To Live, not to ExistI would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent plant. The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.--Jack London
Live with BeliefI know this now. Every man gives his life for what he believes. Every woman gives her life for what she believes. Sometimes people believe in little or nothing yet they give their lives to that little or nothing. But to sacrifice what you are and live without belief, that's more terrible than dying.-Joan of Arc
Happiness of Death“The gods conceal from men the happiness of death, that they may endure life.”-Lucan
Live your Way into the AnswerHave patience with everything in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the question now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.--Rainer Maria Rilke
Big Aventure"To die will be an awfully big adventure."- Sir James M. Barrie, Peter Pan
Life's PurposeThe purpose of life is a life of purpose.-Robert Byrne
Life is a GrindstoneLife is a grindstone,and whether it grinds you down or polishes you upis for you and you alone to decide.-Cavett Robert
Spirituality"We are not human beings having a spiritual experience.We are spiritual beings having a human experience."-Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
Well:HappyAs a well spent day brings happy sleep,so life well used brings happy death.-Leonardo DaVinci
Yes, I Have a PenisYes, I Have A PenisDo not assume (if I hold the door for you),that I am making a statementabout your inabilitiesto open the door for yourself.If you hold it for me,I'll say 'thankyou'.Do not assume (if I pay for the meal),that I am underestimatingyour earning capacityas a woman.If you invite me out for a meal,you're paying.Do not assume (if I defend your rights),that I am belittlingthe attempts that you have madeto defend your rights yourself.If you defend my rights,I'll consider you human.
Rhyming in PoemsWhy do you all want to rhymeall the time?You don't need to do it,that's perfectly fine.You think it's so coolAnd it leaves poems gleaming,But it desecrates flowAnd can ruin the meaning.It's so bad to rhythm,It's like a bad dayYou wonder why you're notSleeping it away.You think it's the rootOf your writing's salvation,But we all will hate you,All parts of the nation.You think it sounds niceBut you don't even knowHow ruined the sound isHow badly it 'goes'.So the irony's over,Your poems can mend,I'll stop myself here,Before you meetYour end.
How to love a girl who can't love herself.one. When she cries herself to sleep six out of seven nights a week you must say nothing. You must simply take her in your arms and kiss her gaunt, pale cheeks and wait for her to slumber at the sound of your heart.two. On the days where she wishes she were part of the stars, tell her no. Tell her that there are too many lights in the sky and that just one would be forgotten the moment you looked away from it. Tell her that she is perfect the way she is: completely human.three. Don't let her think about the scars that no one but her can see. If she says "I think I'm broken" smile like you know a secret and say, "No, you're mending." But do not be the one to fix her - no, she
don't write poems for fuckboys.youare not perfect.you beginmiles beneath that golden line,all sweat and sinewand broken hearts,sheets stainedwith the hungerof a hundred different girls.youare not perfect.handsomelike a fool, agraceful maelstromwhipping through thewhippoorwills andkissing birdsongdown my spine.youare not perfect.I can seethat scar on your hip,the achilles heel in yoursafeword,animalcaged and calculatingthe next best wayto rip intomy fresh meat.youare not perfect.but your skin tastes likevodka.eyes blazingobsidian, tonguemurmuring sweetnessagainst my name,you area hunterwith far too willinga prey.youare not perfect.but you carry your charismalike a thunderstorm,and you smile like you knowI am aching for the rain,and you -well, you can call me babywhenever you damn wellplease.
We've neglected the lessonsour generationhas stomped on the gravesof our ancient ancestor's bodiesburied deep beneath muted earth tones,and we've dug up their bonesand thrown them against cavern walls,do you hear their beckoning calls?we told youwe told youwe told you alland our generationhas sold our soul to the devilbecause the devil wears Prada, Moschino, or Coach,the devil doesn't care about thegrumbling tummies of our skeleton childrenor their parched tongues,can you hear their bones rattling like our ancestors?do you hear their echoing calls? we told youwe told youwe told you all our generation sayswe march to the beat of our own drumbut it seems we stole this drumfrom the old man at the music shopwho couldn't make enough to pay for his own skin,to cover his crumbling bonesor maybe we've built this drum from his ashes,because of what use are old men,whose bodies could have been in an antique shopis that the beat of the drum, or a whimpering call? we told you
Our generationcigarette smokeandalcoholthe fumesembeddingin the wallcocaine linesin bathroomstalls:our generation,we have it allmisguided teens,with dying dreams(poured down the drainby languid veins)the clinking of glassesand racing hearts,we cannot stopwhat we did startit's all an escape- a sick paradox:we're runningfrom ourselves.
Brave to Love“A coward is incapable of exhibiting love; it is the prerogative of the brave.” - Mahatma Gandhi