He has achieved success who has lived well, laughed often, and loved
much; who has enjoyed the trust of pure women, the respect of intelligent men and the love of little children;
who has filled his niche and accomplished his task; who has left the world better than he found it whether by an
improved poppy, a perfect poem or a rescued soul; who has never lacked appreciation of Earth's beauty or failed
to express it; who has always looked for the best in others and given them the best he had; whose life was an
inspiration; whose memory a benediction.
-- Bessie Anderson
Stanley - 1904
...Would that you could meet the sun and
the wind with more of your skin and less of your raiment,
For the breath of life is in the sunlight and the hand of life is in the wind...
...And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.
-- Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet : On Clothes
|Education is a private matter between the person and
the world of knowledge and experience, and has little to do with school or college.
Lillian Smith, American writer and
social critic (1897-1966).
never mourn the warrior! What though he miss the mark!
Though he err once or twice, he'll swoop to arms once more,
sling a carnation on his ear, then cock his cap,
and once more friends will throng about his groaning boards.
His friends feast in his courtyards, eat and drink with joy,
then strike up rousing songs until their hearts catch fire.
Brandish the torches now, push on, our horses neigh,
this whole world's grown too narrow, and I choke for air!
Out of rams' horns, I make curved bows, swift ships from trees,
I gulp down birds and beasts, drink undiluted wine,
and wake at dawn to find the meat has climbed my head
and burst in gallant flame that spies and hails the world.
I grab an ax, hack out a god, bow down and worship,
but then I see him one clear dawn and raise my ax:
'Blockhead, dry log, my heart has no more room for you,
nor can you hold my strength, and I shall knock you down!'
Then I hack God to kindling, throw him in the hearth,
and in the darkness stretch my still-unsated hands,
grab women like soft clay and with them mold more men,
then set them loose on earth that they may dry in sun:
'Ahoy, my lads, let's see where this great world will end,
how far the soul will stretch without the bowstring snapping,
but if it snaps, my friends, don't mind, it soon will mend
and once again the arrow will rise in light and strike the sun!'
From Chapter 12 of the epic poem
"The Odyssey - A Modern Sequel"
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