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The clock is a conspiracy
Brian AndreasBigamy, n. A mistake in taste for which the wisdom of the future will adjudge a punishment called trigamy.
Ambrose BierceEducation, n. That which discloses to the wise and disguises from the foolish their lack of understanding.
Ambrose BierceStichwörter: education
I want to sleep like the birds
then wake to write you again
without hope that you read me.
Siren Song
This is the one song everyone
would like to learn: the song
that is irresistible:
the song that forces men
to leap overboard in squadrons
even though they see beached skulls
the song nobody knows
because anyone who had heard it
is dead, and the others can’t remember.
Shall I tell you the secret
and if I do, will you get me
out of this bird suit?
I don’t enjoy it here
squatting on this island
looking picturesque and mythical
with these two feathery maniacs,
I don’t enjoy singing
this trio, fatal and valuable.
I will tell the secret to you,
to you, only to you.
Come closer. This song
is a cry for help: Help me!
Only you, only you can,
you are unique
at last. Alas
it is a boring song
but it works every time.
Poetry is what you find
in the dirt in the corner,
overhear on the bus, God
in the details, the only way
to get from here to there.
If you put the words on a page and you believe in them, then it’s a poem.
Ewuare X. OsayandeWhen we love, we always strive to become better than we are. When we strive to become better than we are, everything around us becomes better too.
Paulo CoelhoStichwörter: love inspiration hope santiago
The transformative power of love is not fully embraced in our society because we often wrongly believe that torment and anguish are our ‘natural’ condition.
bell hooksShe had found a jewel down inside herself and she had wanted to walk where people could see her and gleam it around. But she had been set in the market-place to sell. Been set for still bait. When God had made The Man, he made him out of stuff that sung all the time and glittered all over. Then after that some angels got jealous and chopped him into millions of pieces, but still he glittered and hummed. So they beat him down to nothing but sparks but each little spark had a shine and a song. So they covered each one over with mud. And the lonesomeness in the sparks made them hunt for one another, but the mud is deaf and dumb. Like all the other tumbling mud-balls, Janie had tried to show her shine.
Zora Neale Hurston« erste vorherige
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