And exactly how does a miserable face help the war effort?" he asked sharply, his mood beginning to change. "Will a frown bring back the dead or fortify a town? If I allow myself to laugh in the face of misery, I rest my mind from the stress of it all, and then it'll work the better for you and your war. And if I'm really to be one of your advisers, Your Majesty, accept this piece of advise: Take happiness where and when you find it, because there is going to be precious little of it in the next few months!
Stuart HillTags: inspirational hill icemark oskan stuart
And if you couldn't be loved, the next best thing was to be let alone.
L.M. MontgomeryTags: love alone jane hill lantern
There is no heroism in sheep. They stand on the hill and go “Baa”, as they’re being slaughtered.
Skip CoryellTags: heroism sheep hill slaughter baa
Heroes do not dwell in a time of peace; heroes are hardened in a kiln against the sorrows. Their troubles sharpen the blade and make it gleaming. The glint becomes a brightness that is raised high on a hill, allowing women and men to see beyond themselves. For light swallows darkness. Truth buries death. Heroes are not born. They are filled by Music.
David Paul KirkpatrickBreath (from the book Blue Bridge)
Whispering to myself
With every step I take,
Trying out names, for I know
There is something yet to be called …..
I know it, something up ahead
Just around the bend
Or over the rise –
A bird taking to the sky
From the edge of a jagged cliff –
A bird floating outwards
In silence ……. A silence
Waiting for a footstep
To crunch on stones,
For a voice to fling upward
Through sharp sunlight
With a name…… calling
Before the bird could call
Before the bird called.
Oh the bird was there alright
And sure it took flight
When it heard me approach
But it broke my heart
With a mighty croak!
So I’m sitting here playing
With a purple flower
Slender stem, no leaves
Purple fizz –
And it’s quiet again.
I am still
I am nothing
And the hill
Is a long, long slope
Down, down, down to the sea
Far below.
I could roll
I could run
I could scream
But I am nothing.
A cool wind blows
And the light is naked and nameless
And the rocks are faces of angels
And the bird in the sky wheels
And cries to forget the earth
And its ancient bones –
Oh, sensual pain –
Wings…. Wings…. Wings,
Singing wings.
If only I could begin
To describe the emptiness
Which fills me to the brim
With new breath
I might almost lose my name
And take instead a feather for my soul.
Tags: soul flight breath sky names wings emptiness nothing nothingness bird hill name
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