Month: July 2018
Proof ~ Poem by Emily Dickinson
Proof
That I did always love,
I bring thee proof:
That till I loved
I did not love enough.
That I shall love alway,
I offer thee
That love is life,
And life hath immortality.
This, dost thou doubt, sweet?
Then have I
Nothing to show
But Calvary.
Emily Dickinson
Pluck the Day ~ Poem by Horace
Don’t seek, my friend, we cannot say
what end’s in store for you, for me:
don’t trust in vague astrology,
Better to shoulder what will be,
whether you soon will die, or stay
to watch the shore exhaust the sea.
So drink some wine while your hours flee,
put small trust in posterity,
and prune your hopes; but pluck the day.
Horace
Today’s Quote by Carol Gilligan on Love
Maybe love is like rain. Sometimes gentle, sometimes torrential, flooding, eroding, joyful, steady, filling the earth, collecting in underground springs. When it rains, when we love, life grows.
Carol Gilligan
Something to Think About
The richest and fullest lives attempt to achieve an inner balance between three realms: work, love and play.
Erik Erikson
Reflect on your life. Is it in balance? Is it out of balance? Which one of the three work, love, and play needs to be brought back into balance.
Your reflection can become a starting place to begin living a balanced life. Share ideas with readers that you find helpful.
A Thing of Beauty ~ Poem by John Keats
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its lovliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkn’d ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
‘Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven’s brink.
