Επίσημη πρώτη βουτιά του μικρού …
E.M. Forster and Eric John Crozier. 1949.
Photographer: Kurt Hutton
"His light blue eyes behind his spectacles were like those of a baby who remembers his previous incarnation and is more amused than dismayed to find himself reborn in new surroundings. He had a baby’s vulnerability, which is also the invulnerability of a creature whom one dare not harm."
~Christopher Isherwood, on E.M. Forster.
Never pick a fight with people that by ink by the barrow.
Don’t be afraid of making mistakes! :)
F. Scott Fitzgerald and daughter, Frances “Scottie” Fitzgerald, 1924.
“I shall go on shining as a brilliantly meaningless figure in a meaningless world.”
― F. Scott Fitzgerald
Rule # 57: All the ills of mankind, all the tragic misfortunes that fill the history books, all the political blunders, all the failures of the great leaders have arisen merely from a lack of skill at dancing.
I like to write in the morning. I developed that habit. I’d get up, make my coffee, and write from nine until noon, or until I made a poem, whichever came first. It was at that moment that the notes I had written in my journal turned into an actual draft of the poem in its couplets.
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved…
I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.
You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them. Try to be a rainbow in someone’s cloud. Do not complain. Make every effort to change things you do not like. If you cannot make a change, change the way you have been thinking. You might find a new solution.
Never whine. Whining lets a brute know that a victim is in the neighborhood.
Be certain that you do not die without having done something wonderful for humanity.
There is no stability in this world. Who is to say what meaning there is in anything? Who is to foretell the flight of a word? It is a balloon that sails over tree-tops. To speak of knowledge is futile. All is experiment and adventure. We are forever mixing ourselves with unknown quantities. What is to come? I know not.
This is the use of memory:
For liberation — not less of love but expanding
Of love beyond desire, and so liberation
From the future as well as the past.
And what you thought you came for
Is only a shell, a husk of meaning
From which the purpose breaks only when it is fulfilled
If at all. Either you had no purpose
Or the purpose is beyond the end you figured
And is altered in fulfilment.
What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
Moments of their secret life together burst like stars upon his memory.