Friday, July 31, 2015

Aloneness by David Whyte

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn

anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive

is too small for you.
David whyte

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Inspirational Quote on Passion by Denis Diderot

To attempt the destruction of our passions is the height of folly. What a noble aim is that of the zealot who tortures himself like a madman in order to desire nothing, love nothing, feel nothing, and who, if he succeeded, would end up a complete monster!

We are constantly railing against the passions; we ascribe to them all of man’s afflictions, and we forget that they are also the source of all his pleasures … But what provokes me is that only their adverse side is considered … and yet only passions, and great passions, can raise the soul to great things. Without them there is no sublimity, either in morals or in creativity. Art returns to infancy, and virtue becomes small-minded.
Denis diderot

Buy hyacinths to feed thy soul /Inspirational flower Quote by Saadi

If of thy mortal goods thou art bereft,
And from thy slender store two loaves alone to thee are left,
Sell one, and with the dole
Buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Take One’s Life in One’s Arms by Arthur Miller

Take One’s Life in One’s Arms
Arthur Miller from the play “After the Fall”

I think it’s a mistake to ever look for hope outside of one’s self. One day the house smells of fresh bread,the next of smoke and blood. One day you faint because the gardener cuts his finger off,within a week you’re climbing over corpses of children bombed in a subway.

What hope can there be if that is so?I tried to die near the end of the war. The same dream returned each night until I dared not to go to sleep and grew quite ill. I dreamed I had a child, and even in the dream I saw it was my life, and it was an idiot, and I ran away. But it always crept onto my lap again, clutched at my clothes.

Until I thought, if I could kiss it, whatever in it was my own, perhaps I could sleep. And I bent to its broken face, and it was horrible.But I kissed it. I think one must finally take one’s life in one's own arms, and kiss it.

Saturday, July 25, 2015

Inspirational Rumi & Hafiz poetry:On The wings of love

Richard Clayderman - Hungarian sonata


Lifts its glass to the sun
And light — light
Is poured.

A bird
Comes and sits on a crystal rim
And from my forest cave I
Hear singing.

So I run to the edge of existence
And join my soul in love.

I lift my heart to Beloved
And grace is poured.

An emerald bird rises from inside me
And now sits
Upon the Beloved’s

I have left that dark cave forever.
My body has blended with His.

I lay my wing
As a bridge to you

So that you can join us


pours light
into every cup,
quenching darkness.

The proudly pious
stuff their cups with parchment
and critique the taste of ink

while God pours light

and the trees lift their limbs
without worry of redemption,
every blossom a chalice.

Hafiz, seduce those withered souls
with words that wet their parched lips

as light
pours like rain
into every empty cup
set adrift on the Infinite Ocean.

Once A Young Woman Said To Me

Once a young woman said to me, “Hafiz, what
is the sign of someone who knows God?”

I became very quiet, and looked deep into her
eyes, then replied,

“My dear, they have dropped the knife. Someone
who knows God has dropped the cruel knife

that most so often use upon their tender self
and others.”

Ghazal 314:sleep on

You who are not kept anxiously awake for love's sake,sleep on.
In restless search for that river, we hurry along;
you whose heart such anxiety has not disturbed,sleep on.
Love's place is out beyond the many separate sects;
since you love choosing and excluding, sleep on.
Love's dawn cup is our sunrise, his dusk our supper;
you whose longing is for sweets and whose passion
is for supper, sleep on.

In search of the philosopher's stone, we are melting like copper;
you whose philosopher's stone is cushion and pillow, sleep on.
I have abandoned hope for my brain and head; you who wish for
a clear head and fresh brain, sleep on.
I have torn speech like a tattered robe and let words go;
you who are still dressed in your clothes, sleep on.

I have been burnt
by the fire of Love.
You who have no such yearning in your heart,
go back to sleep.

The path of Love,
has seventy-two folds and countless facets.
Your love and religion
is all about deceit, control and hypocrisy,
go back to sleep.

I have torn to pieces my robe of speech,
and have let go of the desire to converse.

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

FREEDOM by George William Russell

George William Russell

I will not follow you, my bird,
I will not follow you.
I would not breathe a word, my bird,
To bring thee here anew.
I love the free in thee, my bird,
The lure of freedom drew;
The light you fly toward, my bird,
I fly with thee unto.
And there we yet will meet, my bird,
Though far I go from you,
Where in the light outpoured, my bird,
Are love and freedom too.

Outwitted by Edwin Markham

He drew a circle that shut me out—
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But Love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle that took him in.
Edwin Markham

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Shadow of doubt by Leo Tolstoy

The most difficult subjects can be explained to the most slow-witted man if he has not formed any idea of them already;but the simplest thing cannot be made clear to the most intelligent man if he is firmly persuaded that he knows already, without a shadow of doubt,what is laid before him.
Leo Tolstoy

Monday, July 20, 2015

Dew by Sara Teasdale

Sara Teasdale

As dew leaves the cobweb lightly
Threaded with stars,
Scattering jewels on the fence
And the pasture bars;
As dawn leaves the dry grass bright
And the tangled weeds
Bearing a rainbow gem
On each of their seeds;
So has your love, my lover,
Fresh as the dawn,
Made me a shining road
To travel on,
Set every common sight
Of tree or stone
Delicately alight
For me alone.

On Sea by Antoine de Saint-Exupery

If you want to build a ship, don't drum up people to collect wood and don't assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea.
Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Imagination by Robertson Davies

Imagination is a good horse to carry you over the ground – not a flying carpet to set you free from probability.
Robertson Davies

Tuesday, July 14, 2015

Humanity by Níkos Kazantzákis

Music:Gelseydin Fon Müziği

Níkos Kazantzákis
Excerpt from "The Saviors of God:Spiritual Exercises"

It is not you talking. Nor is it your race only which shouts within you, for all the innumerable races of mankind shout and rush within you: white, yellow, black. Free yourself from race also; fight to live through the whole struggle of man.

Look upon men and pity them. Look at yourself amid all men and pity yourself. In the obscure dusk of life we touch and fumble at each other, we ask questions, we listen, we shout for help.

The centuries are thick, dark waves that rise and fall, steeped in blood. Every moment is a gaping abyss.

Gaze on the dark sea without staggering,confront the abyss every moment without illusion or impudence or fear.…
But this is not enough; take a further step:battle to give meaning
to the confused struggles of man.

The heart unites whatever the mind separates,pushes on beyond the arena of necessity and transmutes the struggle into love.
Gather together in your heart all terrors, recompose all details.
Salvation is a circle;close it!

It is not you talking, but innumerable ancestors talking with your mouth. It is not you who desire, but innumerable generations of descendants longing with your heart. Your dead do not lie in the ground. They have become ideas and passions, they determine your will and your actions.

Future generations do not move far from you in an uncertain time.They live, desire, and act in your loins and your heart.
In this lightning moment when you walk the earth,your first duty,by enlarging your ego, is to live through the endless march, both visible and invisible, of your own being.

You are not free.Myriad invisible hands hold your hands
and direct them.

You are not a miserable and momentary body; behind your fleeting mask of clay,a thousand-year-old face lies in ambush.Your passions and your thoughts are older than your heart or brain.

Your first duty,in completing your service to your race, is to feel within you all your ancestors.Your second duty is to throw light on their onrush and to continue their work.Your third duty is to pass on to your son the great mandate to surpass you.

Humanity is such a lump of mud, each one of us is such a lump of mud. What is our duty? To struggle so that a small flower may blossom from the dunghill of our flesh and mind.

Friday, July 10, 2015

Love is what we were born with by Marianne Williamson

Love is what we were born with. Fear is what we learned here. The spiritual journey is the relinquishment, or unlearning, of fear and the acceptance of love back into our hearts.
Marianne Williamson

Thursday, July 9, 2015

Inspirational Friendship Quote by C.S. Lewis

In each of my friends there is something that only some other friend can fully bring out.By myself I am not large enough to call the whole man into activity; I want other lights than my own to show all his facets... Hence true Friendship is the least jealous of loves.Two friends delight to be joined by a third, and three by a fourth, if only the newcomer is qualified to become a real friend. They can then say, as the blessed souls say in Dante, "Here comes one who will augment our loves." For in this love "to divide is not to take away".
C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

Wednesday, July 8, 2015

On Love by Erma Bombeck

Some emotions don't make a lot of noise.It's hard to hear
pride.Caring is real faint--like a heartbeat.And pure love--
why, some days it's so quiet, you don't even know it's there.
Erma Bombeck

Tuesday, July 7, 2015

Kind thoughts by Frederick William Faber Frederick

Kind thoughts are rarer than either kind words or deeds. They imply a great deal of thinking about others. This in itself is rare. But they also imply a great deal of thinking about others without the thoughts being criticisms. This is rarer still.

Each thought is a nail that is driven In structures that cannot decay; And the mansion at last will be given To us as we build it each day.
Frederick William Faber

On Virtue by John Milton

I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and unheeded, that never sallies out and sees her adversary, but slinks out of the race, where that immortal garland is to be run for, not without dust and heat.
John Milton

Monday, July 6, 2015

Human Life’s Mystery by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Yanni - Never Too Late

Human Life’s Mystery
Elizabeth Barrett Browning

We sow the glebe, we reap the corn,
We build the house where we may rest,
And then, at moments, suddenly,
We look up to the great wide sky,
Inquiring wherefore we were born…
For earnest or for jest?

The senses folding thick and dark
About the stifled soul within,
We guess diviner things beyond,
And yearn to them with yearning fond;
We strike out blindly to a mark
Believed in, but not seen.

We vibrate to the pant and thrill
Wherewith Eternity has curled
In serpent-twine about God’s seat;
While, freshening upward to His feet,
In gradual growth His full-leaved will
Expands from world to world.

And, in the tumult and excess
Of act and passion under sun,
We sometimes hear—oh, soft and far,
As silver star did touch with star,
The kiss of Peace and Righteousness
Through all things that are done.

God keeps His holy mysteries
Just on the outside of man’s dream;
In diapason slow, we think
To hear their pinions rise and sink,
While they float pure beneath His eyes,
Like swans adown a stream.

Abstractions, are they, from the forms
Of His great beauty?—exaltations
From His great glory?—strong previsions
Of what we shall be?—intuitions
Of what we are—in calms and storms,
Beyond our peace and passions?

Things nameless! which, in passing so,
Do stroke us with a subtle grace.
We say, ‘Who passes?’—they are dumb.
We cannot see them go or come:
Their touches fall soft, cold, as snow
Upon a blind man’s face.

Yet, touching so, they draw above
Our common thoughts to Heaven’s unknown,
Our daily joy and pain advance
To a divine significance,
Our human love—O mortal love,
That light is not its own!

And sometimes horror chills our blood
To be so near such mystic Things,
And we wrap round us for defence
Our purple manners, moods of sense—
As angels from the face of God
Stand hidden in their wings.

And sometimes through life’s heavy swound
We grope for them!—with strangled breath
We stretch our hands abroad and try
To reach them in our agony,—
And widen, so, the broad life-wound
Which soon is large enough for death.

Thursday, July 2, 2015

Being yourself by Andre Gide

Be faithful
to that which exists nowhere
but in yourself--and
thus make yourself
Andre Gide

The happy & unhappy life by Jean de la Bruyère

If our life is unhappy it is painful to bear;
if it is happy it is horrible to lose.
So the one is pretty equal to the other.
Jean de la Bruyère

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