Wednesday, May 31, 2017

When You really Love by Robert G. Ingersoll

It is a splendid thing to think that the woman you really love
will never grow old to you. Through the wrinkles of time, through
the mask of years, if you really love her, you will always see
the face you loved and won.

And a woman who really loves a man does not see that he grows old;
he is not decrepit to her; he does not tremble; he is not old;
she always sees the same gallant gentleman who won her hand and heart.

I like to think of it in that way; I like to think that love is eternal.
And to love in that way and then go down the hill of life together,
and as you go down, hear, perhaps,the laughter of grandchildren,while
the birds of joy and love sing once more in the leafless branches
of the tree of age.
Robert G. Ingersoll

Tuesday, May 30, 2017

A Child -like Man by Aldous Huxley

A child-like man is not a man whose development has been arrested;
on the contrary, he is a man who has given himself a chance of
continuing to develop long after most adults have muffled themselves
in the cocoon of middle-aged habit and convention.
Aldous Huxley

Friday, May 26, 2017

Homegoing To Own True Nature by Peter Matthiessen

To glimpse one’s own true nature is a kind of homegoing,
to a place East of the Sun, West of the Moon—
the homegoing that needs no home, like that waterfall
on the upper Suli Gad that turns to mist before touching
the earth and rises once again into the sky.
Peter Matthiessen, The Snow Leopard

In your soul I plant a love tree by Veronika Jensen/Romance Quote

I will not kiss your lips, no.
I will crawl straight inside your heart.
Dig a hole in your soul and plant a love tree .
I will grow my roots so deep into you,
you will not know,where you end and I begin.
Veronika Jensen

Thursday, May 25, 2017

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

We love life because We love by Friedrich Nietzsche/Inspirational Life Quote

He who strideth across the highest mountains laugheth
at all tragedies whether of the stage or of life….

Ye say unto me: ‘Life is hard to bear.’ But for what
purpose have ye got in the morning your pride and in
the evening your submission?

Life is hard to bear. But do not pretend to be so frail!
We are all good he-asses and she-asses of burden.

What have we in common with the rose-bud that trembleth
because a drop of dew lieth on its body?

It is true: we love life, not because we are accustomed
to life, but because we are accustomed to love.

There is always a madness in love. There is however also
always a reason in madness.
Friedrich Nietzsche

Strew gladness

Strew gladness on the paths of men-
You will not pass this way again.
Sam Walter Foss

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

From The Rubaiyat/The Quatrains of Omar Khayyam/Part II

Music: Farid Farjad - Robabeh Jan

From The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

The bird of life is singing on the bough
His two eternal notes of “I and Thou”—
O! hearken well, for soon the song sings through,
And, would we hear it, we must hear it now.

The bird of life is singing in the sun,
Short is his song, nor only just begun,—
A call, a trill, a rapture, then—so soon!—
A silence, and the song is done—is done.

Yea! What is man that deems himself divine?
Man is a flagon, and his soul the wine;
Man is a reed, his soul the sound therein;
Man is a lantern, and his soul the shine.

Would you be happy! hearken, then, the way:
Heed not To-morrow, heed not Yesterday;
The magic words of life are Here and Now—
O fools, that after some to-morrow stray!

Were I a Sultan, say what greater bliss
Were mine to summon to my side than this,—
Dear gleaming face, far brighter than the moon!
O Love! and this immortalizing kiss.

To all of us the thought of heaven is dear—
Why not be sure of it and make it here?
No doubt there is a heaven yonder too,
But ’tis so far away—and you are near.

God, perchance, the secret word might spell;
If God be, He keeps His secret well;
What He hath hidden, who shall hope to find?
Shall God His secret to a maggot tell?

So since with all my passion and my skill,
The world’s mysterious meaning mocks me still,
Shall I not piously believe that I
Am kept in darkness by the heavenly will?

And do you think that unto such as you,
A maggot-minded, starved, fanatic crew,
God gave the Secret, and denied it me?—
Well, well, what matters it! believe that too.

O City Mufti, you go more astray
Than I do, though to wine I do give way;
I drink the blood of grapes, you that of men:
Which of us is the more bloodthirsty, pray?

Old Khayyám, say you, is a debauchee;
If only you were half so good as he!
He sins no sins but gentle drunkenness,
and great-hearted mirth.

But yours the cold heart, and the murderous tongue,
The wintry soul that hates to hear a song,
The close-shut fist, the mean and measuring eye,
And all the little poisoned ways of wrong.

So I be written in the Book of Love,
I have no care about that book above;
Erase my name, or write it, as you please—
So I be written in the Book of Love.

Saturday, May 20, 2017

From Rubaiyat/Quatrains of Omar Khayyam

Tears Of Roses-Aci Hayat

Selected Quotes
From The Quatrains of Omar Khayyam

My true condition I may thus explain
In two short verses which the whole contain:
“From love to Thee I now lay down my life,
In hope Thy love will raise me up again.”

I close the door of hope in my own face,
Nor sue for favors from good men, or base;
I have but One to lend a helping hand—
He knows, as well as I, my sorry case.

O Lord! from self-conceit deliver me,
Sever from self, and occupy with Thee!
This self is captive to earth’s good and ill,
Make me beside myself, and set me free!

Make light to me the world’s oppressive weight,
And hide my failings from the people’s hate,
And grant me peace to-day, and on the morrow
Deal with me as Thy mercy may dictate!

What eye can pierce the veil of God’s decrees,
Or read the riddle of earth’s destinies?
Pondered have I for years threescore and ten,
But still am baffled by these mysteries.

Nor you nor I can read the etern decree,
To that enigma we can find no key;
They talk of you and me behind the veil,
But, if that veil be lifted, where are we?

I drown in sin—show me Thy clemency!
My soul is dark—make me Thy light to see!
A heaven that must be earned by painful works,
I call a wage, not a gift fair and free.

We rest our hopes on Thy free grace alone,
Nor seek by merits for our sins to atone;
Mercy drops where it lists, and estimates
Ill done as undone, good undone as done.

O Thou who givest sight to emmet’s eyes,
And strength to puny limbs of feeble flies,
To Thee we will ascribe Almighty power,
And not base, unbecoming qualities.

My body’s life and strength proceed from Thee!
My soul within and spirit are of Thee!
My being is of Thee, and Thou art mine,
And I am Thine, since I am lost in Thee!

This is the form Thou gavest me of old,
Wherein Thou workest marvels manifold;
Can I aspire to be a better man,
Or other than I issued from Thy mold?

Thursday, May 18, 2017

Where shall we get religion? by Sam Walter Foss

Where shall we get religion? Beneath the open sky,
the sphere of crystal silence surcharged with deity.
The midnight earth sends incense up, sweet with
the breath of prayer.Go out beneath the naked
night and get religion there.
Sam Walter Foss

Wednesday, May 17, 2017

Book of your Life

Open your book of life only to few people.
Because in this world very few care to
understand the chapters,others are just
curious to know.

Tuesday, May 16, 2017

Love OF Life by Friedrich Nietzsche

And to my thinking as a lover of life, butterflies, soap-bubbles,
and whatever is of their kind among men, know most of happiness.
To see these light, foolish, delicate, mobile little souls flitting
about—that moveth Zarathustra to tears and to song.
Friedrich Nietzsche" Thus Spake Zarathustra"

To recover a sense of reality is to recover the truth by Nikolai Berdyaev

We live in a nightmare of falsehoods, and there are few who
are sufficiently awake and aware to see things as they are.

Our first duty is to clear away illusions and recover a sense
of reality. If war should come, it will do so on account of our
delusions, for which our hag-ridden conscience attempts
to find moral excuses.

To recover a sense of reality is to recover the truth
about ourselves and the world in which we live, and thereby
to gain the power of keeping this world from flying asunder.
Nikolai Berdyaev

Monday, May 15, 2017


Take time to appreciate
those who love you,
or else time will teach you
to treasure their memories.

Bird Music by Rose Terry Cooke

Bird Music
Rose Terry Cooke

Singer of priceless melody,
Underguerdoned chorister of air,
Who from the lithe top of the tree
Pourest at will thy music rare,
As if a sudden brook laughed down the hill-side there.

The purple-blossomed fields of grass,
Waved sea-like to the idle wind,
Thick daisies that the stars surpass,
Being as fair and far more kind;--
All sweet uncultured things thy wild notes bring to mind.

When that enraptured overflow
Of singing into silence dies,
Thy rapid fleeting pinions show
Where all thy spell of sweetness lies
Gathered in one small nest from the wide earth and skies.

Unconscious of thine audience,
Careless of praises as of blame,
In simpleness and innocence,
Thy gentle life pursues its aim,
So tender and serene, that we might blush for shame.

The patience of thy brooding wings
That droop in silence day by day,
The little crowd of callow things
That joy for weariness repay,--
These are the living spring, thy song the fountain's spray.

Friday, May 12, 2017

THE SYMPHONY BY Henry Van Dyke/Music & Love Reflections

André Rieu-The Godfather main Theme

Reflections On Music & Love

Henry Van Dyke

Music, they do thee wrong who say thine art
Is only to enchant the sense.
For every timid motion of the heart,
And every passion too intense
To bear the chain of the imperfect word,

And every tremulous longing, stirred
By spirit winds that come we know not whence
And go we know not where,
And every inarticulate prayer
Beating about the depths of pain or bliss,
Like some bewildered bird
That seeks its nest but knows not where it is,

And every dream that haunts, with dim delight,
The drowsy hour between the day and night,
The wakeful hour between the night and day,—
Imprisoned, waits for thee,
Impatient, yearns for thee,

The queen who comes to set the captive free
Thou lendest wings to grief to fly away,
And wings to joy to reach a heavenly height;
And every dumb desire that Storms within the breast
Thou leadest forth to sob or sing itself to rest.

All these are thine, and therefore love is thine.
For love is joy and grief,
And trembling doubt, and certain-sure belief,
And fear, and hope, and longing unexpressed,
In pain most human, and in rapture brief
Almost divine.

Love would possess, yet deepens when denied;
And love would give, yet hungers to receive;
Love like a prince his triumph would achieve;
And like a miser in the dark his joys would hide.

Love is most bold:
He leads his dreams like armed men in line;
Yet when the siege is set, and he must speak,
Calling the fortress to resign
Its treasure, valiant love grows weak,
And hardly dares his purpose to unfold.
Less with his faltering lips than with his eyes
He claims the longed-for prize:
Love fain would tell it all, yet leaves the best untold.

But thou shalt speak for love. Yea, thou shalt teach
The mystery of measured tone,
The Pentecostal speech
That every listener heareth as his own.
For on thy head the cloven tongues of fire,—
Diminished chords that quiver with desire,
And major chords that glow with perfect peace,—
Have fallen from above;
And thou canst give release
In music to the burdened heart of love.

Sound with the 'cellos' pleading, passionate strain
The yearning theme, and let the flute reply
In placid melody, while violins complain,
And sob, and sigh,
With muted string;
Then let the oboe half-reluctant sing
Of bliss that trembles on the verge of pain,
While 'cellos plead and plead again,
With throbbing notes delayed, that would impart
To every urgent tone the beating of the heart.
So runs the andante, making plain
The hopes and fears of love without a word.

Then comes the adagio, with a yielding theme
Through which the violas flow soft as in a dream,
While horns and mild bassoons are heard
In tender tune, that seems to float
Like an enchanted boat
Upon the downward-gliding stream,
Toward the allegro's wide, bright sea
Of dancing, glittering, blending tone,
Where every instrument is sounding free,
And harps like wedding-chimes are rung, and trumpets blown
Around the barque of love
That sweeps, with smiling skies above,
A royal galley, many-oared,
Into the happy harbour of the perfect chord.

Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Giving by Joyce Sequichie Hifler

Giving is so often thought of in terms of the things we give,
but our greatest giving is of our time, and kindness, and even
comfort for those who need it. We look on these gifts as
unimportant – until we need them.
Joyce Sequichie Hifler

Tuesday, May 9, 2017

The best in others & the best in ourselves

When we seek to discover the best in others,
we somehow bring out the best in ourselves.
William Arthur Ward

Saturday, May 6, 2017

What If you Fly by Erin Hanson

There is freedom waiting for you,
On the breezes of the sky,
And you ask “what if I fall?"
Oh but my darling, what if you fly?”
Erin Hanson

The Risk by Anaïs Nin

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in
a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
Anaïs Nin

Friday, May 5, 2017

The praise that comes of love by James M. Barrie

The praise that comes of love does not
make us vain,but humble rather.

Knowing what we are, the pride that shines in our
mother's eyes as she looks at us is about the most
pathetic thing a man has to face,but he would be
a devil altogether if it did not burn some of
the sin out of him.
James M. Barrie

Contemplation by Meister Eckhart

What we plant in the soil of contemplation,
we shall reap in the harvest of action.
Meister Eckhart

What a man takes in by contemplation,
that he pours out in love.
Meister Eckhart

Thursday, May 4, 2017

Be Like The Tree

The tree does not bother about flowers that fall.
It is always busy making new flowers blossom.
Life is not about what we lost so far,
it's about what we can still grow.

Wednesday, May 3, 2017

Let Us Enjoy,Let Us Love by Alphonse de Lamartine

Let us enjoy the fugitive hour.
Man has no harbor, time has no shore;
it rushes on, and carries us with it.
Alphonse de Lamartine

Ah! let us love, my Love,
for Time is heartless,
Be happy while you may!
Alphonse de Lamartine

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