Own Way

I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy; but, like everybody else, it must be in my own way.

-Jane Austen

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The unbearable lightness of being

“Perhaps all the questions we ask of love, to measure, test, probe, and save it, have the additional effect of cutting it short. Perhaps the reason we are unable to love is that we yearn to be loved, that is, we demand something (love) from our partner instead of delivering ourselves up to him demand-free and asking for nothing but his company.”

– Milan Kundera

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Let it be then as you wish

“Love me then, Haidee! Who knows? Perhaps your love will make me forget all that I do not wish to remember.”

-Alexandre Dumas

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The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?

-Mary Oliver

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Thinking only autumn thoughts

“..that country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and mid-nights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain..”

-Ray Bradbury

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The people look like flowers at last

..in that drunken place
you would
like to hand your heart to her
and say
touch it
but then
give it back.

-Charles Bukowski

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Secret of the sea

..Till my soul is full of longing
for the secret of the sea,
and the heart of the great ocean
sends a thrilling pulse through me.

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