You turn from the active creator into a passive observer of your own existence.
A poet tries to express something which eludes every expression. He articulates the inexpressible.
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A poet tries to express something which eludes every expression. He articulates the inexpressible.
الشاعِر يحاولُ التعبير عمّا يُفلِتُ بطبيعتِه من كلّ تعبير. هو يُبَيِّنُ ما لا يُمكِن تبيانُه.
I guess that's why I love poetry, literature, songs, and "big" words: because they compensate my disability in expression. But in the end, a cane would never be as useful as the real leg.
Forwarded from Αθηνά (Αθηνά)
How Did You Die?
Did you tackle that trouble that
came your way With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce, Or a trouble is what you make it. And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts, But only how did you take it?
You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that?
Come up with a smiling face. It's nothing against you to fall down flat, But to lie there-that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce; Be proud of your blackened eye!
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts;
It's how did you fight and why?
And though you be done to death, what then? If you battled the best you could; If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the Critic will call it good. Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce, And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts, But only, how did you die?
__EDMUND VANCE COOKE
Did you tackle that trouble that
came your way With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce, Or a trouble is what you make it. And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts, But only how did you take it?
You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that?
Come up with a smiling face. It's nothing against you to fall down flat, But to lie there-that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce; Be proud of your blackened eye!
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts;
It's how did you fight and why?
And though you be done to death, what then? If you battled the best you could; If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the Critic will call it good. Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce, And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts, But only, how did you die?
__EDMUND VANCE COOKE
In those days, when my hands were much employed, I read but little, but the least scraps of paper which lay on the ground, my holder, or tablecloth, afforded me as much entertainment, in fact answered the same purpose as the Iliad.
- Walden, by H. D. Thoreau
- Walden, by H. D. Thoreau
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In those days, when my hands were much employed, I read but little, but the least scraps of paper which lay on the ground, my holder, or tablecloth, afforded me as much entertainment, in fact answered the same purpose as the Iliad. - Walden, by H. D. Thoreau
في تلك الأيام عندما كانت يَدايَ مشغولَتان بالعمل، لم أقرأ إلا القليل، لكنّ أصغَرَ قُصاصَةٍ مُلقاةٍ على الأرض، أو خِرقةَ قماشٍ، أو غطاءَ مائدة، كانت تملأُني بمتعةٍ تضاهي متعةَ الإلياذة، وفي الحقيقة، تفيدُني ذاتَ فائدةِ الإلياذة.
- والْدِن، لِـ هنري ديفيد ثورو
- والْدِن، لِـ هنري ديفيد ثورو