laughed: "There's no use trying,"
she said; "one can't believe
daresay you haven't had much
practice," said the Queen. "When I
was younger, I always did it for
half an hour a day. Why, sometimes
I've believed as many as six
impossible things before
Lewis Carroll, Alice in
sometimes think that never blows so
The Rose as where some buried Caesar
That every Hyacinth the Garden
Dropt in its Lap from some once
Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam,
rendered into English verse by
that dampness and recklessness
gladly and lightly,
and there it is again -
beauty the brave, the
Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky
Do you adore the green grass, with
its terror beneath?
the depth of your hopes and desires
lies your silent knowledge of the
like seeds dreaming beneath the snow
your heart dreams of
the dreams, for in them is hidden
the gate to eternity.
Kahlil Gibran, The
is the left hand of darkness
And darkness the right hand of
Two are one, life and death,
Together like lovers in kemmer,
Like hands joined together,
Like the end and the way.
Ursula K. LeGuin, The Left Hand
question of love is one that cannot
be evaded. Whether or not you claim
to be interested in it, from the
moment you are alive you are bound
to be concerned with love, because
love is not just something that
happens to you: It is a certain
special way of being alive. Love is,
in fact, an intensification of life,
a completeness, a fullness, a
wholeness of life.
I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling
And to whom I was like to give
Something there is that doesn't love
That wants it down.
Robert Frost, "Mending