Sometimes, when the grind of the city beats on my heart
Like a brazen hammer with terrible blows,
I think of a lost garden I knew in my boyhood,
Filled with the scent of the rose.
And sometimes, when the clamor of life seems endless,
And my soul is bowed with its weight of pain,
I think of an old, still apple tree in blossom
At the end of a hawthorn lane.
Oh, do not smile at such simple memories!
They keep us young, they keep the man-heart right.
And sometime we will all go back contented,
To a Garden and a Tree in a place of light.
~Charles Hanson Towne~
Seems I missed World Poetry Day on March 21st…
I am Yesterday.
I am gone from you forever.
I am the last of a long procession of days, streaming behind you, away from you, pouring into mist and obscurity, and at last into the ocean of oblivion.
I depart from you, yet am I ever with you.
Once I was called Tomorrow and was virgin pure; then I became your spouse and was named Today; now I am Yesterday and carry upon me the eternal stain of your embrace.
I am one of the leaves of a growing book. There are many pages before me.
Someday you shall turn us all over and read us and know what you are.
I am rich, for I have wisdom.
I bore you a child and left him with you. His name is Experience.
I am Yesterday; yet I am the same as Today and Forever for I AM YOU; and you cannot escape from yourself.
We shall have to repent in this generation, not so much for the evil deeds of the wicked people, but for the appalling silence of the good people. Dr. Martin Luther King Jnr.
The ultimate measure of man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy. Dr. Martin Luther King Jnr.
Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will And he’s allowed me to go to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. Dr. Martin Luther King Jnr. On The Eve of His Assassination, April 3, 1968
Friends, comrades and fellow South Africans, I greet you all in the name of peace, democracy and freedom for all! Nelson Mandela, A Free Man, February 11, 1990
Let freedom reign. Nelson Mandela
We’ve got a budget deficit that’s important, we’ve got a trade deficit that’s critical, but what I worry about most is our empathy deficit. Barack Obama
The more you praise and celebrate your life, the more there is in life to celebrate. Oprah Winfrey
God can dream a bigger dream for you than you can dream for yourself. Oprah Winfrey
Don’t just be an aging female, learn to be a real woman. Maya Angelou
People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel. Maya Angelou
When you learn, teach. When you get, give. Maya Angelou
You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have. Maya Angelou
I shall remember then,
At twilight time or in the hush of dawn,
Or yet, mayhap, when on a straying wind
The scent of lilac comes, or when
Some strain of music startles and is gone.
Old dreams, old roses, all so far behind,
Blossoms and birds, and ancient shadow-trees,
Whispers at sunset, the low hum of bees,
And sheep that graze beneath a summer sun,
Will they too come, they who in yester-year
Walked the same paths and in the first of Spring,
And shall I hear
Their distant voices murmering?
I shall remember then
When youth is done,
With the dim years grown gray;
And I shall wonder what it is that ends,
And why they seem so very far away –
Old dreams, old roses…and old friends.
~Thomas S. Jones Jr.~
We are all of us dreamers of dreams,
On visions our childhood is fed;
And the heart of a child is unhaunted, it seems,
By ghosts of dreams that are dead.
From childhood to youth’s but a span,
And the years of our life are soon sped;
But the youth is no longer a youth, but a man,
When the first of his dreams is dead.
‘Tis a cup of wormwood and gall,
When the doom of a great man is said;
And the best of a man is under a pall
When the best of his dreams is dead.
He may live on by compact and plan
When the fine bloom of living is shed,
But God pity the little that’s left of a man
When most of his dreams are dead.
Let him show a brave face if he can;
Let him woo fame and fortune instead;
Yet there’s not much to do, but to bury a man
When the last of his dreams is dead.
~William Herbert Carruth~
We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams.
World-losers and world-forsakers,
Upon whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers,
Of the world forever, it seems.
With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world’s great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire’s glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song’s measure
Can trample an empire down.
We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o’erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world’s worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.
~Arthur William Edgar O’Shaughnessy~
Young men think old men fools and old men know young men to be so.
O for an engine to keep back all clocks. Ben Jonson
Forty is the old age of youth; fifty is the youth of old age. Victor Hugo
The hardest years in life are those between ten and seventy. Helen Hayes (at age 73)
The tears of all old people are as terrible as those of children are natural. Balzac
Thirty-five is when you finally get your head together and your body starts falling apart. Caryn Leschen
Don’t just be an aging female learn to be a real woman. Maya Angelou
Old women are different from everyone else. They say what they think. Ursula Le Guin
Old age ain’t no place for sissies. Bette Davis
Birthdays are good for you; the more you have, the longer you live.
What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, – act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow~
Some reckon their age by years,
Some measure their life by art;
But some tell their days by the flow of their tears,
And their lives by the moans of their heart.
The dials of earth may show
The length, not the depth, of years,
Few or many they come, few or many they go,
But time is best measured by tears.
Ah! not by the silver gray
That creeps thro’ the sunny hair,
And not by the scenes that we pass on our way,
And not by the furrows the fingers of care
On forehead and face have made
Not so do we count our years;
Not by the sun of the earth, but the shade
Of our souls, and the fall of our tears.
For the young are oft-times old,
Though their brows be bright and fair;
While their blood beats warm, their hearts are cold —
O’er them the spring — but winter is there.
And the old are oft-times young,
When their hair is thin and white;
And they sing in age, as in youth they sung,
And they laugh, for their cross was light.
But bead, by bead, I tell
The rosary of my years;
From a cross to a cross they lead; ’tis well,
And they’re blest with a blessing of tears.
Better a day of strife
Than a century of sleep;
Give me instead of a long stream of life
The tempests and tears of the deep.
A thousand joys may foam
On the billows of all the years;
But never the foam brings the lone back home —
It reaches the haven through tears.
~Abram J. Ryan~
Buddha was asked, “What have you gained from meditation?” He replied, “Nothing.” However, Buddha said, “Let me tell you what I lost: anger, anxiety, depression, insecurity, fear of old age, and death.”
Within my body are all the sacred places of the world, and the most profound pilgrimage that I can ever make is within my own body.
In the end, only three things matter; how much you loved, how gently you lived, how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.