“I live in my own little world. But it’s okay; they know me here.” ― Lauren Myracle
“Partial culture runs to the ornate, extreme culture to simplicity.” — Christian Nestell Bovee
Love the animals, love the plants, love everything.
If you love everything, you will perceive the divine mystery in things.
Once you perceive it, you will begin to comprehend it better everyday.
And you will come to love the whole world with an all-embracing love.
— Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Human behavior flows from three main sources:
desire, emotion, and knowledge. — Plato
Hoarding
by Marina Gipps
Tomorrow I clean my room.
Ripped up papers-
A river someday where I might unearth
A new love, rediscovering a new poem.
A thought that abandoned me so long ago.
The folds and layers of this mess, my own undoing.
Thinking back to when I had less which was more.
Wanting less argument with myself.
The merits of nothing invisible to the naked eye.
My only mansion is a soul where fitful sleep awaits.
Oddly technicolor this dream of a wishful poverty.
Where the cupboards are bare. The porridge, long gone.
A perfect space where love finds me. Here.
I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he spent less time proving that he can outwit Nature and more time tasting her sweetness and respecting her seniority. – E. B. White
“I like spring, but it is too young. I like summer, but it is too proud. So I like best of all autumn, because its tone is mellower, its colours are richer, and it is tinged with a little sorrow. Its golden richness speaks not of the innocence of spring, nor the power of summer, but of the mellowness and kindly wisdom of approaching age. It knows the limitations of life and its content.”- Lin Yutang
“Every year, in November, at the season that follows the hour of the dead,
the crowning and majestic hours of autumn, I go to visit the chrysanthemums …
They are indeed, the most universal, the most diverse of flowers.” – Maeterlinck
By Karen Bergquist
“I will dance
The dance of dying days
And sleeping life.
I will dance
In cold, dead leaves
A bending, whirling human flame.
I will dance
As the Horned God rides
Across the skies.
I will dance
To the music of His hounds
Running, baying in chorus.
I will dance
With the ghosts of those
Gone before.
I will dance
Between the sleep of life
And the dream of death.
I will dance
On Samhain’s dusky eye,
I will dance.”
Maverick Mist 