May she be granted beauty and yet not Beauty to make a stranger’s eye distraught,
Or hers before a looking-glass, for such,
Being made beautiful overmuch,
Consider beauty a sufficient end,
Lose natural kindness and maybe
The heart-revealing intimacy That chooses right, and never find a friend.

I’d have her chiefly learned;
Hearts are not had as a gift but hearts are earned
By those that are not entirely beautiful;

My mind, because the minds that I have loved,
The sort of beauty that I have approved,
Prosper but little, has dried up of late,
Yet knows that to be choked with hate
May well be of all evil chances chief.

The more I read this poem the more I appreciate it. It's a good kind of prescriptive.

The food, man!😭
"You're on a diet, Harry."

THE MOODS
TIME drops in decay,
Like a candle burnt out,
And the mountains and woods Have their day, have their day;
What one in the rout
Of the fire-born moods
Has fallen away?

-Yeats, of course.

We're going back to church with this one!🔥 Jamaican is so beautiful!

To be taken with a pinch of salt cause it can read like 48 Laws of Power(well, it fathered it).

He said this 400 years ago. Lord help us!

Thy Godlike crime was to be kind,
To render with thy precepts less
The sum of human wretchedness,
And strengthen Man with his own mind;
But baffled as thou wert from high,
Still in thy patient energy,
In the endurance, and repulse
Of thine impenetrable Spirit,
Which Earth and Heaven could not convulse,

A mighty lesson we inherit:
Thou art a symbol and a sign
To Mortals of their fate and force;
Like thee, Man is in part divine,
A troubled stream from a pure source;

-Prometheus, Lord Byron

"Sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it."

Nah. I like my spare tire. It did nothing but comfort me.
#FreetheFupa

The Wheel

THROUGH winter-time we call on spring,
And through the spring on summer call,
And when abounding hedges ring
Declare that winter's best of all;
And after that there's nothing good
Because the spring-time has not come
Nor know that what disturbs our blood
Is but its longing for the tomb.

Hey, guys.
Just leaving this to myself(and you) as a reminder and because I need accountability partners.

The illiteracy rate in our country is unbelievable! We should do something about it! We should mobilize!

I'll return to this topic, meanwhile think about it and so shall I.

Little by little, day by day, the sun will melt the winter away.
Little by little is all it takes.

Little by little, day by day, a ripple may grow into a wave.
Little by little is all it takes.

-Moddi
(Someone knows this is corny wink at them😉)

When he always had red flags but you ignored them.

Parwana was a surprise.
Masooma was already out, wriggling quietly in the midwife’s arms, when their mother cried out and the crown of another head parted her a second time.

Masooma’s arrival was uneventful. She delivered herself, the angel, the midwife would say later. Parwana’s birth was prolonged, agonizing for the mother, treacherous for the baby. The midwife had to free her from the cord that had wrapped itself around Parwana’s neck, as if in a murderous fit of separation anxiety. In her worst moments, when she cannot help being
swallowed up by a torrent of self-loathing, Parwana thinks that perhaps the cord knew best. Maybe it knew which was the better half.

-And the Mountains Echoed, Khaled Hosseini

But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master's own,
Who labors, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonored falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth -
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.

Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power -
Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!
By nature vile, ennoble but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Ye, who perchance behold this simple urn,
Pass on - it honors none you wish to mourn.
To mark a friend's remains these stones arise;
I never knew but one - and here he lies.

-Byron