“howl up the moon. bask in starlight and bathe in stories. make friends with dandelions. listen to the trees. walk out of your house barefoot and let the grass whisper poems to your toes. sigh. feast on cloud shapes. gulp the sunset. let the wind play with your hair like a lover. sing the wild geese into night’s grand unfurling. ask a caterpillar for a dance. cloak yourself in twilight soft as a moth kiss. sway to the music in your veins that remembers who you were before the world told you who you should be. fill your ruby-wing heart with that truth and revel up the dawn.”
“You advise me, too, not to stray far from the ground of experience, as I become weak when I enter the region of fiction; and you say, “real experience is perennially interesting, and to all men.” I feel that this also is true; but, dear Sir, is not the real experience of each individual very limited? And, if a writer dwells upon that solely or principally, is he not in danger of repeating himself, and also of becoming an egotist? Then, too, imagination is a strong, restless faculty, which claims to be heard and exercised: are we to be quite deaf to her cry, and insensate to her struggles? When she shows us bright pictures, are we never to look at them, and try to reproduce them? And when she is eloquent, and speaks rapidly and urgently in our ear, are we not to write to her dictation?”
Charlotte Brontë (1816 – 1855), novelist, born on this day, in a letter to G. H. Lewes, 6 November 1847
“And just when the darkness became too much to bear and the struggle too hard, the light broke through and the caterpillar emerged a butterfly delicate but unbroken, wild and gentle, finally free to spread its lovely wings and fly away on the wind.”
“My heart is so small it’s almost invisible. How can You place such big sorrows in it? “Look,” He answered, “your eyes are even smaller, yet they behold the world.”
“Every time we make the decision to love someone, we open ourselves to great suffering, because those we most love cause us not only great joy but also great pain. The greatest pain comes from leaving… the pain of the leaving can tear us apart. Still, if we want to avoid the suffering of leaving, we will never experience the joy of loving. And love is stronger than fear, life stronger than death, hope stronger than despair. We have to trust that the risk of loving is always worth taking.”
“The grass never sleeps. Or the roses. Nor does the lily have a secret eye that shuts until morning. Jesus said, wait with me. But the disciples slept.
The cricket has such splendid fringe on his feet, and it sings, have you noticed, with its whole body, and heaven knows if it ever sleeps.
Jesus said, wait with me. And maybe the stars did, maybe the wind wound itself into a silver tree, and didn’t move. Maybe the lake far away, where once he walked as on a blue pavement, lay still and waited, wild awake.
Oh the dear bodies, slumped and eye-shut, that could not keep that vigil, how they must have wept, so utterly human, knowing this too must be part of the story.”
“I feel I am privileged to express a hope. The hope is this: that we shall have peace throughout the world, that we shall abolish wars and settle all international differences at the conference table, that we shall abolish all atom and hydrogen bombs before they abolish us. The future of the modern world demands modern thinking. Therefore, let us use the full force of our intelligence instead of obsolete homicidal methods in settling our international differences.”
Charlie Chaplin’s message to the world on his 70th birthday, 16th April 1959
“There are ways in, journeys to the center of life, through time; through air, matter, dream and thought. The ways are not always mapped or charted, but sometimes being lost, if there is such a thing, is the sweetest place to be. And always, in this search, a person might find that she is already there, at the center of the world. It may be a broken world, but it is glorious nonetheless.”