Friendship by George Eliot

It is hard to believe long together that anything is "worth while,"
unless there is some eye to kindle in common with our own, some brief
word uttered now and then to imply that what is infinitely precious
to us is precious alike to another mind.
George Eliot

Sun For soul by Thomas Hardy

So each had a private little sun for her soul to bask in;
some dream, some affection, some hobby, or at least some
remote and distant hope.
Thomas Hardy

Roses & Thorns by Abraham Lincoln

We can complain because rose bushes have thorns,
or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses.
Abraham Lincoln

Light & Darkness by Og Mandino

I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will
endure the darkness because it shows me the stars.
Og Mandino

Contemplation On Man & Nature :The Prelude Poem (Excerpt) by William Wordsworth

Music:
Secret Garden - Silence speaks

Excerpt From THE PRELUDE
William Wordsworth

OH there is blessing in this gentle freezer,
A visitant that while it fans my cheek
Doth seem half-conscious of the joy it brings
From the green fields, and from yon azure sky.
Whate'er its mission, the soft breeze can come
To none more grateful than to me; escaped
From the vast city, where I long had pined
A discontented sojourner: now free,
Free as a bird to settle where I will.

What dwelling shall receive me? in what vale
Shall be my harbour? underneath what grove
Shall I take up my home? and what clear stream
Shall with its murmur lull me into rest?
The earth is all before me. With a heart
Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty,
I look about; and should the chosen guide
Be nothing better than a wandering cloud,
I cannot miss my way. I breathe again!

Trances of thought and mountings of the mind
Come fast upon me: it is shaken off,
That burthen of my own unnatural self,
The heavy weight of many a weary day
Not mine, and such as were not made for me.
Long months of peace (if such bold word accord
With any promises of human life),
Long months of ease and undisturbed delight
Are mine in prospect; whither shall I turn,
By road or pathway, or through trackless field,
Up hill or down, or shall some floating thing
Upon the river point me out my course?

Dear Liberty! Yet what would it avail
But for a gift that consecrates the joy?
For I, methought, while the sweet breath of heaven
Was blowing on my body, felt within
A correspondent breeze, that gently moved
With quickening virtue, but is now become
A tempest, a redundant energy,
Vexing its own creation. Thanks to both,
And their congenial powers, that, while they join
In breaking up a long-continued frost,
Bring with them vernal promises, the hope
Of active days urged on by flying hours,--
Days of sweet leisure, taxed with patient thought
Abstruse, nor wanting punctual service high,
Matins and vespers of harmonious verse!

Thus far, O Friend! did I, not used to make
A present joy the matter of a song,
Pour forth that day my soul in measured strains
That would not be forgotten, and are here
Recorded: to the open fields I told
A prophecy: poetic numbers came
Spontaneously to clothe in priestly robe
A renovated spirit singled out,
Such hope was mine, for holy services.
My own voice cheered me, and, far more, the mind's
Internal echo of the imperfect sound;
To both I listened, drawing from them both
A cheerful confidence in things to come.

One end at least hath been attained; my mind
Hath been revived, and if this genial mood
Desert me not, forthwith shall be brought down
Through later years the story of my life.
The road lies plain before me;--'tis a theme
Single and of determined bounds; and hence
I choose it rather at this time, than work
Of ampler or more varied argument,
Where I might be discomfited and lost:
And certain hopes are with me, that to thee
This labour will be welcome, honoured Friend!

For I have learned To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things.

Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear,--both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense,
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.

Nor perchance,
If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
For thou art with me here upon the banks
Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,
Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,

Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings.

Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty mountain-winds be free
To blow against thee: and, in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance--

If I should be where I no more can hear
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
Of past existence--wilt thou then forget
That on the banks of this delightful stream
We stood together; and that I, so long
A worshipper of Nature, hither came
Unwearied in that service: rather say
With warmer love--oh! with far deeper zeal
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!

Life and the world by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Life and the world, or whatever we call that which we are and feel,
is an astonishing thing. The mist of familiarity obscures from us
the wonder of our being. We are struck with admiration at some of
its transient modifications, but it is itself the great miracle.
Percy Bysshe Shelley

The mind by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

Nothing contributes so much to tranquilize the mind
as a steady purpose- a point on which the soul may
fix its intellectual eye.
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight
ligaments are we bound to prosperity and ruin.
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

A hermit by Khalil Gibran

A hermit is one who renounces the world of fragments that
he may enjoy the world wholly and without interruption.
Khalil Gibran

On Love by Nizar Qabbani/Romantic Quotes

There is who loves you quietly, and respects you quietly,
and wishes you privately, and walks away when he sees you
busy with someone other than him, and his ego restrains him
from getting near you, and contents himself with the love
for the sake of love.
Nizar Qabbani

Don't love deeply, till you make sure that the other part loves
you with the same depth, because the depth of your love today,
is the depth of your wound tomorrow.
Nizar Qabbani

The female doesn't want a rich man or a handsome man or even a poet,
she wants a man who understands her eyes if she gets sad, and points
to his chest and say : 'Here is your home country.'
Nizar Qabbani

Do you wish the world were happy? by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Do you wish the world were happy?
Then remember day by day
Just to scatter seeds of kindness
as you pass along the way:
For the pleasures of many
May be oft times traced to one,
As the hand that plants an acorn
Shelters armies from the sun.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Talk Happiness by Ella Wheeler Wilcox/Inspirational Happiness Quotes

Talk happiness.
The world is sad enough Without your woe.
No path is wholly rough.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox

We waste half our strength in a useless regretting ;
We sit by old tombs in the dark too long.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Seeking for happiness we must take heed
Of simple joys that are not found in speed.

Seeking for happiness we needs must care
For all the little things that make life fair.

Seeking for happiness we must prize this---
Not what will be, or was, but that which is.

Seeking for happiness we find the way
Doing the things we ought to do each day.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Anywhere Out of the World/N'importe où hors du monde by Charles Baudelaire

Music:
David Garrett - Io Ti Penso Amore

Anywhere Out of the World
Charles Baudelaire

This life is a hospital where every patient is possessed with the desire
to change beds; one man would like to suffer in front of the stove, and
another believes that he would recover his health beside the window.
It always seems to me that I should feel well in the place where I am not,
and this question of removal is one which I discuss incessantly with my soul.

'Tell me, my soul, poor chilled soul, what do you think of going to live
in Lisbon? It must be warm there, and there you would invigorate yourself
like a lizard. This city is on the sea-shore; they say that it is built
of marble and that the people there have such a hatred of vegetation that
they uproot all the trees. There you have a landscape that corresponds to
your taste! a landscape made of light and mineral, and liquid to reflect them!'
My soul does not reply.

'Since you are so fond of stillness, coupled with the show of movement,
would you like to settle in Holland, that beatifying country? Perhaps you
would find some diversion in that land whose image you have so often
admired in the art galleries. What do you think of Rotterdam, you who love
forests of masts, and ships moored at the foot of houses?'
My soul remains silent.

'Perhaps Batavia attracts you more? There we should find, amongst other
things,the spirit of Europe married to tropical beauty.'
Not a word. Could my soul be dead?

'Is it then that you have reached such a degree of lethargy that you
acquiesce in your sickness? If so, let us flee to lands that are
analogues of death.

I see how it is, poor soul! We shall pack our trunks for Tornio.
Let us go farther still to the extreme end of the Baltic; or farther
still from life, if that is possible; let us settle at the Pole.
There the sun only grazes the earth obliquely, and the slow alternation
of light and darkness suppresses variety and increases monotony,
that half-nothingness.

There we shall be able to take long baths of darkness, while for
our amusement the aurora borealis shall send us its rose-coloured
rays that are like the reflection of Hell's own fireworks!'

At last my soul explodes, and wisely cries out to me:

'No matter where! No matter where!
As long as it's out of the world!'

The Original Text In French

N'importe où hors du monde
Charles Baudelaire

Cette vie est un hôpital où chaque malade est possédé du désir
de changer de lit. Celui-ci voudrait souffrir en face du poêle,
et celui-là croit qu'il guérirait à côté de la fenêtre.
Il me semble que je serais toujours bien là où je ne suis pas,
et cette question de déménagement en est une que je discute
sans cesse avec mon âme.

" Dis-moi mon âme, pauvre âme refroidie,
que penserais-tu d'habiter Lisbonne?
Il doit y faire chaud et tu t'y ragaillardirais comme un lézard.
Cette ville est au bord de l'eau ; on dit qu'elle est bâtie en
marbre et que le peuple y a une telle haine du végétal,qu'il
arrache tous les arbres.
Voilà un paysage fait selon ton goût, un paysage fait avec
la lumière et le minéral et le liquide pour les réfléchir !
Mon âme ne répond pas.

" Puisque tu aimes tant le repos, avec le spectacle du mouvement,
veux tu venir habiter la Hollande, cette terre béatifiante ?
Peut-être te divertiras-tu dans cette contrée dont tu as souvent
admiré l'image dans les musées. Que penserais-tu de Rotterdam, toi
qui aimes les forêts de mats et les navires amarrés au pied des maisons.
Mon âme reste muette.

" Batavia te sourirait peut-être davantage, nous y trouverions l'esprit
de l'Europe marié à la beauté tropicale. "
Pas un mot. - Mon âme serait-elle morte ?

" En es-tu donc venue à ce point d'engourdissement que tu ne te plaises
que dans ton mal ? S'il en est ainsi, fuyons vers les pays qui sont
les analogies de la Mort.

Je tiens notre affaire, pauvre âme !
nous ferons nos malles pour Tornéo. Allons plus loin encore, à l'extrême
bout de la Baltique ; encore plus loin de la vie, si c'est possible ;
installons-nous au pôle. Là le soleil ne frise qu'obliquement la terre,
et les lentes alternatives de la lumière et de la nuit suppriment
la variété et augmentent la monotonie, cette moitié du néant...

Là,nous pourrons prendre de longs bains de ténèbres cependant que, pour
nous divertir les aurores boréales nous enverrons de temps en temps
leurs gerbes roses, comme des reflets d'un feu d'artifice de l'enfer!

Enfin, mon âme fait explosion et sagement elle me crie :
" N'importe où ! n'importe où ! pourvu que ce soit hors de ce monde ! "