‘TWAS noon of night, when round the pole
The sullen Boar is seen to roll;
And mortals, wearied with the day,
Are slumbering all their cares away :
An infant, at that dreary hour,
Came weeping to my silent bower,
And wak’d me with a piteous prayer,
To save him from the midnight air !
“And who art thou,” I waking cry,
” That bid’st my blissful visions fly ?”
” gentle sir !” the infant said,
” In pity take me to thy shed ;
Nor fear deceit : a lonely child
I wander o’er the gloomy wild.
Chill drops the rain, and not a ray
Illumes the drear and misty way !”

I hear the baby’s tale of woe ;
I hear the bitter night- winds blow ;
And sighing for his piteous fate,
I trimm’d my lamp and op’d the gate.
‘Twas Love ! the little wandering sprite,
His pinion sparkled through the night !
I knew him by his bow and dart ;
I knew him by my fluttering heart ! .

I take him in, and fondly raise
The dying embers’ cheering blaze ;
Press from his dank and clinging hair
The crystals of the freezing air,
And in my hand and bosom hold
His little fingers thrilling cold.

And now the embers’ genial ray
Had warm’d his anxious fears away ;
” I pray thee,” said the wanton child
(My bosom trembled as he smil’d),
‘ I pray thee let me try my bow,
For through the rain I’ve wander’d so,
That much I fear, the ceaseless shower
Has injur’d its elastic power.”
The fatal bow the urchin drew ;
Swift from the string the arrow flew;
Oh ! swift it flew as glancing flame,
And to my very soul it came !
“Fare-thee-well,” I heard him say,
As laughing wild he wing’d away ;
” Fare-thee-well, for now I know
The rain has not relax’d my bow ;
It still can send a madd’ning dart,
As thou shalt own with all thy heart !”

– Anacreon

My fall without end to my fall without end in which nobody waited for me well upon looking at who was waiting for me I saw no other thing but myself.

– Alejandra Pizarnik

Days full of rain
Skys comin’ down again
I get so tired
Of these same old blues
Same old song
Baby, it won’t be long
’fore I be tyin’ on
My flyin’ shoes
Flyin’ shoes
Till I be tyin’ on
My flyin’ shoes

Spring only sighed
Summer had to be satisfied
Fall is a feelin’ that I just can’t lose.
I’d like to stay
Maybe watch a winter day
Turn the green water
To white and blue
Flyin’ shoes
Flyin’ shoes
Till I be tyin’ on
My flyin’ shoes

The mountain moon
Forever sets too soon
Bein’ alone is all the hills can do
Alone and then
Her silver sails again
And they will follow
In their flyin’ shoes
Flyin’ shoes
They will follow in their
Flyin’ shoes

Days full of rain
Skys comin’ down again
I get so tired
Of the same old blues
Same old song
Baby, it won’t be long
Till I be tyin’ on
My flyin’ shoes
Flyin’ shoes
Till I be tyin’ on
My flyin’ shoes.

– Townes Van Zandt

We kill what we love. What’s left
Was never alive.
No one else is close. What is forgotten,
What else is absent or less, hurts no one else.
We kill what we love. Enough of drawing a choked breath
Through someone else’s lung!
There is not air enough for both of us. And the earth will not hold
Both our bodies
And our ration of hope is small
And pain cannot be shared.
Man is an animal of solitudes,
A deer that bleeds as it flees
With an arrow in its side.
Ah, but hatred with its insomniac
Glass eyes; its attitude
Of menace and repose.
The deer goes to drink and a tiger
Is reflected in the water.
The deer drinks the water and the image. And becomes
-before he is devoured – (accomplice, fascinated)
his enemy.
We give life only to what we hate.

– Rosario Castellanos

Never forget that every stick has two ends.
The devil can lead you to paradise, and God, directly to Hell.

– G.I. Gurdjieff

‘Either God really does love all beings… or religion seems a vast fraud.’

- Charles Hartshorne

Boys dream of native girls who bring breadfruit,
Whatever they are,
As bribes to teach them how to execute
Sixteen sexual positions on the sand;
This makes them join (the boys) the tennis club,
Jive at the Mecca, use deodorants, and
On Saturdays squire ex-schoolgirls to the pub
By private car.

Such uncorrected visions end in church
Or registrar:
A mortgaged semi- with a silver birch;
Nippers; the widowed mum; having to scheme
With money; illness; age. So absolute
Maturity falls, when old men sit and dream
Of naked native girls who bring breadfruit
Whatever they are.
- Philip Larkin

‘Those who want to go on being themselves forever and yet pass on to additional experiences after death are either asking for unbearable monotony, endless reiteration of the same personality traits, or they have a unique prerogative of God, ability to achieve self-identity through no matter how great and diverse the changes and novelties. Unconsciously they either want to be bored to death, so to speak, or to be God.’

- Charles Hartshorne

“Friendship, you know, is as mysterious as love or any other state of this confusion that we call life. In fact, I have sometimes suspected that the only thing that holds no mystery is happiness, because it is its own justification.”

- Jorge Luis Borges